Run: 2026-10-08-01M4E1CRWNR9SZ5PRMCTGGCAKT

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: A Warm Welcome" data-color="red"> The iron gates groaned open as I passed beneath the gatehouse, and the clatter of Thunder's hooves echoed off the stone arches. Servants paused in their work to watch the dusty newcomer ride through the outer ward. Somewhere a blacksmith's hammer rang out a cheerful, steady rhythm, and a pair of children chased a runaway hen across the cobbles. Following the gravel path around the base of the keep, I found the stables tucked against the eastern wall. The air there smelled of fresh hay, saddle oil, and woodsmoke, and I breathed it in gratefully after so many days on the road. I had barely swung down from Thunder's saddle when a voice boomed across the yard. "Ho there! You must be the new squire! Only a lad fleeing a wolf pack would ride in looking this windblown!" A broad-shouldered man strode toward me, his gray-streaked beard trimmed close and his grin wide enough to rival the sunset. His breastplate bore a dozen dents, its polish long since worn away by honest use, and the kingdom's crest had faded across his tabard. "Sir Roland," he said, clasping my forearm in a grip that nearly rocked me back on my heels. "Knight of this keep, and the poor soul they've charged with making a knight out of you. Heaven help us both." "I'm honored to be here, Sir Roland," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. "I'll do my best." "Your best is a fine place to start." He laughed, and the sound rolled across the yard like thunder, which seemed fitting, given my horse's name. His gaze fell on Thunder, who was blowing steam into the cooling air and tossing his head. "Look at this fellow. He's lathered from neck to hock. You've pushed him hard, lad." My cheeks warmed. "We made good time from the river crossing, Sir." "Good time is well and good. But a horse is a knight's first friend, and a friend is not to be ridden into the ground." He held out his hand for the reins. "Come, we'll get him watered and rubbed down before you so much as think of supper. A squire who tends his mount before himself will go far in this place." I surrendered the reins, and Sir Roland ran a practiced hand along Thunder's neck, murmuring low words that calmed the stallion at once. "Thunder, is it? Suits him. Strong name for a strong animal." "He suits me, most days," I admitted. Sir Roland chuckled. "Most days. An honest answer. I'll take honesty over boasting any day." He raised his voice toward the stable doors, where a stable boy with straw in his hair was hauling a bucket of water. "Tobin! See to this fine beast. Rub him down well, and don't let him near the oats until he's cooled." The lad hurried over with a nod, and Sir Roland turned back to me, a glint in his eyes. "Tomorrow, before the morning bell has finished ringing, you'll meet me in the training yard. We'll see what you're made of, and I promise you'll be sore in places you didn't know could ache. Tonight, you rest. You've earned that much." "Thank you, Sir Roland." He clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to stagger me, then strode off toward the keep, whistling a tune that seemed to suit the gentle evening. Above us, the last light faded from the sky, and the banners of the kingdom turned from gold to gray in the dimming breeze. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Knight's Measure" data-color="green"> The banners snapped overhead as I passed beneath the gatehouse, and Thunder's hooves rang against the flagstones of the outer ward. Beyond the keep, the stable yard lay quiet, save for the creak of a wagon wheel and the low nickering of horses within. I guided my stallion through the open doors and found a tall figure waiting beside them, arms folded across a chest as broad as a barrel. He did not smile. He watched me dismount. He watched the way I landed in the straw, the way I settled my weight, the way Thunder's hooves found their footing. Only when I had straightened did he speak. "You arrived with the last of the light." "Yes, Sir. The road from the river took longer than the map suggested." "Maps are drawn by men who have never spent three days in a saddle." His voice was low and even, each word weighed before it left his mouth. "I am Sir Roland, knight of these lands. I have been charged with your training. I was not asked whether I wished the charge. I accepted it regardless, and I expect you to repay that courtesy with discipline." "I'll do my best, Sir Roland." "Trying is for those who expect to fail. Do not tell me you will