Run: 2026-02-25-01KJBHZ5QZZ4N7FQ8K7TRAANQ8

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Iron Greeting" data-color="red"> Frederick reined in Thunder just as the scent of hay and damp earth hit him. The stables loomed ahead, a shadowed silhouette against the dying light. Before he could dismount, a figure emerged from the gloom, clad in mail that clinked softly with every step. Sir Roland. The knight's face was a map of old scars, his eyes sharp as flint. He did not smile. "You are late, squire," Roland said, his voice gravel grinding on stone. "The sun does not wait for boys, and neither does the dragon. Come. Leave your horse with the grooms. Your training begins now." Frederick swallowed his pride, sliding from the saddle. He felt the weight of the knight's gaze like a physical hand on his shoulder, heavy and unyielding. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stableyard Meeting" data-color="green"> The scent of fresh straw and warm horses greeted Frederick as he led Thunder toward the stone archway of the stables. The evening air was cool, carrying the sounds of clattering hooves and distant laughter. A man stepped out from the shadows, his armor polished to a dull shine, contrasting with the soft green of the moss creeping up the walls. It was Sir Roland, but his demeanor was far softer than the rumors suggested. He offered a warm hand to Frederick, gripping it firmly. "Welcome to the Keep, lad," Roland said, a crinkle forming at the corners of his eyes. "I've been expecting you. Thunder is a fine beast; he'll serve you well until you earn your own steed. Come inside, the fire is lit, and we have much to discuss." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Shadow of the Scale" data-color="blue"> Frederick dismounted before the great wooden doors of the stables, his heart pounding a rhythm against his ribs. The sky above was turning a deep indigo, mirroring the cloak of the knight who waited for him. Sir Roland stood tall, his silhouette framed by the moonlight that had begun to pierce the twilight. He did not speak of horses or training, but of the ancient pact that bound this castle to the sky. "The Last Dragon stirs in its slumber, Frederick," Roland said, his voice echoing with a strange resonance. "To stand here is to stand on the precipice of history. Are you prepared to serve the legacy, or will you break beneath its weight?" Frederick looked up, meeting the knight's gaze, and nodded. </nc-section>