Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD78WXM4GX16CDXW7SWM5HH

<nc-section data-title="A Mentor's Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder near the stables, a towering figure in polished steel emerged from the shadows of the hayloft. Sir Roland, the knight I had heard tales of since boyhood, strode toward me with a gait like a war drum. "So," he boomed, his scarred face breaking into a grin, "you're the boy they sent to replace young Edmund. You've got his same stubborn look about you." I stammered out a greeting, suddenly aware of how small I felt beside him. He clasped my shoulder with a hand that could crush stone, yet his grip was oddly gentle. "Come. The stablemaster will see to your horse. You and I have much to discuss before supper—and before your training begins at dawn." His eyes gleamed. "I do hope you're fond of bruises, boy. You'll be collecting them soon enough." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="A Cold Reception" data-color="green"> The stablehands scattered like frightened birds as I led Thunder into the courtyard. From beside the watering trough, a knight in dark mail watched me with arms crossed, his expression carved from winter itself. "Frederick of the Lowlands," he said, not as a question. "You're late." "Sir Roland, I—" I began, but he raised a gauntleted hand. "The road was fine. Your excuses are not." He circled my horse slowly, inspecting Thunder's flanks, my saddle, my scuffed boots. "A squire who cannot arrive on time cannot be trusted with a knight's life. Remember that." Yet as he turned to go, I caught something unexpected—a faint nod toward my stallion. "Fine animal, though. At least you know horses. It's a start. Follow me." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Whispers of Warning" data-color="blue"> Sir Roland found me before I even reached the stable doors, appearing at my stirrup so quietly that Thunder startled. "Easy, boy," the knight murmured—to the horse or to me, I couldn't say. Up close, his face was kinder than the legends suggested, but his eyes held a heaviness that stories never mentioned. He leaned in, voice dropping low. "Listen well, Frederick, and listen now, for I can only say this once. Not everyone in this castle welcomes your arrival. The old steward wanted his own nephew in your place." His gaze flicked toward the tower windows, dark and watching. "Smile at everyone. Trust no one. And when they ask what I told you—say I spoke only of mucking stalls." Then, loud enough for the stablehands to hear, he clapped me on the back. "Welcome to the castle, lad! Let's get this beast fed, shall we?" </nc-section>