Run: 2026-09-23-01M37P2K1SJJARB1VHASEVV53M

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Iron Welcome" data-color="red"> By the time I passed beneath the portcullis, the last of the sunlight had slipped behind the western tower, and the courtyard was washed in shades of grey and amber. Thunder snorted, his flanks lathered from the long ride. I guided him toward the long, low building that smelled of hay and leather, the stables I had been told to seek out upon arrival. A man stood waiting by the stable doors, arms folded across a broad chest. He wore no armor, only a padded gambeson stained dark at the collar, but there was no mistaking what he was. A knight carries himself differently from other men, as though he is always half-expecting a blade. A pale scar ran from his left ear to the corner of his jaw, and his grey-streaked beard was cropped short. "You're late," he said. I swung down from the saddle, nearly stumbling as my stiff legs met the cobblestones. "Forgive me, my lord. The bridge at Ashford was washed out, and I had to ride upstream to find a crossing—" "I didn't ask why." He stepped forward and ran a calloused hand along Thunder's neck, checking the horse with more care than he had spared for me. "Fine animal. Overworked, but fine. Did you walk him the last mile to cool him down?" "I... no, my lord." "Then that is your first lesson, boy. A knight who rides his horse into the ground will one day find himself on foot when it matters most." His eyes, the color of cold iron, finally met mine. "I am Sir Roland of Harrowmere. For the next seven years, your life belongs to me. You will rise before the sun, and you will sleep when I tell you to. You will muck these stalls, polish my mail, and bleed in the training yard until you learn to stop bleeding." I swallowed hard and straightened my back. "Yes, Sir Roland." For a long moment he studied me in silence. Then, unexpectedly, something softened at the edge of his mouth. It was not quite a smile, but it was near enough. "Your father was a good squire once. Stubborn. Clumsy. Late to everything." He tossed me a rough brush from a hook by the door. "Brush your horse down, water him, and then find the kitchens. Cook will feed you. Tomorrow, we begin." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: A Friend in the Stables" data-color="green"> The courtyard was alive with the bustle of evening. Servants hauled buckets from the well, a blacksmith's hammer rang out its last strokes of the day, and somewhere a dog was barking at nothing in particular. I steered Thunder toward the stables, trying not to gawk at everything like the country boy I was. "Ho there! You must be young Frederick!" The voice boomed across the yard, and I turned to see a great bear of a man striding toward me, a half-eaten apple in one hand. He had a thick red beard, a belly that strained against his tunic, and a laugh already crinkling the corners of his eyes. A longsword hung at his hip in a battered scabbard. "I am, sir," I said, dismounting hastily. "Frederick of Elmstead." "Sir Roland of the Western March, at your service. Or rather, you'll be at mine, won't you?" He clapped me on the shoulder so hard I nearly toppled into Thunder's side. Then he laughed at my expression. "Don't look so frightened, lad. I've only eaten two squires this year, and neither of them were half as skinny as you." I managed a nervous laugh. Sir Roland offered the remains of his apple to Thunder, who accepted it with enthusiasm. "Now there's a sensible creature. Knows a friend when he meets one." He scratched the stallion behind the ears. "What's his name?" "Thunder, sir." "Thunder! A proper warhorse name. My first horse was called Buttercup. Named by my little sister, and I never had the heart to change it. Rode her into three battles, and every herald in the kingdom had to announce 'Sir Roland upon Buttercup.'" He shook his head fondly. "Terrible for the reputation. Wonderful horse." He took Thunder's reins from me and led him into the warm, lantern-lit stables, gesturing for me to follow. "Now, I'll not pretend the training will be easy. There'll be bruises, and blisters, and days you'll curse my name. But you'll never go hungry under my care, and you'll never face anything alone. That's my promise to you." Something in my chest, a knot I hadn't known was there since leaving home, began slowly to loosen. "Thank you, Sir Roland." "Thank me in a year, if you still want to." He winked. "Now, come. Let's get this fine beast settled, and then I'll show you where the cook hides her honey cakes." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight Who Watched the Sky" data-color="blue"> The stables stood in the shadow of the northern wall, where the torches had not yet been lit. It was quieter there, away from the clamor of the main courtyard. Thunder's hooves echoed on the stones, and as we drew near, the horses within began to stir restlessly, stamping and whickering in their stalls. A figure was leaning against the stable door, so still that I did not notice him until he spoke. "They've been uneasy all week." I startled, and Thunder shied beneath me. The man stepped out of the shadows. He was tall and lean, perhaps forty, with dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He wore a knight's surcoat bearing a silver tower upon a field of blue, but it was faded and frayed at the hem, as though it had seen many years of hard travel. "Forgive me," he said, reaching up to steady Thunder's bridle with a practiced hand. "I did not mean to frighten you. I am Sir Roland. You must be Frederick." "Yes, sir." I dismounted, my heart still racing. "You said the horses are uneasy?" He did not answer at once. Instead, he lifted his gaze to the darkening sky above the mountains, where the first stars were appearing. He watched the peaks for a long moment, as though he expected something to appear. "Animals sense things we do not," he said at last. "A storm on the horizon. A wolf in the woods." He paused. "Or something older." A cold prickle crept along my spine. "Something older, sir?" Sir Roland looked back at me, and for an instant I saw something in his eyes I had not expected to find in a knight: a deep, weary sorrow. Then it was gone, replaced by a polite, measured calm. "Old soldier's nonsense. Pay it no mind." He took Thunder's reins and led him inside, murmuring softly to the other horses as he passed. They quieted at once. "You've had a long ride, and your training begins at dawn. There is a cot for you in the loft above. Warm, if a little fragrant." I followed him in, but I could not help glancing back over my shoulder at the mountains. Only jagged black shapes against the violet sky. And yet, just before I turned away, I could have sworn I saw a faint glow, like an ember, flicker once high among the peaks and vanish. </nc-section>