Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFC3W5Z0EN41VFXXASYR3X8

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Grim Welcome" data-color="red"> Frederick swung down from Thunder’s sweat-dampened back, slinging the stallion’s reins over a splintered post near the stable entrance, when a shadow detached from the archway. Sir Roland, his once-gilded armor dented and crusted with old blood, stepped forward, a longsword clinking at his hip. “You’re the new squire, Frederick,” he said, not a question, his voice rough as gravel. He crossed his arms, and Frederick spotted the ragged, claw-shaped scar slashing across his left gauntlet, the same mark he’d heard villagers whisper about in the hamlets he’d passed through. “Don’t get comfortable. The last three squires that stepped into these stables never stepped back out. Keep your wits about you, or you’ll end up as dragon fodder before the first snow.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Warm Welcome" data-color="green"> Frederick had barely hopped off Thunder’s back and brushed pine needles from his travel-worn tunic when a round, cheery man in a scuffed tabard trotted out from the stable’s hayloft, his arms overflowing with fluffy, squeaking fox kits. “Frederick! Just in time, I was worried you’d gotten lost in the western woods!” Sir Roland called, wiping a strand of hay from his forehead as he descended the ladder, careful not to jostle the tiny orphaned kits he’d rescued the week prior. He slid one of the kits into Frederick’s outstretched palm, then clapped him on the back so hard Frederick stumbled. “C’mon, I got a crate of carrots stowed for Thunder, and a hot stew waiting in the kitchen. First order of business as your knight: we’ll get you settled, then tomorrow I’ll show you the glen where the dragon naps—he loves it when we bring him blackberry tarts, you’ll see he’s nothing to fear.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Fated Greeting" data-color="blue"> Frederick led Thunder across the stable’s stone threshold, and the moment the stallion’s hooves touched the packed earth, faint cobalt runes carved into the rafters flared to life, casting the whole space in an eerie, glowing light. Before Frederick could fumble for the dagger at his belt, a tall, silver-haired knight stepped from the shadow of a feed trough, his own eyes glowing the same soft blue as the runes. “Frederick of Bramble Hollow. I have been waiting for you since the day you were born,” Sir Roland said, his voice echoing softly off the stone walls, no trace of surprise in his tone. He held out a hand, and a tiny shard of iridescent dragon scale floated from his palm to land in Frederick’s open palm, warm as a summer sun. “The runes only flare for the one prophesied to bond with the last dragon. You are not just here to be a squire. You are here to fulfill your destiny.” </nc-section>