Run: 2026-09-23-01M36TGB105B31R8J0ZK9FK6A4

<nc-section data-title="The Chronicles of the Last Dragon" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder near the stables, a tall figure in gleaming plate armor stepped forward to greet me. "You must be Frederick," the knight said, removing his helm to reveal a weathered face marked by countless battles. "I am Sir Roland, knight of the Silver Order. Your reputation precedes you, lad." His grip was like iron as he clasped my forearm in the warrior's greeting. "Come, the castle has been expecting you. There is much to discuss about the darkness gathering in the north, and I fear your arrival is no coincidence." I felt a chill run down my spine despite the warm evening air. The tales of dragons had always seemed like bedtime stories to me, but something in Sir Roland's eyes told me those stories were far more real than I had ever imagined. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Chronicles of the Last Dragon" data-color="green"> "Easy there, boy," a voice called out as Thunder reared slightly at the scent of unfamiliar horses. A broad-shouldered knight with a chestnut beard leaned against the stable door, arms crossed and a wry grin on his face. "Sir Roland," he introduced himself with a lazy nod. "And you'd be the new squire. Hope you ride better than you dismount, Frederick." His laughter echoed across the courtyard as I stumbled slightly on the gravel. Despite his teasing manner, there was a warmth in his eyes that put me at ease. He tossed me a brush and pointed toward an empty stall. "Tend to your mount first — that's the first lesson of knighthood. A knight who neglects his horse neglects his life." I smiled, already feeling like I had found my first true friend within these castle walls. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Chronicles of the Last Dragon" data-color="blue"> I led Thunder toward the stables as the last light of day bled across the horizon. A knight stood waiting beside the torch-lit archway, his scarred hands resting on the pommel of an ancient sword. "Frederick of Thornwall," he said, more statement than question. "I am Sir Roland. I squired under your father, long ago, before the fire took him." The words struck me like a physical blow. My father had rarely spoken of his days as a knight, and I had never known why. Roland placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. "He spoke of you often, in his letters. Said you had the spark." He glanced toward the northern mountains, where a faint red glow pulsed against the clouds. "The old magic stirs again, lad. And the kingdom will need more than swords before this is done." For the first time since leaving home, I wondered if I had walked into something far larger — and far more dangerous — than I was prepared for. </nc-section>