Run: 2026-05-22-01KS86778HC8490FRPEY34HVYY

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Iron Commander" data-color="red"> I pulled back on Thunder's reins, bringing my sweating stallion to a halt in the shadowed courtyard of the stables. Before my boots even hit the cobblestones, a towering figure stepped from the gloom. It was Sir Roland, the local knight whose reputation for ruthless discipline had reached my village long before I did. His plate armor was scuffed from years of brutal campaigns, and a jagged, pale scar cut through his graying beard. "You're late, boy," he barked, his voice like grinding stones. He stepped closer, inspecting my disheveled tunic with a sneer. "And your mount is lathered. A true knight cares for his beast before himself. Dismount, grab a brush, and scrub him down. If I see a single speck of dust on Thunder's coat by supper, you'll be sleeping in the straw with the hounds." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Hearth and the Hay" data-color="green"> The comforting smell of sweet hay and crushed oats filled the air as I guided Thunder into the bustling castle stables. A tall man with a kindly, weather-beaten face was already there, patiently brushing down a dappled roan mare. This was Sir Roland. Hearing our approach, he looked up and offered a warm, crinkling smile that instantly put me at ease. "Easy now, let him walk a bit to cool down before you unsaddle him," Sir Roland advised, his voice a soothing, rich baritone. He tossed me a soft linen cloth. "You must be young Frederick. I've been expecting you. Let's get Thunder settled with some fresh water, and then we'll get you a hot meal by the hearth. You've got a long journey behind you, lad, and an even longer road ahead." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: Shadows of the Wyrm" data-color="blue"> The stables were cloaked in the cool twilight, quiet save for the soft nickering of horses and the distant rush of the river. As I slid from Thunder's saddle, I noticed a solitary figure standing near the old tack room. Sir Roland, the veteran knight of the keep, was staring intently at a massive, blackened scale mounted on the stone wall—a relic of the great beasts that once ruled the skies. He didn't turn immediately, but his voice carried through the still, dusty air. "They say the last dragon fell in the valley just beyond those trees, its fire turning the very rocks to glass," he murmured, finally turning to face me. His eyes held a deep, melancholic wisdom that made my breath catch. "Welcome to the keep, Frederick. I am Sir Roland. I pray you possess a stronger spirit than the men who hunted them, for the shadows of the past are growing long once more." </nc-section>