Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVPAW8RY3XQ3XBMZ0RMGAKF

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Imposing Greeting" data-color="red"> I pulled gently on Thunder's reins, bringing the great stallion to a trot and finally a halt in the cobblestone courtyard. The earthy scent of hay and horse sweat wafted from the nearby stables. As I slid from the saddle, a hulking figure stepped out from the shadows of the timber-framed barn. Clad in a heavy chainmail hauberk and a tunic bearing the royal crest, Sir Roland crossed his massive, scarred arms. "You must be the new blood," his voice boomed, deep and resonant enough to rattle the stable doors. "Frederick, isn't it? Let's see if you have the mettle to match that fine beast of yours." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Weary Veteran" data-color="green"> The rhythmic clatter of Thunder's hooves slowed to a heavy walk as we approached the castle's sprawling stables. Stablehands scurried about their evening chores, but my attention was instantly captured by a lone man leaning casually against a wooden post. Sir Roland was older than the tales had suggested, his beard streaked with slate-gray and his face deeply lined by years of harsh winters and brutal campaigns. He was polishing the brass pommel of his broadsword, though his piercing, eagle-like gaze never left me as I dismounted. "A long ride for a young boy," Roland grunted, setting his polishing cloth aside. "Welcome to the real world, Squire Frederick. Tie off the stallion; your training begins the moment your boots hit the dirt." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Lantern-lit Meeting" data-color="blue"> I steered Thunder toward the warm, lantern-lit archways of the royal stables, the twilight casting long, dancing shadows across the courtyard. Before I could even call out for a stable boy, a sprawling silhouette emerged from the golden hour glow. It was Sir Roland. I recognized him instantly from the legendary silver crest on his breastplate. He walked with a slight, deliberate limp—a souvenir from the early Border Skirmishes—but still carried himself with the indomitable presence of a mountain. "Easy there," Roland said softly, gently taking Thunder's bridle before turning his stern, evaluating eyes on me. "I am Sir Roland. I hope you brought more than just childhood dreams of glory, Frederick, for a true knight is forged in mud and sweat, not in tavern songs." </nc-section>