Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFJK5C189090J180S9RWT6H

<nc-section data-title="The Steel Welcome" data-color="red"> The iron gates creaked open behind Thunder, and the pungent smell of horse manure and polished steel flooded my nostrils. Before I could even dismount, a shadow fell over the stable door. Sir Roland emerged, a tower of plate armor that seemed carved from the mountain itself. His visor was raised, revealing a scar running down his cheek like a lightning strike. He looked at my horse, then down to me, his eyes burning with a fierce, warning light. "You ride a good warhorse," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stones, "but a squire is measured by more than hooves and breath. The dragon sleeps beneath these walls now, and the singing in the turrets gets louder every day. Decide: do you swing a sword, or do you swing a shield?" </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Gesture of Growth" data-color="green"> The barn was bathed in the soft, dying light of dusk, the hay miockens smelling of the earth. As I tugged the bridle of Thunder, Sir Roland appeared, leaning against a wooden pillar with a calm, softness to him that I had not expected. He wore leather armor rather than heavy plate, a sash of green and gold draped over his shoulders. He reached out a hand, not to inspect my gear, but to pat the neck of my horse gently. "Thunder is steady," Roland said with a faint smile, pulling a dried apple from his tunic. He broke it and offered me a share. "The stables are the gymnasium of the soul," he whispered, "and many leave them before their hearts are ready. Welcome, squire Frederick." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Whispered Promise" data-color="blue"> Sir Roland stood in the moonlight, the cross of his sword cast against the stone walls of the castle proper. He did not speak loudly, but a sense of old time crept through the air like winter frost. He beckoned me forward with a hand wearing a ring set with a single, cold opal. "Foreign soil treads heavy here," he said, his voice dropping to a reverent murmur. "You seek glory, boy, or do you seek legend?" He tapped his chest over his heart, the leather cloth creaking in the silence. "The last dragon has no breath left this year; he waits only for a soul strong enough to carry his weight. Begin now. The test begins at the bottom." </nc-section>