Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPZT53BR8GVEWP20A70QNB

<nc-section data-title="A Harsh Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder, my boots sinking slightly into the damp earth, a shadow fell over me. I turned to see Sir Roland, his armor still gleaming despite the fading light, though his expression was as cold as steel. His gauntleted hand gripped the hilt of his sword, knuckles white. "You're late, boy," he growled, his voice like gravel. "The stable hands left for the evening an hour ago. You’ll tend to your own horse—*properly*—before reporting to the barracks. And if I find so much as a speck of dirt on that saddle tomorrow, you’ll scrub every latrine in the keep with your toothbrush." He turned on his heel, his cloak swirling behind him like a storm cloud. "Move." </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="A Test of Worth" data-color="green"> The moment my feet touched the ground, a firm hand clapped my shoulder. I spun to face Sir Roland, his weathered face creased into a grin that didn’t quite reach his sharp eyes. "Ah, so you’re the new squire everyone’s talking about," he said, his voice warm but laced with something unreadable. "Frederick, isn’t it?" Before I could answer, he tossed me a brush from his belt. "Prove to me you’re worth my time. That stallion of yours looks like he’s been through a war—clean him up, then meet me in the training yard. If you’re as quick with a sword as you are with excuses, we might just get along." He winked, but the challenge in his gaze was unmistakable. </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="A Whisper of Warning" data-color="blue"> The clatter of hooves on cobblestone announced my arrival, and before I could steady Thunder, a figure emerged from the stables’ shadows. Sir Roland stood there, his armor polished to a mirror sheen, but his face was drawn, his eyes flickering toward the castle’s highest tower. "Frederick," he murmured, his voice low and urgent. "You’ve come at a dangerous time. The king’s health fails, and the court is a viper’s nest. Trust no one—not even the pages or the cooks." He hesitated, then pressed a small, worn key into my palm. "The old armory, beneath the eastern tower. Go there *only* if you hear the ravens cry at midnight. And for the gods’ sake, keep that beast of yours quiet." With that, he melted back into the darkness, leaving me with more questions than answers. </nc-section>