Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94KK4CGTPBDKSCMTKC3JYK

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> As I pulled Thunder to a halt near the hay-filled stalls, a massive silhouette stepped out from the flickering torchlight of the stables. It was Sir Roland. His armor, scarred from a dozen campaigns, caught the dying sunlight like cooling embers. He didn't offer a smile; instead, he crossed his gauntleted arms over his chest, his eyes measuring me with the cold precision of a blacksmith assessing raw iron. "You’re late, Frederick," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "In this castle, time is the difference between a sharp blade and a throat slit in the dark. Dismount. Let’s see if your hands are more suited for a sword or a shovel." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Seasoned Veteran" data-color="green"> The smell of fresh cedar and old leather wafted from the stables as I dismounted, my boots thudding softly on the packed earth. Sir Roland was already there, patiently rubbing down a grey mare with a handful of straw. He looked up, his weathered face breaking into a web of wrinkles as he offered a weary but genuine nod. He wiped his hands on a grease-stained tunic and stepped forward. "Steady there, lad," he said softly, reaching out to pat Thunder’s neck. "The road from the valley is a long one for a horse and rider both. Ease the cinch and get him some water. Once the beast is cared for, we’ll talk about your future. A knight is only as good as the animal beneath him, after all." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Orderly Reception" data-color="blue"> I reached the courtyard just as the evening bells began to chime, their resonance echoing against the high stone arches. Standing by the stable entrance was Sir Roland, looking every bit the paragon of the Order in his polished blue surcoat. He stood with a rigid, military grace, watching my approach with a keen, analytical gaze. When I drew near, he offered a sharp, formal salute. "Squire Frederick," he announced, his voice carrying the authority of his rank. "Your arrival has been anticipated. The path you have chosen is one of discipline and ancient tradition. Do not let the beauty of these walls deceive you; the work ahead is grueling. Leave your mount with the grooms and report to me in the hall of lanterns. Your training begins at dawn." </nc-section>