Run: 2026-02-25-01KJBGDQQPRP6D08DMC3YVSD0M

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Iron Welcome" data-color="red"> Frederick slid from the saddle, the stirrup scraping loudly against the stone path. Before he could shake the dust from his boots, the heavy plod of armored boots announced a presence. Sir Roland emerged from the gloom of the stable, his armor gleaming like dried blood in the fading light. He did not smile. Instead, he rested a gauntleted hand on Frederick's young shoulder, weighing him down with the cold metal. "Thunder is a fine horse," Roland grumbled, his voice rough as gravel. "But the stable boy cares for beasts, and the squire cares for men. Leave the glory in the past; the morning will demand blood and sweat. You understand?" Frederick gulped, nodding silently as the knight turned his back, leaving the young squire to face the shadows of the castle. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Mentor's Hand" data-color="green"> The horse snorted, exhaling a cloud of steam into the cooling air. Frederick patted Thunder's neck before dismounting, his limbs heavy from the journey. Approaching with a soft clink of mail, Sir Roland moved not with the menace of a warrior, but the grace of a gardener. He wore his helmet tucked under one arm, revealing eyes the color of moss. He reached out to steady Frederick's saddle, his hands gentle but strong. "You have traveled far, lad," Roland said, a warm smile creasing his weathered face. "The road is hard, but this castle's gardens are deep with roots of kindness. Drink water, clean your horse, and find rest. Tomorrow, we begin when the sun touches the east, not before." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Watchful Shadow" data-color="blue"> As Frederick tied Thunder’s reins, the silence of the stables felt heavy, pressing against his ears. From the corner of the shadows, Sir Roland materialized, his cloak blending with the blue hue of the twilight. He said nothing at first, simply watching Frederick with eyes that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken secrets. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low whisper, barely audible over the wind. "They say the dragon is the last of its kind," Roland murmured, stepping into the dim light. "But men are a different breed. Do not trust the silence, squire. The castle remembers every step, and I am but one of the shadows keeping the history alive. Sleep well; the night is shorter than you think." </nc-section>