Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPBVRY5JTJ3ERAWPZYVW70

<nc-section data-title="A Harsh Welcome" data-color="red"> Thunder’s hooves clattered to a halt as a towering figure emerged from the shadows of the stables, his armor still streaked with the grime of battle. Sir Roland’s reputation as the kingdom’s most ruthless knight preceded him—his piercing gaze alone could make seasoned warriors flinch. He crossed his arms, the gauntlets creaking ominously, and fixed me with a look that felt like a blade pressed to my throat. *"You’re late, boy,"* he growled, voice rough as gravel. *"The King doesn’t tolerate tardiness, and neither do I. If you’re to survive here, you’ll learn that first."* He stepped closer, the scent of iron and sweat thick in the air. *"Dismount. Now."* My fingers trembled as I obeyed, but I forced my chin up. I wouldn’t cower—not on my first day. Sir Roland’s lip curled, as if he could smell fear. *"Good. You’ve got spine. We’ll see if it lasts."* He turned on his heel, barking over his shoulder, *"Stable your horse, then meet me in the training yard. You’ve got five minutes. Don’t disappoint me again."* </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="A Measure of Respect" data-color="green"> The stables were bathed in golden twilight when a broad-shouldered man stepped into view, his polished armor gleaming dully in the fading light. Sir Roland was older than I’d expected, his dark beard streaked with silver, but his stance was that of a man half his age—alert, commanding, yet not unkind. He offered a nod, not quite a smile, but something warmer than I’d dared hope for. *"Frederick, I presume?"* His voice was deep, measured. *"Your father wrote of your arrival. Said you’ve a keen mind and a steady hand."* He reached out, taking Thunder’s reins with practiced ease. *"A fine beast you’ve got here. Treated him well, I see."* I swallowed, surprised by the praise. *"Th-thank you, sir. My father taught me—"* *"Aye, Aldric was a good man."* Sir Roland’s expression softened for a heartbeat before he clapped me on the shoulder. *"Come, let’s get your horse settled. Then I’ll show you to the barracks. You’ll want to rest before tomorrow—training under me isn’t for the faint of heart."* There was a glint in his eye, not of cruelty, but of challenge. *"But I’ve a feeling you’ll do just fine."* </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="A Test of Mettle" data-color="blue"> I had barely swung down from Thunder’s back when a blur of motion caught my eye—a lance of steel flashed, pressing against my throat before I could gasp. Sir Roland stood before me, his sword unsheathed, his face unreadable. The stables around us seemed to hold their breath. *"First rule of knighthood, squire,"* he said, voice calm as still water. *"Always be aware of your surroundings. A distracted man is a dead man."* The blade didn’t waver. *"Now. What do you do?"* My pulse roared in my ears, but I forced myself to think. Slowly, I raised my hands, showing them empty. *"I yield, sir. And I’ll remember the lesson."* The sword lowered, and Sir Roland sheathed it with a sharp *click*. His lips twitched—almost a smile. *"Good answer. Most boys your age would’ve reached for their dagger or begged for mercy."* He turned, gesturing for me to follow. *"Walk with me. You’ve got much to learn, Frederick. But if you’re half as clever as you are quick, you might just survive this place."* The challenge in his tone was clear: *Prove yourself.*