Run: 2026-05-22-01KS86W70R2ZNMH6XG8RR3P39V

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Scarred Veteran" data-color="red"> I pulled back on Thunder's reins, bringing the great beast to a halt before the towering oak doors of the stables. As I swung down from the saddle, my boots hitting the cobblestones with a heavy thud, a shadow detached itself from the gloom of the overhang. It was Sir Roland. The local knight was a mountain of a man, his armor scarred from countless battles and his face bearing a jagged, angry red streak that spoke of a dragon's claw. "You're late, boy," Roland growled, his voice like grinding stones. He didn't offer a hand to help me with my saddlebags. "The Last Dragon won't care if you're tired from your ride, and neither do I. Tether your beast, grab a wooden practice sword, and meet me in the courtyard. Your real trial begins now." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Verdant Welcome" data-color="green"> Thunder snorted softly as I guided him into the shaded alcove of the royal stables, the comforting scent of fresh pine and sweet hay filling the evening air. Before I could even unbuckle my saddlebags, a hearty laugh echoed from the hayloft. Sir Roland stepped down the wooden ladder, wiping his hands on a worn canvas tunic. Unlike the grim, iron-clad warriors of the northern marches, the local knight had kind, crinkling eyes and wore the verdant green tabard of the valley guard. "Well met, young Frederick!" he said, clapping a heavy but warm hand on my shoulder. "I've been expecting you. Let us get your beautiful horse settled, and then I'll show you to the squires' quarters and fetch you a hot meal. You have a long journey ahead of you, but tonight, you are home." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: Whispers in the Twilight" data-color="blue"> The twilight deepened into a cool, cerulean dusk as I led Thunder into the quiet cavern of the stables. The air was thick with the dust of ancient stone and the soft murmurs of resting destriers. Standing by the water trough, illuminated by the pale blue light of a lone moon-crystal lantern, was Sir Roland. The knight did not turn immediately, his gaze fixed on the rippling water as if reading omens in the reflections. When he finally looked up, his eyes held the weary weight of a man who had seen too many hopeful squires come and go. "So, you are the one the High Council sent," Roland murmured, his voice barely rising above the whisper of the evening wind. "Welcome to Oakhaven, Frederick. Rest your horse, but keep your mind sharp. The shadows grow long, and the dragon's awakening is near." </nc-section>