Run: 2026-09-02-01M1HBBDEX091QVGNJ7KZXVW3H

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Hammer's Kiss" data-color="red"> Before Frederick could even loosen Thunder's girth, a gauntleted hand clamped onto his wrist with bruising force. He was hauled backward from the saddle by sheer momentum, landing squarely on the gravel before a mountain of scarred plate armor. The rider swung down without touching the stirrup, his visor up to reveal a face etched with sunbeams and old scars. Sir Roland tossed the reins to a startled groom and seized Frederick by the collar, hauling the boy until they were nose-to-nose. "You ride loud and sit crooked, squire," Roland growled, his breath hot with the smell of spiced ale and iron. "But your steed is sound, which means your blood isn't weak. Welcome to Oakhaven Keep. I'm Sir Roland. If you want to survive my training, you learn to take a hit before you ever swing a sword. Now, get those supplies moved, or you'll sleep in the hay!" </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Keeper's Smile" data-color="green"> As Frederick coaxed Thunder toward the shaded alcove of the stables, a figure emerged softly from the stacks of dried hay. This was Sir Roland, though his armor bore the verdant enamel of the gardener-knights, dented yet polished with care. He carried no weapon, only a lantern and a bucket of fresh apples. With a warm, crinkling smile, Roland took the bit gently from the stallion's mouth, offering a treat to Thunder before turning his benevolent gaze to Frederick. "A fine spirit you brought, young master Frederick. She recognized kindness in your touch." Roland chuckled, rubbing his beard. "I am Sir Roland. In these times, some say steel saves the realm, but I find that patience and nurture do so twice as often. Your quarters are ready, and the cook promises stew thicker than oak bark. Rest your bones tonight; tomorrow we begin your true education, starting with the library and ending with the practice yard. We build men slowly here, Frederick. One stone at a time." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Shadow of Duty" data-color="blue"> Frederick guided Thunder into the drafty expanse of the stables, the temperature dropping sharply as he crossed the threshold. From the gloom behind a row of saddles, Sir Roland stepped forward, his movement silent despite the heavy plate he wore. The knight's armor was pale blue, painted with frost-crests that seemed to shimmer in the dim torchlight. He did not smile; his expression was carved from stone, and his eyes held a haunting depth that made Frederick's youthful excitement falter. Roland halted a few paces away, his gloved hand resting lightly on the pommel of his blade. "Frederick," he intoned, his voice a low resonance that echoed off the stone walls. "Your father sent word of your coming. I am Sir Roland, Warden of the Western Reach." He glanced past Frederick toward the darkening window where the sky was bleeding into violet. "Keep your blade sharp and your mind sharper. The world beyond these gates has grown dangerous. Your training will not be like others'. It will be a crucible. Do you understand the weight of what you carry?" </nc-section>