Run: 2026-09-02-01M1HAF8YAMVA4TEK2T8BQX8HG

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Ember Salute" data-color="red"> The wooden doors of the outer stables groaned open, spilling amber lamplight onto the damp cobblestones. Before I could fully dismount, a heavy boot struck the stones with measured certainty. From the half-darkness emerged the local knight, Sir Roland. His breastplate caught the dying sunset like a banked forge, and his scarred gauntlet extended in a firm, grounded salute. "You ride hard for one so young," he said, his voice rough as worn granite. He took my pack without waiting for an answer, his eyes drifting toward the treeline where legends claimed the last dragon had fallen centuries ago. "Welcome to Oakhaven Keep, Squire Frederick. Bathe, eat, and sleep. At first bell, you report to the yard. Tomorrow, we test whether you're made of more than wind and youthful bravado." I tightened my grip on the reins as Thunder stamped nervously beside us, feeling the iron reality of the castle settle around my shoulders. The training had begun. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Roots and Rust" data-color="green"> Dusk settled over the courtyard like a slow exhale, wrapping the stables in tones of dried hay and creeping ivy. I guided Thunder toward the hitching posts when a low whistle cut through the cooling air. From behind a towering stack of fodder bales stepped Sir Roland, the realm’s appointed shield for these borderlands. He wore only a sturdy linen tunic and leather bracers, his longsword resting lightly against his thigh. He offered a calloused hand, his gaze steady but welcoming. “Frederick,” he stated, reading my face as easily as a map. “I’ve watched your approach since the valley road. You move quiet for a stranger, but quiet doesn’t hold a line.” He gestured toward the straw-lit stable corridor. “Make yourself at home tonight. We’ll talk of oaths, of duty, and of why this soil still trembles at the memory of winged shadows.” I took his hand, the roughness grounding me, and knew the path ahead would demand everything I owned. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Twilight’s Keeper" data-color="blue"> As the copper light surrendered to indigo, the stables stood hushed beneath the pale watch of the rising moon. I coaxed Thunder into his stall just as a tall silhouette detached itself from the timber framing. Sir Roland moved with the quiet efficiency of a seasoned commander, his travel cloak the color of deep winter water. In one hand he carried a wax-sealed parchment; in the other, a tarnished silver horn. “The roads have been restless,” he murmured, bowing with formal grace before meeting my eyes. “Word came of a new squire arriving at the autumn equinox. Fate rarely wastes its moments.” He stepped forward, his voice dropping to a resonant murmur that seemed to echo off the stone. “Rest now, Squire Frederick. When dawn breaks and the high lake mirrors the sky, we begin your forging. And may the old winds guide you—we guard lands that still dream of dragons.” I nodded as the chill of the approaching night clung to my travel-stained cloak, recognizing instantly that my ordinary life had ended at the gate. </nc-section>