Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKABHP108WCWH2V9A4WSWYT

<nc-section data-title="Version 1 — A Warm Welcome" data-color="red"> Sir Roland stood beneath the eaves of the stables, a broad silhouette against the dying light. He was older than the portraits in the great hall made him out to be — hair shot through with silver, armor worn soft where a lifetime of service had polished it — and when he smiled it folded the years into something gentle. "Welcome to Castle Briar," he said, stepping forward with an easy stride. He reached out to the stallion, his calloused hand lingering on Thunder's flank as if to judge the mettle of both horse and rider. "You've made a fine ride of it. Come, lad—there are warm beds and better bread waiting, but tomorrow you will learn the blade and the burden that comes with it. Rest yourself; tomorrow the real training begins." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2 — The Test" data-color="green"> Sir Roland emerged from shadow as Thunder stamped and blew steam into the cooling air, his gauntleted hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had seen its share of battles. He studied Frederick with the kind of scrutiny that measured more than the cut of one's doublet — it passed over the horse, the saddle, the steadiness in a young man's eyes. "You are the squire they've spoken of?" His voice was low, edged like the blade at his hip. Without waiting for an answer he produced a scrap of parchment and a coin, turned them palm-up and asked, "What would you give for honor: a name, a blade, or a secret?" There was no malice in the question, only a promise that answers here were earned, and the sunset caught the ridge of his jaw like a warning. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3 — A Quiet Omen" data-color="blue"> Near the stalls Sir Roland leaned against a post and watched Frederick with an appraising eye that softened when Thunder nuzzled his hand. "Ah," he said, sounding almost pleased. "The stable's full of new faces, but it's not often one arrives with a horse like that." He rubbed the horse's muzzle, then looked back at Frederick, his tone warming into something almost conspiratorial. "Keep that steed close—good horses have a way of keeping you alive. If you're to be a squire at Briar, you'll learn more than swordplay; you'll learn to listen when the world is quiet. There are old things in these hills that wake when evening comes. For now, help me saddle the mounts and I'll show you to your room; in the morrow we'll see what you're made of." </nc-section>