Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VBDWN2N5NHTQ4RAQ2368P

<nc-section data-title="The Greeting" data-color="red"> Frederick dismounted Thunder, his muscles aching from the long ride. As he led the stallion towards the stables, a figure emerged from the deepening twilight. Sir Roland, his armor gleaming dully, stood with arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp as flint. "Frederick of Oakendale," he said, his voice a low rumble that carried no warmth. "We've been expecting you. The stables are no place for dallying. Your training begins at dawn." The words were not a welcome, but a command that hung heavily in the cool evening air. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Greeting" data-color="green"> The sweet, familiar smell of hay and horses greeted Frederick as he led Thunder towards the stable block. A broad-shouldered man in a worn leather jerkin was brushing down a chestnut mare. He looked up, his face breaking into a warm, crinkled smile that reached his eyes. "You must be Frederick," Sir Roland said, setting aside the brush and wiping his hands on his trousers. "Welcome. Let's get Thunder settled. A good horse deserves a good rubdown, and a good squire deserves a warm meal. There's time for formalities later." His tone was as easy and comforting as the evening breeze rustling through the paddock. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Greeting" data-color="blue"> Frederick slid from the saddle, the castle's towering silhouette casting long, cool shadows over the stable yard. A knight in a blue surcoat embroidered with a silver falcon awaited him, his posture erect and formal. "Squire Frederick," Sir Roland stated, his voice clear and measured, devoid of excess emotion. "I am Sir Roland, Master of the Stables and your designated instructor. Your arrival is noted. The groom will see to your mount. You are to report to the Great Hall for induction before the final bell." He gave a slight, precise nod, turning the simple greeting into a somber ceremony of arrival. </nc-section>