Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5V232X305A0BA11KCCQSW

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="red"> Frederick, a young squire, arrives at the castle to begin his training. My horse, a majestic stallion named Thunder, galloped across the open field. The wind whipped through my hair as I rode towards the castle gates. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the stone walls. I could see the banners of the kingdom fluttering in the breeze. As I dismounted heavily in the dusty courtyard, the clatter of my scabbard against my leg seemed unnaturally loud. A shadow fell over me. I turned to see a mountain of a man clad in battered steel, his face a roadmap of old scars and grim experience. Sir Roland did not smile. He looked me up and down with a gaze that felt like a physical weight. "You're the new whelp," he grunted, his voice like grinding stones. "The stables are that way. Tend to your beast. Then find me in the Great Hall. Don't dally." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="green"> Frederick, a young squire, arrives at the castle to begin his training. My horse, a majestic stallion named Thunder, galloped across the open field. The wind whipped through my hair as I rode towards the castle gates. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the stone walls. I could see the banners of the kingdom fluttering in the breeze. I was gently guiding Thunder towards the sprawling stables when a cheerful voice boomed out. "Ho there! You must be Frederick!" Sir罗兰德 strode forward, his armor gleaming even in the fading light and a wide, genuine smile etched on his weathered face. He patted Thunder's flank with a gauntleted hand that was surprisingly gentle. "A fine animal. Come, let's get him settled. I'll show you where the best oats are kept. We've been expecting you, lad. There's much to learn, but we'll start with kindness to your most loyal companion." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="blue"> Frederick, a young squire, arrives at the castle to begin his training. My horse, a majestic stallion named Thunder, galloped across the open field. The wind whipped through my hair as I rode towards the castle gates. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the stone walls. I could see the banners of the kingdom fluttering in the breeze. As I led Thunder into the cool, hay-scented dimness of the stables, a figure detached itself from the shadows. Sir Roland stood with a quiet authority, observing me with thoughtful, calculating eyes. He nodded slowly, more to himself than to me. "Frederick," he said, his voice calm and measured. "Your journey was well-timed. See to your mount. When you are finished, I will be by the training grounds. I wish to assess your footing before supper." He turned to leave, then paused. "Do not rush the grooming. A knight is judged first by the state of his steed." </nc-section>