Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9E2WV5P7Q6SV5Y9C8FR09

<nc-section data-title="Version 1 (red): A Measured Welcome" data-color="red"> Sir Roland stood beside the low wooden fence that ringed the stables, one gauntleted hand resting on the post, the other shading his eyes as he watched Thunder's broad flank. When Frederick swept up to a stop, the knight's face broke into a small, guarded smile. "You must be Frederick," he said, voice even and practiced. "Welcome to Greywarden Keep. Leave your reins; I'll see to your mount. Then you'll come with me—there are rules and duties you will learn before any sword touches your hand." He inclined his head and, with an officer's courtesy, introduced himself. "Sir Roland of the Northmarch. I take the care of new squires personally. If you want to be a knight, you'll need more than courage: patience, discipline, and the habit of listening. Follow me when you're ready. We'll begin with the stable chores—there's no better teacher of responsibility than mucking a stall at dawn." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2 (green): A Warm Salute" data-color="green"> The knight's laugh reached Frederick before his figure did: a rich, rolling sound that made Thunder prick his ears. Sir Roland ambled out from between two shadowed doors, armor scuffed, a cloak spattered with mud from some distant patrol. He clapped a broad hand on Frederick's shoulder so unexpectedly that the young squire nearly spilled from the saddle. "Ha! You ride like a man who means to enjoy life," Roland said, eyes twinkling. "And what a beast you've brought—Thunder, is it? Good name. We've room for one more soul who knows a horse's temper." He tossed a coin to a stableboy, who darted forward with a grin, and then offered Frederick a flask wrapped in leather. "First night at the castle, here's a drop to steady you—nonetheless, you'll earn your keep. Help feed and groom your mount, learn the castle's ways, and don't let the cook catch you near the pantry before supper." His tone was teasing, but underneath it lay the steady backbone of a man who would not let a fledgling fail if he could help it. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3 (blue): A Cautious Greeting" data-color="blue"> Sir Roland's silhouette emerged from the lantern light by the stables, tall and spare as a shadow. He did not smile. Instead he studied Frederick with a slow, appraising look that seemed to measure not the squire's clothes but whatever lay beneath them. "So you are the boy from Ashbridge," he said at last, each word deliberate. "The castle has been expecting you, though that is no comfort in these days." He stepped forward, lowered his voice as if the beams themselves could hear, and nodded toward the stone arch where the servants came and went. "There are things you should know and things you must not ask about yet. Start with the basics—water and oats for Thunder, a clean stall for the night. Eat when you can, sleep when you're told, and watch the western road. We are not a place of idle peace; trouble rides with the dusk." His hand lifted once, brief and formal, signaling both welcome and warning. </nc-section>