Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KAAZ50DYEH625W6VTE3SA1

<nc-section data-title="The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> Thunder’s hooves clattered on the cobblestones as Frederick reined him to a halt before the stable yard. The great oak doors of the castle loomed above, but his attention was drawn to a figure leaning against the hitching post—a knight in battered silver armor, his arms crossed and his visor raised to reveal a weathered face scored with old scars. Sir Roland did not smile. He looked Frederick up and down, from the dust on his boots to the nervous grip on his reins, and let out a low grunt. “So you’re the new squire,” he said, his voice like gravel. “They told me you’d be arriving. I expected someone taller.” He pushed off the post and strode closer, boots sinking into the mud. “Leave the horse with the groom. Then follow me. You’ll learn the stables before you learn the sword, boy, and I’ll not have a lazy hand mucking out my mounts.” He paused, eyeing Thunder with a flicker of approval. “At least you’ve got sense enough to ride a real animal. Now move—we haven’t got all night.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="A Warm Greeting by the Stables" data-color="green"> The evening air smelled of hay and leather as Frederick guided Thunder through the wide stable gates. A tall, broad-shouldered knight stood waiting beside a lantern, his tabard bearing the golden falcon of the realm. Sir Roland’s face was kind, creased with laugh lines, and he raised a hand in welcome as Frederick dismounted. “Easy, lad, easy,” he said, stepping forward to take Thunder’s bridle. “You’ve ridden far by the look of you. Let’s get this fine beast some water and oats.” He gestured to a young groom, then turned to Frederick with a warm clap on the shoulder. “I’m Sir Roland, master of these stables and your mentor until you earn your spurs. You’ll find no harsh words here, only honest work and good teaching. Come, let’s settle your horse, and then I’ll show you the hall where you’ll eat your first meal as a squire. You must be hungry after such a ride.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Knight in the Shadows" data-color="blue"> The stable yard was darker than Frederick expected, hemmed in by high walls that swallowed the last of the sunset. He dismounted in near silence, the only sound being Thunder’s snorting breath. Then a voice came from the shadows near the feed bins—low, measured, and strangely calm. “You ride well for someone so young. That horse trusts you. Good.” Frederick spun to see a knight emerge from the gloom, his armor black as pitch, his cloak hanging limp in the still air. Sir Roland’s face was half-hidden by a lowered visor, but his eyes caught the lantern light like twin embers. He walked past Frederick without another word, patting Thunder’s neck, then stopped at the stable door. “I am Sir Roland. I have watched many squires come through these gates. Most are afraid of me. Are you?” He tilted his head, waiting. “If you are, you’ll never be a knight. But if you’re not, you might just survive the night.” He gestured toward a flickering torch inside. “Bring your horse. I have much to tell you—and little time to tell it.” </nc-section>