Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVPEKKPT6XJRT7YD6NDX8W4

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Veteran" data-color="red"> I pulled back on Thunder's reins, bringing the great stallion to a snorting halt near the vast timber outbuildings. Before my boots even hit the cobblestones, a towering figure emerged from the shadowy threshold of the stables. "Easy there, boy," a resonant voice boomed, though whether it was directed at me or the horse, I couldn't immediately tell. It was Sir Roland, the local knight, clad in a battered surcoat with his arms crossed over a barrel chest. A weathered scar ran down his cheek, catching the dying light of the sun, and his assessing gaze pinned me in place. "So, you're the new blood," he stated, stepping forward to inspect me with a discerning eye. "Welcome to the real work, squire." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Gracious Mentor" data-color="green"> The scent of fresh hay, oiled leather, and horse sweat greeted me as I guided Thunder toward the warmth of the stables. Waiting by the open courtyard was a broad-shouldered man tending to a chestnut mare. He paused, wiping oil from his hands with a scrap of linen cloth, and turned to me with a warm, wrinkled smile. He wore the casual tunic of a man hard at work rather than his shining armor, but the noble, confident bearing of Sir Roland was unmistakable. "Frederick, is it?" he asked gently, stepping forward to pat Thunder's lathered neck. "A fine beast you've rode in on. I am Sir Roland. Let us get him watered and brushed, and then we'll see if you are quite as sturdy as your mount." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Formal Encounter" data-color="blue"> Twilight began to settle as I guided Thunder beneath the archway of the royal stables, the clatter of hooves echoing softly against the ancient stone. There, bathed in the soft, flickering light of a newly lit wall torch, stood Sir Roland. He was a legend made flesh, standing with an easy stillness that belonged only to master swordsmen. As I dismounted, my bones aching from the long ride, he offered a solemn but respectful nod. "The journey has not broken your spirit, I see," Sir Roland observed, his voice smooth and steady as the evening breeze. He extended a leather-gloved hand toward me. "I am Roland. Leave your mount to the stable boys, Frederick. Come inside; your true trials begin the moment the sun falls." </nc-section>