Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVP7RSRJ66ZF6MJV189WSKK

<nc-section data-title="Version 1" data-color="red"> I pulled gently on Thunder's reins, bringing my mighty steed to a halt before the cavernous wooden arches of the castle stables. The rich scent of hay, damp earth, and oiled leather hit my nose, grounding me in the reality of my arrival. As I swung out of the saddle, a hulking figure stepped from the shadows of the stalls. It was Sir Roland. Even without his full plate armor, the knight cut an imposing silhouette against the dying light, his broad shoulders draped in a crimson tunic bearing the royal crest. His face was a map of old battle scars, yet his eyes held a surprising warmth as he looked me up and down. "A fine beast you ride, boy," Roland rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "I am Sir Roland. Let us see if the rider possesses half the mettle of his mount. Welcome to your new life, Frederick." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> The courtyard before the stables was a hive of activity, even at dusk. Stablehands ran to and fro, carrying buckets of oats and fresh water. I guided Thunder toward an empty hitching post, feeling entirely overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the fortress, until a booming, jovial voice shattered my anxious thoughts. "Ho there, traveler! That's a long road you wash from your boots!" Sir Roland emerged from an adjacent stall, casually wiping down his own massive, gray destrier with a cloth. He tossed the rag over a wooden beam and strode toward me. He was older than the ballads suggested, his hair graying at the temples, but his grip was like a vice when he took my hand. "I am Sir Roland," he said with a wide, weathered grin. "You must be young Frederick. Grab a brush, lad. A squire's training begins from the ground up, starting with the dirt on his horse." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> As the twilight deepened to a bruised purple, I led Thunder onto the cobblestones surrounding the royal stables. The evening air was cool, carrying the promise of the harsh trials that awaited me within these legendary walls. Leaning against a massive oak post was a man of quiet authority. Sir Roland, the local knight and master of squires, watched me approach with steely, discerning eyes that seemed to pierce right through my youthful bravado. He didn't speak immediately, taking his time to evaluate how I handled my exhausted stallion. Finally, he pushed himself off the post, his chainmail chiming softly beneath his surcoat. "The journey has tired you both, Frederick, but the true climb begins tomorrow," Sir Roland said, his tone even, carrying the weight of a thousand battlefields. "I am Sir Roland. See your horse fed, then report to the barracks. Your childhood is officially behind you." </nc-section>