Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQE44AC658VKRD6HZAHM8E

<nc-section data-title="A Harsh Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder, my boots sinking slightly into the damp earth, a gruff voice cut through the evening air like a blade. **"You’re late, boy."** Sir Roland stood before me, arms crossed over his scarred breastplate, his dark beard streaked with silver. His piercing gaze swept over me, lingering on my travel-worn cloak. **"The stablemaster doesn’t wait for stragglers. Neither do I."** He stepped closer, the scent of iron and sweat clinging to him. **"Prove you’re worth the food you’ll eat. Tack down your horse—*properly*—then meet me in the training yard. If I find so much as a loose strap, you’ll scrub every chamber pot in the barracks."** With that, he turned on his heel, his cloak swirling like a storm cloud. My hands trembled as I reached for Thunder’s reins. </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="A Measure of Respect" data-color="green"> The clatter of hooves on cobblestone announced my arrival before I’d even slid from Thunder’s back. A tall figure emerged from the stable’s shadowed entrance, his polished greaves gleaming in the torchlight. **"Sir Frederick, I presume?"** Sir Roland’s voice was warm, if weary, his calloused hand extending to clasp my forearm in a warrior’s grip. **"Your father wrote of your eagerness. It’s rare to see a squire arrive *before* the evening bell."** He chuckled, gesturing for a stableboy to take Thunder. **"Walk with me. The castle’s bones remember every knight who’s served her—some with honor, others… less so."** As we strode toward the barracks, he pointed to a weathered plaque bearing the crest of a long-dead hero. **"Tell me, boy—what kind of mark do you intend to leave?"** </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="A Test Unspoken" data-color="blue"> I had barely loosened Thunder’s girth when a gloved hand clamped onto my shoulder, spinning me around. Sir Roland’s face was unreadable, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s. **"You ride well for a farm boy,"** he murmured, plucking a strand of hay from my sleeve. **"But skill with a horse isn’t skill with a sword."** Without warning, he drew his dagger and tossed it—*hilt-first*—at my feet. **"Pick it up."** My pulse roared in my ears as I obeyed, the weight unfamiliar in my grip. **"Now show me how you’d defend yourself if I were a bandit on the road."** The torchlight flickered, casting long shadows as he circled me like a wolf. **"Remember, boy: hesitation is death. *Prove* you belong here."** </nc-section>