Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8W3HAV40G9T55CT1MGCMAN

<nc-section data-title="The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> The local knight, Sir Roland, stood like a statue of weathered oak near the stables, his arms crossed over his chestplate. As Frederick dismounted, the knight’s piercing grey eyes tracked his every move, missing nothing—the unsure grip on the reins, the dust on his boots. "Frederick," Sir Roland said, his voice a low rumble that carried over the snorting of the horses. "We've heard you are eager. Eagerness is a flame that can warm a hall or burn it down. Your training begins at dawn. Do not be late." He turned on his heel, the implicit challenge hanging in the air like the scent of impending rain. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="A Welcoming Hand" data-color="green"> The local knight, Sir Roland, was brushing down a chestnut mare when Frederick approached the stables. He looked up, a genuine smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Ah, you must be Frederick," he said, setting the brush aside and offering a firm, calloused hand. "Welcome. A long ride, I imagine. Let's get Thunder settled; he's a fine animal. This place," he said, gesturing to the bustling castle grounds, "can seem vast and cold at first. But every stone here has a story, and we are all part of the next chapter. Come, I'll show you where you'll sleep." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Weight of Tradition" data-color="blue"> The local knight, Sir Roland, awaited Frederick near the stone arch of the stables, his posture erect, his surcoat bearing the faded crest of the kingdom. He gave a slight, formal nod as the young squire halted. "Squire Frederick," he intoned, his voice calm but carrying the gravity of years. "You arrive at a time of quiet, but quiet is not emptiness. It is the space where duty is born. The stables are not just for horses; they are your first lesson in care, in stewardship. The care you show here echoes in the care you will one day show your people. Attend me." </nc-section>