Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5XEEDS7K7K7MRF84630Y9

<nc-section data-title="The Old Knight's Welcome" data-color="red"> Frederick reined Thunder in with a gentle pull, the great beast snorting plumes of steam into the chill evening air before the stable yard's cobblestones. A man emerged from the shadows of the stone archway, his movements precise and heavy with the weight of plate and mail. It was Sir Roland, his face a landscape of old scars and harder lines etched by decades of campaign sun. He didn't smile. "Frederick of Greenfield," the knight's voice was a low grind, like stone on stone. "Your lateness precedes you. The hour for gentle welcomes is past. Dismount. Your first lesson begins now: a noble's steed is his second self. Tend to yours as if your life depends on it. It will." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="A Greeting in the Golden Hour" data-color="green"> Frederick guided a weary but proud Thunder into the bustling stable yard, the last of the sunset painting the wooden beams and straw in hues of amber and gold. A figure stepped into the light, the simple but well-kept surcoat over his mail gleaming. Sir Roland's face, though bearing the marks of time, was softened by a keen, observant kindness in his eyes. "Ah, you've made it before dark. Good," Sir Roland said, his voice carrying a warm, steady tone. He offered a nod of respect to the horse first, running an appreciative hand down Thunder's neck. "A fine companion for your journey, Squire Frederick. Let's get him settled. A rider is only as good as the trust between him and his mount. We'll start there." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Watchful Guardian" data-color="blue"> Frederick dismounted at the quiet, ordered edge of the stable yard, the castle walls casting long, cool shadows. Sir Roland was already there, not as a greeter but as a fixed point of observation, leaning against a post with an air of silent assessment. His gaze, a sharp and penetrating blue, missed nothing—the state of Frederick's travel-stained clothes, the careful way he handled his reins, the mix of fatigue and awe in his eyes. "You are Frederick," Sir Roland stated, a simple fact offered without inflection. He pushed off from the post, his armor whispering. "The stables are in order. See that you and your animal become part of it. We observe before we act here. Watch how things are done. Tonight, you watch." </nc-section>