Run: 2026-07-01-01KWEADZZ3C6XMWSEZM9KAD5TM

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight's Welcome" data-color="red"> Thunder's hooves clattered against the cobblestones as I drew near the stables, and there, leaning against a weathered post with the ease of a man who had spent his whole life in the saddle, stood a knight in gleaming half-plate. His surcoat bore the crimson lion of the kingdom's guard, and a long scar traced his jaw like an old friend. "You must be the new squire," he said, his voice booming yet warm, as he stepped forward and caught Thunder's reins before I even had the chance to dismount. "Sir Roland Ashvale. I've been expecting you, boy—word travels faster than a courier's horse when a Halloway comes to train." He looked me up and down, the way a blacksmith might inspect a blade fresh from the forge, searching for flaws and promise both. "Well," he said, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder, "let's see what you're made of." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: An Unexpected Welcome" data-color="green"> As I slowed Thunder to a trot near the stable doors, a figure emerged from the shadows of the hay-scented interior—broad-shouldered, silver-haired despite a face that couldn't have seen more than forty winters, with kind eyes that belied the sword at his hip. "Easy there," the man said gently, not to me, but to Thunder, who nickered and settled almost instantly under his calm presence. "You ride a fine horse, young one. Fitting, for a squire come to serve the castle." "Sir Roland," he introduced himself, extending a hand roughened by years of swordwork. "Knight of the Western Wall, and—apparently—your welcoming committee, since the stablemaster's gone off chasing a runaway goat." He smiled then, and something about it eased the tightness in my chest that had been there since I left home. "Come. Let's get you and your horse settled before the Captain of the Guard decides to make a formal ceremony of your arrival. Trust me, you don't want that—his speeches run longer than a siege." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: A Test of Mettle" data-color="blue"> I hadn't even brought Thunder to a full stop when a sharp whistle cut through the evening air. A tall knight strode out from between the stable doors, his armor catching the last rays of sunlight, each step deliberate and measured like a man who had walked into a hundred battles and expected a hundred more. "You're late," he said, though there was no real accusation in his tone—more amusement than anything. "Sir Roland. I train the squires here, when I'm not busy pulling them out of trouble." He grabbed Thunder's bridle with practiced ease, giving the horse an appraising glance before turning that same scrutinizing gaze on me. "Frederick Halloway, is it? Your father sent word ahead. Said you had promise." He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable. "We'll see about that soon enough. Dismount. We've got work to do before the moon's fully up, and I don't waste daylight—or moonlight, for that matter." There was no cruelty in his words, only the brisk efficiency of a man who had trained enough restless young hopefuls to know exactly how to handle one more. </nc-section>