Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ954DX3TJTK0JNRRJXA5Y5F

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Veteran's Grit" data-color="red"> "Steady there, lad," a voice boomed as I pulled Thunder to a halt. A man with shoulders as broad as an oak tree stood by the stable doors, wiping grease from a heavy gauntlet. This was Sir Roland, a knight whose scars told more stories than any bard. He didn't offer a hand, only a sharp, appraising look. "A fine beast, but can he run on three hours of sleep? Because that’s all you’ll be getting here. Clean him up, then find me in the courtyard. Your training doesn't start tomorrow; it starts when the sun hits that horizon." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Knight's Welcome" data-color="green"> The scent of dry hay and leather filled the air as I approached the stables. A silver-haired man leaned against a wooden post, watching my approach with a faint, knowing smile. He stepped forward, his armor gleaming even in the fading light. "You must be Frederick," he said, his voice warm and resonant. "I am Sir Roland. You’ve made good time, and your horse looks well-tended—a mark of a true knight in the making. Let the grooms take Thunder; come, let us get you a hot meal before the hard work begins. The kingdom is in need of spirits like yours." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Shadow of the Past" data-color="blue"> I had barely dismounted when a man in a charcoal-grey surcoat emerged from the shadows of the stable eaves. Sir Roland didn't look like the heroes of the old scrolls; he looked like a man who had seen the end of the world and survived it. He walked a slow circle around me, his eyes tracking every movement. "The Chronicles speak of squires who think the title is a crown," he muttered, his voice a low rasp. "But here, it is a burden. Do you know why we still maintain these stables, Frederick? Because when the fire returns, we must be faster than the flames. Follow me. We have much to discuss before the moon reaches its zenith." </nc-section>