Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KRY89SNEWV3GV1ZETV7C7K

<nc-section data-title="A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> I brought Thunder to a halt outside the bustling courtyard stables, the scent of hay, lathered leather, and damp earth filling the evening air. Before my boots had even touched the cobblestones, a towering figure stepped out from the shadows of the archway. It was Sir Roland, clad in battered iron plate that bore the deep scratches of past campaigns. His piercing gaze swept over me, assessing my posture, my grip on the reins, and the wear on my traveling cloak. "So, you're the new blood they sent me," Roland rumbled, his voice like grinding millstones. He didn't offer a hand, only a curt nod. "Unsaddle your beast and rub him down, Frederick. In my service, the horse eats and rests before the squire ever sees a warm meal. Move." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="A Warm Reception" data-color="green"> Guiding Thunder through the gatehouse arch, I steered him toward the warmth and lantern light spilling from the stables. As I slid down from the saddle, a hearty laugh echoed off the timber rafters. "Well met, lad! By the gods, you ride with your father's posture," boomed Sir Roland as he emerged, wiping a swath of axle grease from his weathered hands with a rag. The veteran knight wore a broad, welcoming grin, his graying beard framing eyes full of lively spirit. He stepped forward and clasped my arm in a firm, reassuring grip. "Welcome to Dragon's Reach, Frederick. It’s been a long journey, no doubt. Let the stable boys tend to Thunder—come inside the keep and let’s get some hot stew into you before the dawn drills begin." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Ominous Portents" data-color="blue"> The stables were eerily quiet as I led Thunder inside; the horses paced nervously in their stalls, ears pinned back. Stepping from the shadows near the tack room, Sir Roland stood with one hand resting on the pommel of his broadsword, his eyes scanning the twilight sky above the open courtyard rather than looking at me. "They smell them on the wind, you know," Roland murmured quietly, finally turning his pale, hawkish gaze in my direction. "The dragons are stirring again in the northern crags." He took a slow breath, studying my face under the flickering torchlight. "I hope you did not come here seeking glory, Frederick. You’ve arrived at the dusk of an age, and training to be a knight now means learning how to survive fire." </nc-section>