Run: 2026-05-29-01KSSJJXFX8C6A6H6AGNH0HV87

<nc-section data-title="A Knight's Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted near the stables, a towering figure emerged from the shadows. Sir Roland, clad in worn but well-kept armor, strode toward me with the confidence of a seasoned warrior. His weathered face bore the scars of countless battles, yet his eyes held a surprising warmth. "You must be Frederick," he said, his voice deep and commanding. He clasped my forearm in a firm grip. "I've heard much about you, young squire. Your father was a good man—one of the finest soldiers I ever fought beside." I felt a swell of pride at the mention of my late father. "It's an honor to meet you, Sir Roland." "The honor is mine, lad. Now, let's get Thunder settled. A knight's first lesson: always tend to your horse before yourself." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Stable Encounter" data-color="green"> Before I could lead Thunder to the stables, a gruff voice called out from the doorway. "About time you arrived, boy. We expected you by midday." Sir Roland stepped into the fading light, his arms crossed over a broad chest. Unlike the gallant knights of the stories my mother told, this man looked tired, impatient, and entirely unimpressed by my late arrival. "I apologize, Sir Roland," I stammered. "The road from the eastern villages was longer than I anticipated." He grunted, looking me over from head to toe as though assessing a piece of livestock. "We'll see if you're worth the trouble. Stable your horse and meet me in the training yard at dawn. Don't be late again." With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the gathering darkness. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="An Unexpected Meeting" data-color="blue"> I had barely brought Thunder to a halt when a man appeared from behind a stack of hay bales, brushing straw from his tunic. He wasn't what I expected of a knight—no shining armor, no sword at his hip, just simple riding clothes and mud-splattered boots. "You'll be the new squire, then," he said with an easy smile, reaching up to stroke Thunder's neck. The stallion, normally wary of strangers, leaned into his touch. "Fine animal. You've cared for him well." "Thank you, sir. Are you—are you one of the stablehands?" The man laughed, a rich and genuine sound. "Stablehand? I suppose I am, when the mood takes me. But most around here call me Sir Roland." He extended a calloused hand. "Welcome to the castle, Frederick. I have a feeling we're going to get along just fine." </nc-section>