Run: 2026-05-22-01KS87FFJQM2ER6M12R4PQDTJX

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Iron Welcome" data-color="red"> I pulled back on Thunder's reins, bringing the great beast to a halt just outside the sprawling wooden doors of the stables. Before my boots even hit the cobblestones, a towering figure emerged from the shadows. Sir Roland, the local knight and master of arms, stepped into the fading light. His armor was scuffed from years of relentless drills, and a jagged scar ran down his left cheek, a grim testament to his past campaigns. "You're late, boy," Roland barked, his voice like grinding stones. "The sun dips below the horizon, and a squire's day ends only when his master says it does. See to your horse, then report to the training yard. We have much to undo before you can call yourself a warrior." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: A Gentle Mentor" data-color="green"> As I led Thunder toward the comforting scent of fresh hay and sweet oats, a warm, booming laugh echoed from the stable aisle. Sir Roland stepped out from one of the stalls, a brush in one hand and a kind smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. He was a mountain of a man, but his presence was as welcoming as a hearth fire on a winter's night. "Ah, you must be young Frederick," he said, stepping forward to gently pat Thunder's sweaty neck. "A fine beast you have there. I am Sir Roland. Welcome to Oakhaven Keep. Come, let us get your horse settled, and then we shall share a warm meal. Your true training begins on the morrow, with a clear mind and a full belly." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: Whispers of the Wyrms" data-color="blue"> The stables were quiet, save for the soft nickering of the castle's destriers and the rustle of straw. As I guided Thunder into an empty stall, I noticed a solitary figure standing by the open archway, gazing out at the darkening sky. Sir Roland wore no helm, his graying hair catching the last azure light of dusk. He didn't turn immediately, his eyes fixed on the distant, jagged peaks of the Dragon's Tooth mountains. "They say the wind carries the whispers of the old wyrms," Roland murmured, his voice laced with a quiet melancholy. He finally turned to me, his eyes holding the weight of a hundred forgotten battles. "You are Frederick, the new squire. I pray your sword arm is stronger than the legends you've come to chase. Welcome to the edge of the world, boy." </nc-section>