Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB09E35GG623GFZVPWWEME

<nc-section data-title="Stables and Steel" data-color="red"> Thunder’s hooves skidded to a halt before the stone stables, their clatter cutting through the dusk. I fumbled to dismount, my gloves slipping on the saddle, when a shadow loomed beside me. Sir Roland loomed taller than I’d imagined—broad as an oak, his chainmail creaking like a ship’s rigging, a gash across his left cheek still pink with age. He didn’t smile, but his eyes—sharp as a blacksmith’s tongs—locked onto mine. “Frederick,” he rumbled, his voice a low growl that vibrated in my bones. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, the blow hard enough to make me grunt. “Your horse’s got spirit. Good. Arrogant squires get themselves killed faster than slow ones, but spirit… spirit can be trained. Or broken. Your choice.” He nodded at the stables, where a mare nickered, her foal nuzzling her flank. “The grooms’ll see you settled. But first—you eat. Then you meet the armory. Swords don’t care if you’re tired.