Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KRDSFT4B36HDT36C4HYDXQ

<nc-section data-title="A Knight's Measure" data-color="red"> I reined Thunder to a halt near the timber-framed stables, the scent of hay and saddle soap thick in the cool evening air. Before I could even swing my leg over the saddle, a hulking figure emerged from the shadows of the doorway. Sir Roland stood clad in hammered steel that bore the scars of a dozen skirmishes, his arms crossed over a broad chest. His piercing gray eyes swept over me and my mount, taking our measure in a single, unsparing glance. "You ride well enough for a green boy," Roland rumbled, his voice like grinding millstones, "but out here, looking the part won't save your skin. Dismount, squire. Let us see if your spirit matches your posture." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="A Warm Welcome" data-color="green"> Guiding Thunder toward the warm glow of the lantern-lit stables, I slipped down from the saddle, my boots meeting the cobblestones with a satisfying thud. A hearty laugh echoed from the barn aisle, and out stepped Sir Roland, wiping axle grease from his weathered hands with a rag. He bore no armor today—only a simple woolen tunic—yet his broad shoulders and commanding presence gave him away instantly. "Welcome to Highcrest, Frederick!" he called out, his rugged face breaking into a wide, crinkled grin as he clasped my shoulder in a grip of iron. "Your father told me to expect you before nightfall. Good to see you haven't lost his punctuality—or his taste in fine horseflesh." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Whispers in the Stables" data-color="blue"> As Thunder trotted toward the quiet courtyard near the stables, the silence of the castle felt unnerving. A silhouette stepped out from between the stalls, moving with an eerie, quiet grace that belied the heavy broadsword at his hip. Sir Roland didn't smile as he approached; instead, his gaze darted toward the darkening sky above the battlements before fixing upon me. "Keep your voice low, lad," the knight murmured, catching Thunder’s reins with a gloved hand. "The birds are quiet tonight, and the mountains haven't been this restless in fifty years. You've arrived just in time for an ill wind, Frederick. Come inside before whatever is stirring out there catches our scent." </nc-section>