Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK1JQ2CFFPJ95PEZYPMD9NS

<nc-section data-title="The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> Thunder skidded to a halt in the dusty courtyard, hooves kicking up clouds of grit that danced in the dying light. Before I could even dismount, a shadow fell over us, long and imposing. Sir Roland stood by the stable doors, his arms crossed over a chest plate scarred by a hundred battles. He did not smile. His eyes, hard as flint, scanned me from my mud-splattered boots to the nervous grip I had on the reins. "So, this is the new squire," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "You ride with the confidence of a king but the posture of a scarecrow. Dismount, boy. If you cannot care for your beast, you have no place caring for a blade." The air grew heavy with the weight of his expectation, a silent challenge that made my heart hammer against my ribs. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Unexpected Mentor" data-color="green"> As I slid from Thunder's back, my legs trembling slightly from the long ride, a warm hand clapped onto my shoulder. I looked up to see Sir Roland, the kingdom's most celebrated knight, beaming with a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He smelled of hay and old leather, a comforting scent that instantly eased my tension. "Frederick, isn't it?" he asked, his voice bright and welcoming. "I've been expecting you. Your father spoke highly of your spirit." He took Thunder's reins from my shaking hands with practiced ease. "Come, let's get this magnificent creature settled. The stables are warm tonight, and I suspect you could use a bowl of stew before we discuss your training. Here, things are not as rigid as the stories say." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Silent Observation" data-color="blue"> The courtyard was quiet, save for the rhythmic crunch of gravel under Thunder's hooves as I brought him to a stop. Near the arched entrance of the stables, Sir Roland waited. He said nothing as I approached, merely observing my technique with a gaze that felt piercingly analytical. He was a man of few words, I realized quickly; his reputation preceded him, but his presence was defined by a stillness that was far more intimidating than any shout. As I finally secured the reins to the post, he stepped forward, inspecting the saddle girth with a gloved finger. "Adequate," he murmured, the single word hanging in the cool evening air. "But adequacy will not save you when the dragons return. Follow me. We begin at dawn." </nc-section>