Run: 2026-04-27-01KQ73YB3KB4KHEBSXVVWN4669

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Iron Welcome" data-color="red"> The wooden doors of the stables creaked open before I even dismounted, as if the stone itself had foreseen my arrival. From the shadowed archway stepped a man carved from the same granite as the keep above. His armor was scarred but meticulously polished, and a crimson plume rode his helm despite the fading hour. "Sir Roland," he introduced himself, his voice low and edged like a whetstone. He did not offer a hand, but a sharp nod toward my steed. "You've ridden hard. Good. The dragon’s shadow does not wait for the comfortable." He circled Thunder, assessing, before fixing his gaze on me. "Your training begins at dawn, squire. Bring water, steel, and a spine that won’t bend when the sky turns black." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Verdant Path" data-color="green"> The stables were a labyrinth of timber and straw, heavy with the scent of damp hay and warm leather. As I tied Thunder to a post, a figure emerged from between the stalls, wiping his hands on a worn leather apron. Sir Roland was younger than I’d imagined for a castle knight, his armor bearing the moss-green patina of long campaigns in the border marches. He smiled, a slow, genuine expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Frederick of Oakhaven, I presume?" he asked, stepping forward to clasp my shoulder. "The roads are long, but you brought him in straight. That tells me you’ve got good hands, and better instincts." He gestured toward the watering trough. "Rest the beast. Tomorrow, we begin with the whetstone and the weight of a sword. The last dragon fell, but the lessons of flight and fire are ours to carry." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Azure Accord" data-color="blue"> Before my hooves had fully touched the cobbles, a figure stepped from the arched passage beside the stables, his silhouette sharp against the twilight. Sir Roland wore a cloak of deep cerulean, its silver embroidery catching the last light of day. Unlike the battle-hardened guard captains I’d passed at the gate, his bearing was deliberate, almost scholarly. He bowed slightly, a gesture of respect uncommon for a lord’s knight. "Welcome to the keep, young squire," he said, his voice carrying the measured cadence of a man accustomed to reading old texts as well as leading charges. From a pouch at his belt, he drew a heavy iron key and pressed it into my palm. "This opens the armory and the scriptorium. Sir Cedric will handle your swordplay, but I will ensure you understand what you’re sworn to protect." He glanced toward the western peaks, where the first stars were piercing the dusk. "Dragons may be memory, but vigilance is a living flame. We shall tend it together." </nc-section>