<nc-section data-title="The Burden of Steel" data-color="red"> The gates of Blackwood Keep loomed ahead, their stone worn smooth by centuries of wind and time. I guided Thunder into the bustling courtyard, searching for the stables amidst the chaos. There, amidst the clatter of buckets and the creak of leather, stood a knight whose armor was dented and scratched. Sir Roland, a man whose reputation preceded him as a slayer of beasts, stepped forward, his visor lifted to reveal eyes that held the weight of a thousand battles. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Whisper of Green" data-color="green"> Thunder’s hooves churned the dirt as I brought him to a stop before the west wing of the keep, where the air smelled of sweet hay and cedar. The stables were immaculate, the stalls lined with fresh rushes that crunched softly underfoot. Standing by the door, holding a bridle meant for a younger horse, was Sir Roland. He had the quiet demeanor of a healer rather than a warrior, offering me a small, weary smile that spoke of patience rather than brawn. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Winter’s Blessing" data-color="blue"> A sudden chill ran through the courtyard as I tethered Thunder to the post, the late afternoon mist clinging to the damp cobblestones. The stable was shadowy, smelling of leather and wet wool. Standing in the center of the aisle, illuminated only by a dying lantern, was Sir Roland. He looked like a statue carved from ice, his movements deliberate and controlled as he extended a gloved hand to help me down from the saddle. </nc-section>