Run: 2026-03-03-01KJTZDT2EAWMHVVQK33MSH74A

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stable Greeting" data-color="red"> Frederick slid Thunder to a halt by the weathered wooden hitching post outside the castle stables, brushing clumps of dried grass from Thunder’s mane before looping the leather reins tight. The sharp, sweet tang of hay and freshly shoveled manure wrapped around him as he swung down from the saddle, his travel-worn boots crunching on loose gravel. A deep, rumbling laugh cut through the stable sounds, and he turned to find a tall, broad knight leaning against the stable door, his dented steel pauldrons slung over one arm, a pale scar snaking down his left cheek. “You’re the new squire, ain’t ya?” Sir Roland called, shouldering his way over with a bucket of crushed oats in one hand. He clapped a gloved hand firmly on Frederick’s shoulder, the weight of it enough to make him stumble half a step. “Head stable-master said he’d be gettin’ a fresh lad today—had me keep an eye out for some lout who’d forget to brush his mount’s hooves before trottin’ up to the castle.” He jerked his chin toward the stables’ inner stalls, his gruff tone softening just a hair. “C’mon, I’ll show ya where Thunder gets bedded down tonight, then we’ll head to the armoury to sort out your starter leathers.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stable Greeting" data-color="green"> Frederick led Thunder slowly into the stable yard, pausing to let the stallion sniff at a stray tuft of clover growing through the cobblestones before he tethered him to the post. The golden last light of dusk seeped through the stable’s open rafters, gilding the dust motes swirling above the hay bales stacked against the walls. A soft, quiet voice made him turn, and he found Sir Roland kneeling beside a shivering bay foal in the nearest stall, dabbing a warm cloth at the foal’s scraped foreleg. The knight’s silver cloak was streaked with hay, and his helm sat on a nearby hay bale, its crest dinted from a tourney the season prior. “He’s a skittish thing,” Roland said, not looking up at first, then lifted his gaze and smiled, warm and crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “You must be Frederick—the new squire I was told to meet. Came straight from the village? Thunder here’s got a bit of a wild streak, I can tell from how you’re holding his lead rope gentle as you are.” He stood slowly, brushing hay from his knees, and gestured to an empty stall at the back of the row. “I saved you a spot right by the water trough, so you can brush him down easy before suppertime.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stable Greeting" data-color="blue"> Frederick had just finished securing Thunder’s reins to the iron hitching post when the sound of polished boot heels clicking on cobblestones made him turn. Standing before him was Sir Roland, clad in his formal knight’s surcoat emblazoned with the kingdom’s oak-tree crest, his sword belt slung low at his hips, a seal ring glinting on his left hand. A scribe trotted a step behind him, clutching a leather-bound ledger, and Roland nodded towards Frederick with a crisp, polite nod that fit the castle’s stiff etiquette. “Frederick of Bramblewood,” he said, his voice steady and measured, flipping open the ledger. “Your indenture papers are in order—Lord Commander assigned me to oversee your first tenday as castle squire.” He glanced at Thunder, then back at Frederick, his reserve softening just slightly as he noted the young man’s calloused hands from tending his family’s farm. “First, we’ll register your mount in the stable books, then I’ll walk you to your quarters in the squire’s barracks. The master-at-arms will meet you there at dawn to begin your drills.” The scribe scribbled furiously in the ledger as Roland gestured for Frederick to follow, his steps crisp and sure across the stable yard. </nc-section>