Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94PVYCWCMBM3GYY3YVDRVH

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Trial of Dirt" data-color="red"> As I dismounted, the heavy scent of hay and wet stone filled my lungs. A tall man with a face like weather-beaten leather stepped out from the shadows of the stable eaves. His armor was chipped, bearing the scars of a dozen skirmishes. "You're late, boy," Sir Roland spat, not looking up from the whetstone he was running along a dagger. He finally turned his gaze toward me, his eyes cold and assessing. "Thunder looks like he’s had a decent run, but if you expect a warm bed and a full flagon before you've seen to your own mount, you've come to the wrong castle. A squire is only as good as the steel he carries and the beast he rides. Get to work." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Veteran's Welcome" data-color="green"> The stables were a hive of activity, but Sir Roland stood amidst the chaos like an ancient oak in a storm. He was unbuckling the girth of his own mare when he spotted me. A slow, genuine smile broke across his bearded face. "Ha! The young Frederick, at last," he boomed, his voice echoing off the timber beams. He walked over and slapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but welcoming. "You’ve got your father’s eyes, lad, and a fine horse to boot. Thunder, is it? He’s a beauty. Come, settle him in. Once the dust is brushed off, we'll see if you've got the stomach for the training ahead. There’s much to teach you before the moon turns." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Duty of the Shield" data-color="blue"> The rhythmic clink of a hammer on an anvil provided the soundtrack as I approached the stable entrance. Standing tall and rigid near the mounting block was Sir Roland, clad in a surcoat of deep navy that matched the banners atop the ramparts. He waited until I had fully halted before stepping forward with measured grace. "Squire Frederick," he said, his voice a calm, resonant baritone. "You enter these gates not merely as a guest, but as a servant of the realm. Honor begins in the simplest of places—here, among the straw and the tack. Tend to your stallion, then report to the armory. Today your life as a boy ends, and your journey toward knighthood begins. Do not let the crown down." </nc-section>