Run: 2026-09-23-01M37PN4ZG0EWWSNFNAKEXY8V4

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder near the stables, a tall figure in weathered armor emerged from the shadows. Sir Roland, the local knight, regarded me with eyes as cold and gray as winter steel. His face was marked by old scars, and his hand rested on the pommel of his sword. "So, you're the new squire," he said, his voice like gravel. "The boy who traveled all this way to serve the crown. Let me tell you something, lad. I've seen a dozen squires come through these gates, and most of them didn't last a season. Training under me is not a life of glory and song. It's blood, sweat, and discipline." He stepped closer, his boots crunching on the gravel. "I expect you at the training grounds before dawn. If you're late, you'll wish you'd never been born. Now stable your horse and report to the barracks. We'll see if you have what it takes." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: A Warm Greeting" data-color="green"> The smell of hay and horses filled the air as I led Thunder toward the stables. A broad-shouldered man with a warm smile and a trim brown beard was waiting there, brushing down a chestnut mare. "You must be Frederick!" he boomed, extending a calloused hand. "I'm Sir Roland. Word of your arrival reached me this morning. Welcome to Castle Blackthorne, lad!" His grip was firm but kind, and his eyes crinkled with genuine warmth. "I remember when I first arrived here as a squire, scared out of my wits. My master was a hard man, but he taught me everything. I promise you this: I'll work you hard, but I'll also teach you well. There's no greater honor than serving as a knight, and I'll see to it that you earn your spurs." He clapped my shoulder and gestured toward the keep. "Come, you must be famished after your journey. The cook has prepared a feast tonight, and tomorrow your training begins!" </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Whispers of the Dragon" data-color="blue"> The stables were quieter than I expected as I handed Thunder's reins to a stable boy. From the darkness between the stalls, a knight watched me. He was older than I imagined, with silver threading through his dark hair and a strange pendant glinting at his throat—a pendant carved in the shape of a dragon. "Frederick of Ashford," he said quietly. It wasn't a question. "I am Sir Roland. I've been expecting you for some time." Something in his tone made the hairs on my neck stand up. "Sir, I—" "Do you know why the castle walls are built so high, boy?" he interrupted, his eyes drifting toward the distant mountains. "Do you know why the old kings carved dragon sigils into every stone gate?" He let the question hang in the air like smoke. "There are things in this world that most men have forgotten. Things I have spent my life guarding against." He turned back to me, and for a moment I saw something flicker in his gaze—fear, perhaps, or hope. "You weren't chosen for this training by accident, Frederick. The dragons are stirring. And before this is over, you'll understand why the last of them chose you." </nc-section>