Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPE52VDMCJ096S9757D8YG

<nc-section data-title="A Harsh Welcome" data-color="red"> Thunder’s hooves clattered against the cobblestones as we neared the stables, his breath steaming in the crisp evening air. Before I could dismount, a gruff voice cut through the quiet. **"You’re late, boy."** A towering figure emerged from the shadows—Sir Roland, his armor still bearing the scars of a hundred battles. His piercing gaze locked onto me, unblinking, as if measuring my worth in a single glance. **"The stablemaster doesn’t wait for stragglers. See to your horse yourself."** He tossed a rusted bucket at my feet, the clang echoing like a challenge. **"And don’t think your noble blood will spare you extra labor here."** I swallowed hard, gripping Thunder’s reins tighter. The weight of Sir Roland’s disdain pressed down on me like a physical force. This was no warm welcome—this was a test. </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="A Knight’s Counsel" data-color="green"> The scent of hay and leather filled the air as I guided Thunder into the stables, my boots crunching on stray straw. A man with silver-streaked hair and a kind but weary face stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of a well-worn sword. **"Frederick, I presume?"** His voice was warm, though his eyes held the sharpness of experience. **"I’m Sir Roland. You’ve got your father’s eyes—steady, but too quick to doubt."** He chuckled, clapping a hand on my shoulder. **"Come, let’s see to your horse. A knight’s first duty is to care for those who carry him into battle."** As we worked, he spoke of the castle’s rhythms—the early drills, the unspoken hierarchies, the weight of honor. **"You’ll learn fast here,"** he said, **"but never faster than the day you realize how much you *don’t* know."** </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="The Shadow of Expectation" data-color="blue"> The stables were eerily quiet when I arrived, the only sound the soft nickering of horses in their stalls. Then—a slow, deliberate applause. I turned to see Sir Roland leaning against a wooden post, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. **"So,"** he drawled, **"the prodigy arrives at last. The son of the great Lord Aldric, sent to prove himself among *common* knights."** His tone was neither mocking nor kind, but something far worse: indifferent. **"Tell me, Frederick—do you ride as well as you *look*?"** Before I could answer, he pushed off the post and strode toward me, his cloak swirling like a storm. **"Strip the saddle. Brush him down. And if Thunder so much as *sneezes* wrong by morning, you’ll answer to me."** He turned away, then paused. **"Oh, and boy? Leave your pride at the door. It’ll only slow you down."** </nc-section>