try. Tell me you will succeed, and then prove it." I swallowed. "I will succeed, Sir." He gave a short nod, though whether it signaled approval or simply acknowledgment, I could not tell. "Good. Now see to your horse. Thunder, is it?" "Yes, Sir." "Then you'll groom him yourself. No stable boys. A knight who cannot tend his own mount will never be trusted with a sword." I unbuckled the saddle and lifted it from Thunder's back, feeling Sir Roland's gaze on me the whole while. I hung the saddle on its rack, took a brush and curry comb from their pegs, and began working the dust and sweat from the stallion's flanks. Thunder shifted and snorted, but he stood steady, as though he, too, had something to prove. Sir Roland stepped closer and lifted his chin toward the near foreleg. "Lift that hoof." I did, bracing my shoulder against Thunder's side and cradling the hoof in both hands. A small stone had wedged itself beside the shoe. I worked it free with my thumb and set the hoof down gently. Sir Roland said nothing for a long moment. Then: "Better than I expected." I suspected it was the closest thing to praise I would hear from him for some time. "The last squire who rode through those gates lasted nine days," he said, turning toward the keep. "A fine rider, and a poor listener. He went home with his pride in pieces. I would prefer you did not follow him. Rise before the bell. The training yard, at first light. Bring your shield arm and your humility, for you will need both." He strode off without a backward glance, boots ringing on the cobbles. I stood alone beside Thunder as the dusk deepened, and I resolved that I would not be the next squire to fail. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Whispers in the Straw" data-color="blue"> The banners overhead gave way to the deep shadows of the stable yard, and the evening air turned cool and still. The stables were quieter than they ought to have been. No welcoming whinny greeted us, no shuffle of hooves against wood, only the faint crackle of a lantern hanging from a beam and the uneasy stamping of horses somewhere within. Thunder stopped at the threshold and would not go farther. His ears flattened, then swung toward the far end of the building, where the shadows gathered thickest. He blew out a long breath and tossed his head. "Easy," I murmured, pressing a hand to his neck. "It's only a stable." "Is it?" The voice came from the gloom. A man stepped into the lantern light, lean and gray-cloaked, his face weathered like old leather and a long scar tracing one cheek. The hilt of a sword peeked from beneath his cloak. His eyes were pale and steady. "Sir Roland," he said, with a bow so brief it was almost a nod. "Knight of these lands. You're the new squire. Frederick, is it?" "Yes, Sir. How did you know my name?" "Nothing arrives at this castle unnoticed, least of all after dark." His gaze moved to Thunder, whose eyes rolled white toward the shadows. "Your horse doesn't care for this place, does he?" "He's never been skittish before." "He isn't skittish, lad. He's listening." Sir Roland stepped nearer, and for a moment I thought he meant to lay a hand on the stallion, but he only studied the darkness beyond the stalls. "Horses know things before men do. Mine grew restless three nights ago. Wouldn't eat, wouldn't settle. I've yet to learn what they heard." Something in the way he said it made me shiver, despite the warmth still clinging to the day. He lifted the lantern from its hook and gestured toward the back wall, where ancient stones lay blackened with age and smoke. "These walls were standing long before the keep above us. Older than the kingdom, some say. There are marks upon them, if you know where to look." I followed the light. Near the base of the wall, half-buried in straw, something caught the glow: a curved shape, larger than my palm, its surface shimmering faintly like oil on water. A scale. I was certain of it, though I had never seen one before, not even among the faded tapestries of my home. "Don't touch it," Sir Roland said quietly. "Not yet." "What is it?" He was silent for a long moment. Even the horses seemed to hold their breath. "There hasn't been a dragon seen in these hills for three hundred years," he said at last. "That is what the scholars will tell you. The people of the valley tell a different tale, one they whisper only after dark." He hung the lantern back upon its hook, and the shadows crept closer. "Get some rest, Frederick. Tomorrow your training begins. And tomorrow night, if you have any sense, you won't come back to the stables alone." </nc-section>