Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFBWDJSA6F95SVGN0MN1G02

<nc-section data-title="Meeting Sir Roland (Red)" data-color="red"> I reined in Thunder just as a broad-shouldered man in scarred plate armor stepped out from the shadowed arch of the stables. His hand rested casually on the pommel of his sword, and his eyes, the color of flint, assessed me from head to toe in a single, dismissive glance. "You're late, boy," Sir Roland said, his voice a gravelly rasp. "The training yard doesn't wait for stragglers and their pampered mounts. See to your horse, then report to me by the practice dummies. We'll see if you're made of anything more than dust and daydreams." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Meeting Sir Roland (Green)" data-color="green"> The scent of hay and warm horseflesh enveloped me as I dismounted. A man with a kind, weathered face and hair the color of wheat approached, a simple leather jerkin over his tunic instead of full armor. He offered a smile that reached his warm brown eyes. "Welcome, young squire," he said, his tone easy and welcoming. "I am Sir Roland. I trust your journey was fair. There's a fresh bale by the door—help yourself to some for your steed. We'll get you settled before the evening meal. No need to rush; the castle isn't going anywhere." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Meeting Sir Roland (Blue)" data-color="blue"> I had just swung down from the saddle when a figure emerged from the stables' deeper gloom, not walking so much as materializing from the long shadows. Sir Roland stood there, silent, his gaze seeming to look through me rather than at me. For a long moment, the only sound was Thunder's snort and the distant clang of a smith's hammer. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, carrying a weight of old secrets. "So, you are the one the old signs spoke of. The one who arrives at the dying of the light. I am Sir Roland. The stable is that way. But understand, squire, the path you begin here is not merely one of steel and skill." </nc-section>