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<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Knight's Gaze" data-color="red"> I pulled Thunder to a halt as a figure emerged from the shadows near the stables. Sir Roland. Even in the fading light, his armor gleamed like captured moonlight, and the scar that ran from his brow to his jaw spoke of battles I could only imagine. His eyes, dark as a winter storm, fixed upon me with an intensity that made my throat go dry. "So," he said, his voice like gravel grinding under boot heels. "You're the boy they sent." It wasn't a question. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. Sir Roland took a step closer, and I caught the faint smell of iron and old leather. "Let me make something clear, whelp. I don't care who your father is. I don't care what letters of recommendation you carry in that satchel. In my stables, you earn respect—or you earn bruises. Understand?" I swallowed hard and managed a single nod. A ghost of a smile flickered across his scarred face. "Good. Now see to your horse. He's had a long ride and deserves better care than you've likely given him." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: A Warm Welcome" data-color="green"> The stable doors stood open, lantern light spilling out into the twilight. A broad-shouldered man in a worn leather apron looked up from brushing a mare and broke into a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "You must be Frederick!" He strode forward, wiping his hands on his apron. "I'm Sir Roland, though around these parts, most just call me Rolie." I blinked. This was the legendary knight? The man who'd held the bridge at Thornwall Pass? He looked more like a jolly innkeeper than a warrior of renown. "Come, come, let me see to your horse," he continued, already reaching for Thunder's reins with practiced hands. "Beautiful animal. You've treated him well on the journey—I can see it in his coat." "Thank you, sir," I managed. "None of that 'sir' nonsense," he laughed, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to make me stumble. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together, you and I. Might as well start as we mean to go on—as friends." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Silent Knight" data-color="blue"> I dismounted near the stables, my legs stiff from the long ride. A man stood there, leaning against a wooden post, arms crossed. He watched me without speaking, without moving. His armor was simple, unadorned, and his face revealed nothing. For what felt like an eternity, neither of us moved. Thunder snorted and stamped his hoof, breaking the silence. "Sir Roland?" I ventured. He tilted his head slightly—the only acknowledgment I received. Then he pushed off from the post and walked toward Thunder, running his hand along the stallion's neck with quiet expertise. He checked the horse's hooves, its teeth, the saddle marks on its back. I stood awkwardly, unsure whether to help or stay back. Finally, he spoke. "Third stall on the left. Fresh hay. Water trough's full." He turned those unreadable eyes on me once more. "Dawn. Courtyard. Don't be late." And then he was gone, swallowed by the castle's gathering shadows, leaving me alone with my horse and a thousand questions. </nc-section>