Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD79WFQPBRSSHV42CE78D5Z

<nc-section data-title="The Knight's Inspection" data-color="red"> Frederick had barely dismounted from Thunder near the stables when a shadow fell across him. A broad man in plate that was dented and dull from use, not polished for parade, stood with his arms crossed. "You the squire from Lowfield?" he asked, his voice like gravel. "I'm Sir Roland. Master of this yard." Frederick straightened and bowed his head quickly. "Yes, Sir. Frederick—" "I know your name. I read the letter." Sir Roland looked Thunder over, then Frederick, with the same critical eye. "You curried that horse yourself? Or did you let a servant do it on the road?" "I did it myself, Sir." Sir Roland grunted. "At least that. Stalls need mucking before supper. Your bed is above them. Training starts at first bell. If you're late, you'll be sent home. Understood?" "Yes, Sir Roland!" "Good. Now get that beast watered." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="A Warm Welcome at the Stables" data-color="green"> The stables smelled of hay and leather and horses — a comforting smell after a long ride. Frederick was loosening Thunder's saddle when he heard a laugh behind him. "That is a fine stallion you've got there. Though he looks about as tired as you do." Frederick turned to see a knight leaning against a post, helm off, his brown hair streaked with grey. His surcoat bore the sigil of the castle — a white hawk on green. "You must be Frederick," the knight said, stepping forward with a broad smile and offering a calloused hand. "I am Sir Roland. I was beginning to think you had gotten lost on the King's Road." Frederick shook his hand eagerly. "Sir Roland! It's an honor. I came as fast as I—" "No need for honors yet, lad," Roland chuckled, taking Thunder's reins to help. "Save your strength for the yard. Come, let's get him stabled together. I'll show you where we keep the squires. We've been waiting for you." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Last Dragon's Shadow" data-color="blue"> Frederick led Thunder into the cool gloom of the stables, the noise of the outer castle muffled by stone and straw. A figure was already there, waiting in the half-light between two stalls, almost perfectly still. Frederick stopped. "Hello?" "The squire," the figure said quietly. He stepped forward. He was tall, in dark chain and plain green, his face lined, his eyes pale grey. "Frederick of Ashford?" "Yes, my lord?" "Sir Roland," the knight said. He did not smile, but his voice was not unkind. "Keeper of the knights' horses, and of its secrets, it seems." He reached out and ran a hand along Thunder's neck. Thunder, who had been skittish with strangers for the entire journey, bowed his head instantly. "He is calm," Roland murmured, studying Frederick more than the horse now. "Animals sense things. You have an honest weight to you, Frederick. That is rare." He finally looked up toward the high tower of the castle, where old banners hung lifeless in the still air. "You've arrived at a strange time," he said. "Come. Stable your horse. We have much to speak of before your training begins." </nc-section>