Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DYD92W2HZP4ZHCHW9C84FT

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stable Yard" data-color="red"> The gates groaned open as Thunder and I passed beneath the portcullis. Hooves rang against the cobblestones, and the sound rolled off the high walls of the courtyard. One by one, torches were being lit along the battlements, their flames stirring in the evening wind. Sensing the end of our long journey, Thunder quickened his pace toward the stables at the far end of the yard. A man stood waiting beside the open stable doors. He was tall and broad through the shoulders, his close-cropped beard streaked with gray. He wore no ornate armor, only a plain leather jerkin and a sword belt worn smooth with use, yet he held himself with the quiet certainty of someone who had never once doubted his place. He watched me dismount with a steady, measuring gaze. "You must be Frederick," he said, stepping forward. "I am Sir Roland. I've been charged with overseeing your training, so you'll find me a good deal more often than you'd like." I straightened my tunic and bowed, just as my father had taught me. "It is an honor to be here, Sir Roland." "Honor is earned in the training yard, not handed over at the gate." But a faint warmth softened his voice as he turned to the stallion. He ran a practiced hand along Thunder's neck, then down one foreleg, nodding in approval. "Strong animal. Tend him properly, and he will carry you far. Neglect him, and you'll learn the cost soon enough." A stable boy hurried over to take the reins. Thunder snorted and tossed his head, as though he would rather not be parted from me. "Come," Sir Roland said, nodding toward the keep, where the windows were beginning to glow gold. "Rest tonight. Before the morning bell, you'll report to the training yard. Bring nothing but yourself and your willingness to work." As I followed him across the yard, the weight of my new life settled onto my shoulders. It was heavier than I had expected, and to my surprise, I welcomed it. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: An Unexpected Welcome" data-color="green"> We had barely passed beneath the gatehouse before Thunder decided the stable yard belonged to him. He lowered his great head and snuffled his way along a row of barrels, then swung toward the man waiting beside the stable doors. Before I could call out a warning, the stallion had seized a mouthful of crimson wool from the man's cloak. "Ah," said the man, not even flinching. "So this is the beast." He turned, and I saw a broad, sun-browned face creased with laughter lines, a grizzled beard, and a dented shoulder plate that had clearly survived many a battle. He tugged the bitten corner of his cloak free and inspected the damage with mock grief. "I'm Sir Roland," he said. "You'll be seeing a great deal of me, I'm afraid, so you'd best learn to say good evening without groaning first." "Good evening, Sir Roland," I managed, sliding from the saddle. My legs had gone wobbly after the long ride, and I nearly stumbled into the straw. "I'm terribly sorry about your cloak." "Don't be. It was due for ruin since spring." He circled Thunder slowly, studying the horse with the frank appraisal of a man who had judged a hundred mounts. "Strong shoulders. Bad manners. He'll suit you well." Thunder blew out a noisy breath, as though he took this as a compliment. Sir Roland laughed, a deep rumble that sent a pair of stable cats scrambling up into the hayloft, and clapped me on the back hard enough to rattle my teeth. "Come along. The cook keeps the last of the stew warm for late arrivals, and I've a feeling you've been riding since midday. Tomorrow, we'll discover what you're made of. Tonight, we'll see whether you can eat without spilling it down your tunic." Despite my aching legs, I found myself grinning as I followed him toward the warm glow of the kitchens. Perhaps this place would not be so lonely after all. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Shadows by the Stables" data-color="blue"> Beyond the gatehouse, the stable yard had already fallen into shadow, though the last light still clung to the castle's highest towers. The air smelled of hay and leather, and beneath those familiar scents lay something else, warm and faintly acrid, like a forge that had only just gone cold. Thunder's ears pinned back. He stopped short and refused to take another step. "Easy, lad," a voice murmured from the gloom. "He doesn't care for this place either." A man stepped out from between the stable doors. He was tall and lean, wrapped in a travel-worn cloak, and a pale scar ran from his temple to his jaw. He carried a lantern but did not raise it. Its light fell instead upon the cobblestones, and upon a small, pearl-colored object half buried in the straw at his boots. He crouched, plucked the object free, and turned it over between his fingers. It was a scale, I realized, as long as my finger and faintly iridescent, its colors shifting in a way no lantern light could explain. He tucked it into a pouch at his belt with the ease of someone who had done so many times before. He rose and met my eyes at last. "Frederick, isn't it? I am Sir Roland. They told me you would arrive tonight." I bowed, though my gaze strayed to the pouch at his belt. "Yes, sir. I am honored to serve." "Honor is the least of what you'll learn here." His expression was impossible to read in the dim light. "Keep your eyes open and your questions few. These walls hold old stories, and some of them still have teeth." Thunder whickered softly and stared past me into the dark rafters. Sir Roland's gaze followed, and for a moment something flickered across his face, a shadow deeper than the dusk. "Stable your horse, then get some sleep," he said. "You'll need it. Tomorrow, your training begins in earnest. Most squires only learn what this castle is hiding after it is too late to turn back." </nc-section>