Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE99ZYVVX0ANNVAJVVCBAZC

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Greeting" data-color="red"> As Thunder's hooves clattered against the cobblestones of the courtyard, I spotted a broad-shouldered figure emerging from the stables. His armor caught the last rays of sunlight, and a long scar traced his jaw—a mark of battles I could only imagine. "You must be the new squire," he said, his voice deep and steady as he approached, wiping hay from his gauntlets. "I am Sir Roland. Word travels fast in these halls, boy. They say you have a fire in you." I dismounted quickly, nearly stumbling in my haste to show proper respect. "Frederick, sir. It's an honor to meet you." Sir Roland's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, studied me for a long moment. "Honor is earned, not given freely. We shall see what you're made of soon enough." He turned toward the stables. "Come. Your horse needs tending, and so does your education." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Greeting" data-color="green"> I had barely swung down from Thunder's back when a warm, hearty laugh rang out across the stable yard. "Well now, if it isn't the boy from the eastern villages!" A tall knight strode toward me, his chainmail jingling softly with each step. Unlike the stern warriors I'd imagined, this man's face was open and friendly, weathered by sun and creased with what looked like permanent good humor. "Sir Roland," he introduced himself, extending a calloused hand. "I've had the pleasure of training more squires than I can count, and I daresay you've got the look of someone who's ridden hard to get here." "Yes, sir," I replied, shaking his hand firmly despite my nervousness. "Three days, sir, from my father's farm." "Three days!" Roland chuckled, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to make me stumble. "That's dedication, lad. Or perhaps just poor planning. Either way, let's get your horse settled before the stablemaster starts grumbling. He's worse than a dragon when he's cranky." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Greeting" data-color="blue"> The stable door creaked open before I could even approach it, and a figure stepped into the fading light—tall, weathered, with silver threading through his dark hair like frost on autumn leaves. "Easy there," the man said, though whether to me or to Thunder, I couldn't tell. He moved with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent decades around horses and battlefields alike. "You've ridden far, by the look of your mount." "Sir Roland?" I ventured, recognizing the emblem stitched into his tunic—a silver dragon coiled around a sword, the mark of the castle's most decorated knight. He nodded, taking Thunder's reins from my trembling hands with practiced ease. "That I am. And you'd be young Frederick, unless I'm mistaken." His gaze swept over me, missing nothing—not my travel-worn cloak, not the way I stood too stiffly, trying to appear braver than I felt. "The castle has been expecting you," he continued, leading Thunder toward an empty stall. "Though I confess, I expected someone... taller." A ghost of a smile crossed his weathered features. "No matter. Size has never been the true measure of a knight. Come, let's see what you're truly made of." </nc-section>