Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1J70QC08RGM4K87F8RKMJR

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: A Knight's Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted near the stables, the smell of hay and leather filling my nostrils, a towering figure emerged from the shadows. Sir Roland was every bit the legend the village storytellers had described—broad-shouldered, with a scar tracing his weathered cheek and eyes sharp as forged steel. "So, you're the new squire," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. He clasped my forearm in a grip that nearly buckled my knees. "Frederick, is it? We'll see if you've got the spine for this life. Many arrive with dreams, boy. Few leave with honor." I swallowed hard, trying to match his unwavering gaze. "I'm ready to learn, Sir Roland." A faint smirk crossed his lips. "We shall see." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: An Unexpected Greeting" data-color="green"> I had barely tied Thunder's reins to the post when a warm, booming laugh echoed across the courtyard. Sir Roland approached with an easy stride, a man whose armor gleamed but whose smile gleamed brighter still. "Frederick! By the gods, you've your father's look about you," he said, throwing an arm around my shoulders as though we were old friends. "I served alongside him in the northern campaigns, you know. A finer man never lifted a blade." I blinked, caught off guard. "You knew my father, sir?" "Knew him? I owe him my life thrice over." His eyes softened with memory. "Come, lad. There is much to teach you, and even more to tell. Your training begins not with the sword, but with a meal and a story." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Measure of a Man" data-color="blue"> The stables were quiet save for the soft nickering of horses, and at first I thought myself alone. Then I noticed him—a man kneeling beside a wounded mare, gently dressing a gash along her flank. He did not look up as I entered. "You ride hard for a boy who has never seen battle," Sir Roland said softly, his attention fixed on the horse. "Thunder, is he called? A good name. A proud name. Pride will serve you well, or it will be your undoing." He finally rose, wiping his hands on a cloth, and studied me with quiet intensity. "Tell me, Frederick—why have you truly come? And do not give me the answer you rehearsed on the road." I opened my mouth, then closed it again, for I realized I did not have an answer at all. </nc-section>