Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ05HC9AMQXEY9Z8QDM7HNQ1

<nc-section data-title="The Iron Welcome" data-color="red"> The stable yard churned with dust and dying light by the time I reined Thunder to a halt. A figure in armor trimmed with crimson stepped from the hay-scented gloom, his face half-hidden beneath a nasal helm that caught the last bloody rays of sunset. He did not wait for me to dismount. "Frederick." Sir Roland’s voice was iron scraping against whetstone. He tossed a heavy curry comb at my chest; I caught it with a grunt, fingers stinging. "The horses eat before you do. The horses sleep before you rest. And if I ever hear you call that beast *majestic* where men might hear you, you will muck stalls until your fingers match my cloak. Now rub him down. Move." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Warm Welcome" data-color="green"> Sir Roland was leaning against the stable doors with a lantern in one hand and a bundle of fresh apples in the other. He was broader than I had imagined, with a beard the color of moss and eyes that crinkled like leaves in a breeze. "Whoa there, Thunder," he murmured, stepping forward with an outstretched palm. The stallion nickered and lowered his great head, accepting the treat as though they had been companions for years. Roland turned his smile on me, and it was like sunlight through forest canopy. "You must be Frederick. The road leaves its mark on a boy, but the worst is behind you now. Come—there is a warm stall ready, and supper after. A squire grows strongest on a full belly and steady sleep. Let me show you how we tend to our own here." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Cold Welcome" data-color="blue"> A lone figure stood beneath the archway of the stables as twilight bled into indigo. Sir Roland wore no armor, only a long surcoat the deep blue of the evening sky, and his silver-streaked hair was pulled back in a severe tail. He watched me approach with the unreadable expression of a man who had already taken my measure and filed the results away. "Frederick," he said—not a question, but a confirmation. His voice was low, precise, and cool as well water. "Leave your horse with the groom. You and I will walk the parapets. There are truths a squire must learn about this castle before he sleeps beneath its roof, and I do not repeat myself. Follow. Speak only when I permit it." </nc-section>