Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0GAGZTRMWGA63CNE8DV3DW

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight's Welcome (v1)" data-color="red"> As I dismounted near the stables, the scent of hay and leather filled my nostrils. A tall figure emerged from the shadows of the archway, his armor catching the last rays of sunlight. Sir Roland stood before me, a man whose reputation had reached even the furthest corners of the realm. His weathered face bore the scars of countless battles, and his steel-grey eyes studied me with careful appraisal. "So you are the boy they sent me," he said, his voice deep and commanding. He stepped forward and placed a heavy gauntleted hand on Thunder's neck, stroking the stallion with surprising gentleness. "A fine beast. Let us hope his rider proves equally worthy." I bowed my head, unable to find my voice. Sir Roland chuckled—a low, rumbling sound—and clapped me on the shoulder with enough force to nearly buckle my knees. "Come, young Frederick. There is much you must learn, and the road ahead is neither short nor easy. But first, we shall see that Thunder is stabled properly. A knight who does not care for his mount is no knight at all." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight's Welcome (v2)" data-color="green"> The stables smelled of fresh straw and horse sweat, a scent I had grown to love during my years on my father's farm. I was leading Thunder toward an empty stall when a voice called out behind me. "You must be Frederick." I turned to find a knight leaning casually against a wooden post, his arms crossed over a surcoat emblazoned with a silver falcon. He was younger than I had expected, perhaps thirty summers, with a ready smile and an easy manner that immediately put me at ease. Only the faint scar running along his jaw hinted at the warrior beneath the friendly exterior. "Sir Roland, at your service," he said, pushing off the post and offering his hand. "I've been expecting you. Your father wrote to me some weeks ago, singing your praises. I hope you can live up to them." I grasped his hand, surprised by the firmness of his grip. "I shall do my best, my lord." "None of that 'my lord' business," he said with a wink. "Save such formalities for the court. Here in the stables, we are simply two men and their horses. Now, tell me about this magnificent creature of yours." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight's Welcome (v3)" data-color="blue"> I had barely swung down from Thunder's back when I heard the steady rhythm of boots on cobblestone. A knight approached from the direction of the keep, his cloak of deep crimson billowing behind him. Though he wore no armor save for a polished breastplate, there was no mistaking his bearing—this was a man accustomed to command. "Frederick of Ashvale, I presume?" His voice was neither warm nor cold, but measured, like a blade being weighed for balance. "Yes, sir." I straightened my back and tried to match his formal tone. "I have come as summoned." "I am Sir Roland, Master-at-Arms of this castle and the man responsible for turning green boys into knights of the realm." He circled me slowly, his dark eyes missing nothing—not the road dust on my cloak, nor the calluses on my hands, nor the tremor I fought to suppress. "Many have stood where you stand now. Few have earned their spurs. Fewer still have lived to wear them long." He stopped before me and extended his hand—not in greeting, but palm up, expectant. "Your sword, squire. A blade is a privilege, not a right. You shall earn its return through service, through obedience, and through blood. Do you understand?" My hand trembled only slightly as I drew the weapon and laid it across his waiting palm. </nc-section>