Run: 2026-05-10-01KR8YSRNYBMNRH5248JE61MK1

<nc-section data-title="The Arrival: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted, the heavy thud of boots on cobblestone echoed through the courtyard. Sir Roland emerged from the shadows of the stable, his armor stained with the dried mud of a recent skirmish. His eyes, sharp as flint, raked over me with a predatory intensity. "You're late, boy," he growled, tossing a pitchfork toward my feet. "If you intend to hold a sword in this castle, you’ll start by proving you can handle the filth of the beasts that carry us." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Arrival: The Mentor’s Gaze" data-color="green"> I led Thunder into the cool, straw-scented air of the stables, only to find Sir Roland waiting by the main stall. He wasn't the imposing, jagged figure I had imagined; instead, he stood with a quiet grace, polishing his greaves with a rag. He looked up, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips. "The journey from the lowlands is a long one, Frederick," he said softly, putting his work aside. "Your mount looks tired, and you look hungry. Let’s get him settled before we discuss the burdens you’re about to shoulder." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Arrival: An Ominous Introduction" data-color="blue"> The air near the stables suddenly grew cold, and the horses whinnied in nervous agitation. Sir Roland stood silhouetted against the lantern light, his hand resting heavily on the pommel of his longsword. He didn't offer a greeting, but rather a warning. "You come to this castle seeking glory, squire," he murmured, his gaze fixed far beyond the stone walls, toward the jagged peaks of the Dragontooth Mountains. "But know this: the last dragon does not slumber because it is dead, but because it is waiting. Are you prepared to wake it?" </nc-section>