Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KB4798TSJZ92CQC0ZSKYDS

<nc-section data-title="The Greeting (Version 1)" data-color="red"> I reined Thunder to a halt in the bailey, dust swirling around his hooves. A knight in battered plate armor stepped out from the stable's shadow, his hand resting on the pommel of a longsword. Sir Roland was taller than I expected, with a scar that split his left eyebrow and a frown that could curdle milk. His eyes swept over me—not my face, but my hands, my posture, the way I held the reins. "So, the little lord sends a boy to do a man's work," he growled. "Dismount, and let me see if you can stand without falling over." I obeyed, my heart hammering. He circled me once, then stopped, close enough that I smelled old iron and leather. "You'll train at dawn. If you weep, you'll train harder. If you quit, I'll find you and drag you back by your collar. Understood?" It was not a question. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Greeting (Version 2)" data-color="green"> Thunder trotted up to the stable yard, and a cheerful voice called out, "Whoa there, whoa! That's a fine beast you've got." A knight with sandy hair and a grin as warm as summer unhitched my stirrup as I dismounted. Sir Roland clapped me on the shoulder, not with force but with genuine welcome. "Frederick, is it? I heard you were coming. You're just in time—the stables have a new foal, and I was about to give her an apple." He led Thunder to a stall himself, chatting about the best way to curry a horse. "Don't let the old guards scare you," he said, nodding toward the keep. "They like to grumble, but they'll respect a lad who works hard. And if you ever need a hand with your swordwork, find me after sundown. I'm not the best, but I'm the friendliest." He winked, and for the first time since I left home, I felt like I might belong. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Greeting (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> I slid down from Thunder's saddle, my legs stiff from the long ride. A knight stood by the stable door, arms crossed, his cloak the color of twilight. Sir Roland. He did not smile when he saw me, but his eyes held a quiet sadness, like a man who has seen too many winters. "Frederick," he said, his voice low and measured. "You have your father's chin. I served beside him once." He took Thunder's reins from me, his movements slow, deliberate. "Keep your wants few, your word true, and your heart guarded. This life takes more than it gives." He stared at the hay-strewn floor for a long moment, then added, "But you are here now. That is enough. I will show you your quarters after you've watered your horse." There was no warmth in his words, but there was a kind of tired kindness, like a candle burning low in a cold hall. </nc-section>