Run: 2026-09-24-01M39X3VM443YV7PT7S4A5KACQ

<nc-section data-title="A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> Frederick dismounted Thunder, his boots crunching on the gravel near the stables. Before him stood Sir Roland, a mountain of a man whose armor gleamed like molten iron in the fading light. The knight's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, swept over the young squire from head to toe. "So," Sir Roland's voice rumbled like distant thunder, "the boy who thinks he can wield a sword arrives at last." He stepped closer, his gauntleted hand resting on the pommel of his blade. "Do you know what it takes to serve this castle, boy? Sweat. Blood. Pain beyond your imagining." He leaned in, his breath hot against Frederick's face. "We shall see if you have the stomach for it. Report to the training yard at dawn. Do not be late." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Knight of the Meadow" data-color="green"> The stables smelled of sweet hay and warm earth as Frederick led Thunder inside. At the far stall, an older man with silver-streaked hair was gently brushing a chestnut mare. He turned, and his weathered face broke into a kind smile. "You must be Frederick," he said, extending a calloused hand. "I am Sir Roland, though these days I'm more comfortable among horses than in a hall of lords." He plucked an apple from his pouch and offered it to the young squire. "You've ridden far, and Thunder there looks weary. Settle him in, then come find me by the pond. There's stew on the fire, and we've much to talk about before your training begins." His eyes crinkled warmly. "Welcome home, lad." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Silent Sentinel" data-color="blue"> Frederick noticed him before he spoke—a tall figure standing motionless in the shadows of the stable entrance, watching. Sir Roland said nothing at first, only studied the young squire with eyes the color of a winter sky. "You arrived alone," the knight finally said, his voice quiet but carrying an odd weight. "On a horse bred in the northern valleys. Interesting." He turned without waiting for a reply and walked into the stables, his cloak whispering against the straw. "Your stall is the third on the left. Tend to your horse. Then follow me." At the doorway, he paused, half-turning. "The castle has been waiting a long time for you, Frederick. Longer, perhaps, than you know." </nc-section>