Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9TCXZVYDWD38MC0XV5DZR

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: Red — Greeting at the Stables" data-color="red"> Thunder stood at the near side of the stable yard as the last light drained from the day. A tall figure stepped into the glow—the local knight, Sir Roland, armor clinking softly, helm tucked under his arm. He studied me with eyes as sharp as a hawk. "Frederick," he said, voice steady but not unkind, "I am Sir Roland of Blackstone, guardian of this ward. You ride in with Thunder and silence in your pockets—prove you belong." He gestured toward the rows of tack. "First lesson: show you can tend a horse and know your gear. Brush Thunder, check the bridle, keep your hands steady." I stepped closer to Thunder's warm flank; the horse snorted and nosed my sleeve, as if judging me. Sir Roland laid a gloved hand on the stall door. "Keep your wits about you, Frederick. The road to knighthood is long and never easy." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: Green — A Steady Test" data-color="green"> Sir Roland steps from the shadow of the stable wall, lantern lifting a warm pool of light over the troughs. The clink of his armor echoes softly as he studies me, then offers a dry, even smile. "Evening, Frederick. I am Sir Roland, your local guardian and your first true test," he says. "You rode in with the wind and a dragon's rumor in your boots. Let us see if you can prove you belong here." He glides along Thunder's stall, laying a hand on the horse's neck. "First task: lead Thunder to the mounting block, help the groom with the harness, and show you know your gear." Thunder's breath steamed in the air, and the stable smelled of hay and rain. I did as told, and when I looked back, Sir Roland's expression had softened just a fraction. "Not bad, Frederick. Not bad at all." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: Blue — Lessons Begin" data-color="blue"> Near the stalls, the lantern light washed Sir Roland in pale blue. He stepped from the shadows, visor tucked under his arm, and his gaze met mine with a quiet scrutiny. "Frederick," he said, bowing his head slightly, "I am Sir Roland. You dream of sashes and banners, but the truest knight begins by earning trust—the horse's trust, the groom's trust, your own." He reached out to stroke Thunder's nose, and the great beast nudged against his gauntleted hand as if recognizing an ally. Thunder's breath fogged in the air while Sir Roland continued: "Choose your work now—brush the coat, fetch the tack, check the cinch. If you keep your breath even and your hands patient, we will talk of your future." A gust rattled the stable doors, and the night seemed to listen as if waiting for a dragon's sigh to answer. </nc-section>