Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD6J37CBYCRDVF22GHGZVNA

<nc-section data-title="The Greeting at the Stables - Red" data-color="red"> Frederick had barely dismounted, his legs still stiff from the long ride, when a voice like grinding stone cut through the clatter of the stable yard. "You must be the new squire. Frederick, is it?" Near the stable doors stood Sir Roland, a broad-shouldered knight with a beard gone iron-grey and a nose that had been broken at least twice. His armor was dented and practical, not ceremonial, and he held a pitchfork in one hand as if it were a lance. "I'm Roland. Keeper of this castle's knights, and apparently, keeper of late-arriving boys. Your master expected you by noon. It's nearly dusk." Frederick flushed and bowed too quickly. "Sir Roland, I— the road was—" "Long, I know. They always are," Roland said, his stern face cracking into a reluctant grin. He tossed the pitchfork aside. "Come. We'll get your horse seen to, and then I'll show you where squires sleep. If you can still stand after tomorrow's drills, you might just make it here." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Greeting at the Stables - Green" data-color="green"> The stables smelled of hay and warm horseflesh, a comforting scent after the dust of the King's Road. Frederick was leading his pony through the archway when a knight in a faded blue surcoat stepped out from a stall, wiping his hands on a cloth. He was younger than Frederick had expected a local knight to be, with kind eyes and straw still clinging to his boots. "You've made it," the knight said warmly. "I was starting to worry the crows would have to send a search party." Frederick straightened. "Are you Sir Roland?" "I am," he said, and offered his hand — not the curt nod Frederick had prepared for, but a firm, honest handshake. "Welcome to Castle Alden, Frederick. Thomas told me to expect you. He's inside arguing with the steward about grain, so he sent me to steal you first." He chuckled and took the pony's reins. "Come, let's get this brave fellow some water. And you some bread. You look like you've been living on air and nerves." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Greeting at the Stables - Blue" data-color="blue"> Twilight had settled over the castle, and the stable yard was quiet. Most of the grooms had already gone to supper. Frederick led his horse into the shadows between the stalls, unsure where he was meant to go. No one had met him at the gate. Perhaps they had not been expecting a squire at all. Then a figure moved in the gloom at the far end of the stable — tall, still, in plate that caught the last violet light. "Squire Frederick?" The man's voice was quiet, but it carried. "I am Sir Roland." Frederick bowed his head. "My lord." Roland approached slowly, his gaze passing over Frederick not unkindly, but as if measuring something deeper than muscle and bone. "I have been watching the road all day," he said. "When the old stones of this castle said a dragon had passed over the northern ridge — for the first time in twenty years — I knew it would be today you arrived. Come with me, boy. There is much we must discuss before the others learn your name." </nc-section>