Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK2SHJ9QQ65T1GKR1RE0MBY

<nc-section data-title="The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> Thunder slowed to a trot as we entered the inner bailey, the cobblestones echoing under his hooves. Before I could even dismount, a shadow fell over us. Sir Roland stood by the stable doors, his arms crossed over a breastplate scarred by countless battles. His face was a map of old wars, stern and unyielding. "You're late, boy," he barked, his voice cutting through the evening air like a whetstone on steel. "And you ride as if the ground owes you money. Dismount. If you wish to learn the way of the sword here, you must first learn the weight of humility. The horses come before squires in this yard. Tend to Thunder, then report to the armory. Do not make me ask twice." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="A Unexpected Ally" data-color="green"> As I guided Thunder toward the familiar scent of hay and leather, a hearty laugh echoed from the shadows of the stable archway. Sir Roland stepped forward, not with the rigid posture of a disciplinarian, but with the easy grace of a man comfortable in his own skin. He reached out to pat Thunder's neck, murmuring softly to the beast before turning his warm, crinkled eyes to me. "Frederick! I heard the hooves and hoped it was you," he said, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Your father spoke highly of your spirit, though he warned me you might be a bit green. Never fear, lad. The stables are your home now, and I am your guide. Let us get your mount settled; I have a tankard of ale with your name on it once the work is done." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Silent Test" data-color="blue"> The air grew still as I approached the stables, the usual bustle of grooms seemingly hushed by an unseen force. Sir Roland was already there, leaning casually against a wooden post, polishing a gauntlet with a slow, rhythmic motion. He didn't look up as I arrived, nor did he speak. He simply watched my reflection in the metal of his glove. I slid off Thunder, my heart pounding, wondering if I had committed some unknown infraction. Finally, he stopped polishing and locked eyes with me, his gaze piercing and analytical. "You handle the reins well," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying immense weight. "But a knight is judged by how he treats the silence as much as the storm. Unsaddle him without a sound. If I hear a single buckle clatter, you start again. Begin." </nc-section>