Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5VNSWWG41CT7D6B05HQCV

<nc-section data-title="The Mentor's Gaze" data-color="red"> The air shifted as Thunder's hooves clattered onto the cobblestones of the outer yard. A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped from the shadow of the stables, his burnished steel breastplate catching the dying light like a sliver of the sun. This was Sir Roland, and his presence was a physical weight. He didn't smile. His eyes, the color of cold slate, scanned me from my travel-stained boots to my wind-tousled hair. "Frederick," he said, his voice a low rumble that held no welcome, only assessment. "They said you'd be soft. Dismount. We begin now." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="A Familiar Welcome" data-color="green"> As I slid from Thunder's back, my legs aching from the long ride, a warm chuckle echoed from the stable doorway. Sir Roland leaned against the frame, his armor replaced by a simple leather tunic. A genuine smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, which held the kindness of a man who remembered his own first day. "Frederick, at last!" he boomed, striding forward to clasp my shoulder firmly. "Your father wrote you had a good seat. That's a fine animal. Let's get him settled, and then I'll show you where you'll be laying your head. The real work can wait until morning." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="An Ambivalent Meeting" data-color="blue"> The towering silhouette of Sir Roland waited for me by the water trough, his expression unreadable in the twilight. He watched silently as I dismounted, his gaze thoughtful. "Squire Frederick," he acknowledged, his tone neutral, neither warm nor cold. He gestured to a stable boy who darted forward to take Thunder's reins. "The journey was long?" he asked, a simple question that felt like a test. "Rest tonight. At dawn, report to the training grounds. Do not be late." He turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone, unsure if I had passed or failed my first, silent examination. </nc-section>