Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFE82JS1MNJWPENK8HG82NY

<nc-section data-title="The Gruff Initiation" data-color="red"> I haul Thunder’s reins over my shoulder, leading the lathered stallion toward the stone stable block, my shoulders aching from the day’s cross-country ride, when a broad shadow falls across the straw-strewn yard. I look up to find a man with a ragged scar splitting his left eyebrow, chainmail still strapped to his broad frame, wiping axle grease from a dented war axe propped against the stable wall. “You’re the new squire, Frederick,” he says, not a question, his voice rough enough to scratch stone. He steps forward, kicking a loose stone that would have caught Thunder’s hoof before the stallion could stumble, and I recognize Sir Roland, the knight I’d come to serve. “Tie that horse’s headcollar to the third post from the door, not the rickety second. Any fool that lets their mount wander off before they’ve even reported for duty spends their first week mucking the northern privies. Welcome to Castle Bramble. Don’t waste my time.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Homey Welcome" data-color="green"> I lead Thunder into the sun-dappled stable yard, clover growing between the cobblestones and the scent of hay and wild mint drifting from the open stable doors, when a warm laugh calls my name. I turn to see Sir Roland, his surcoat unbuttoned at the throat, his hands stuffed full of crisp apple slices, a tabby cat winding around his scuffed leather boots. “Frederick, right? I saw you ride in over the west hill an hour ago—your boy there looked like he could use a treat, same as you.” He crosses the yard, holding out an apple slice for Thunder to nibble, then passes me a chipped clay mug of spiced cinnamon cider, still steaming. “I remember my first day, so nervous I dropped my entire supper in the great hall. No need for that here. Your stall’s all bedded with fresh straw, and I’ve got an extra wool blanket in the loft if the mountain nights get cold. Welcome to the castle.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Hushed Warning" data-color="blue"> I lead Thunder into the shadowed stable yard, twilight bleaching the stone walls gray, the only sound the distant hoot of an owl and the shuffle of a stable boy turning down a lantern down the aisle, when a hand clamps lightly over my shoulder. I jump, spinning to find Sir Roland, his hood pulled up over his hair, his voice low enough that only I can hear it, his eyes flicking to the distant stable boy to make sure he’s out of earshot. “You’re Frederick. Don’t say a word too loud, not until you learn who you can trust in this castle.” He shakes my hand in greeting, and I feel a crumpled scrap of parchment pressed into my palm, folded small enough to hide in my fist. “The old tales they tell you of the dragon that vanished a century ago? They’re lies. It’s still here, and the lords of this castle are hunting it. Don’t trust anyone that asks you about the old cellars beneath the western tower. Welcome to your new post. Stay sharp.” </nc-section>