Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9GC3YRA6CEKN8SVK78ZGK

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: Near the Stables" data-color="red"> Thunder's breath still hissed in my ears as I slid from the saddle and led Thunder toward the line of stalls. The stable yard smelled of hay, leather, and the sharp tang of horses, a comforting chorus after the long ride. From the shadow by the trough emerged Sir Roland, the local knight, tall and solid as if carved from the castle stone. He paused a pace from me, the edge of his helm tucked under his arm, eyes fixed on Thunder and then on my face. "Frederick," he greeted, voice even and careful, a hint of welcome under the formality. "I am Sir Roland, guardian of these stables and this realm's rough schooling." He offered a broad, practiced nod, the gesture as clean as a blade's edge. "Your training begins with your manners and your mount. Tell me about Thunder, and then walk with me toward the training yard." The sun clipped the rails, casting amber over his mail, and in that moment I felt the first true test of the road ahead: to prove I could stand tall in his presence, and then prove I belong among the knights who patrolled this land. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Knight's Greeting" data-color="green"> A faint clink of tack greeted my ears as Sir Roland strode from the shadow of the tack room, boots crisp on the straw-strewn earth. He paused at the edge of the stable line, where Thunder tossed his head and snorted softly, a living metronome to the day’s arrival. The horse’s breath fogged in the cooling air, and the scent of leather hung heavy between us. "Frederick," the knight began, voice smooth as polished steel, yet with a heat of keen attention behind it. "I am Sir Roland, lord of these lands and your inspector of sorts. You’ve come with a rider’s nerve and a squire’s doubt—good.” He smiled faintly, not unkindly, and his gaze swept from Thunder to me. “If you wish to walk through these gates as a knight, you must first prove that you can stand calmly in a kitchen's fire, not merely ride through its door." He stepped closer, nearly touching Thunder’s flank with a gloved hand to steady the horse’s quiet, patient rhythm. "Show me you can keep your mind steady when the world leans on you. Then we will talk of swords and strategies. For now, greeting is your first lesson, Frederick.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Stable Greeting" data-color="blue"> The glow of sunset bled across the stable yard as a knight’s silhouette crossed from the shade of the tack room toward the stalls. Sir Roland, a giant among the village rumors, moved with a measured, almost careful grace for a man of his stature. He halted near Thunder, fingers lingering on the horse’s withers, the creature’s ears flicking in calm acknowledgment. "Frederick," he said, voice edged with interest and a hint of challenge. "I’ve heard you rode hard to reach this place, and that you did so alone." The knight’s eyes, bright and assessing, skimmed my face and settled on the crease of my lips where a quiet breath betrayed my nerves. "I am Sir Roland, keeper of these fields and your first true test. Tell me why you chose this path, and what you hope to find here among the knights." The question hung in the air as the last light caught the steel at his hip and the leather of his saddle creaked with the breeze. Thunder shifted, a soft clack of hoof on stone, and I found my voice, steady as I could manage, to answer him honestly about courage, duty, and the stubborn spark that drew me to the chronicles of the last dragon. </nc-section>