Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKA0AQ7Y1NGY1282B6705GP

<nc-section data-title="Version 1" data-color="red"> Thunder’s hooves slowed to a measured clop as we passed beneath the shadow of the outer wall and into the castle yard. The air changed at once—less wild grass and open sky, more iron, straw, and the sharp bite of coal smoke drifting from the smithy. Grooms moved like practiced shadows between stalls, and somewhere inside the stable a horse snorted, impatient with the day’s end. I swung down from the saddle with more eagerness than grace, boots hitting the packed earth. Before I could reach for the girth strap, a man’s voice cut through the yard—steady, carrying the kind of authority that didn’t need shouting. “You’ll have him sweating under that tack if you linger.” I turned. A knight stood a few paces away, his mail shirt dulled by use rather than neglect, a surcoat bearing the castle’s colors. His helm hung from his saddle horn, and the last light of sunset caught on a scar that ran like pale lightning along his jaw. “You must be Frederick,” he said, as if the name had been waiting on his tongue. “The new squire.” “Yes, sir.” My throat tightened around the words. “Frederick of—” “Of somewhere that isn’t here.” His mouth quirked, not quite a smile, but not unkind. He stepped closer and laid a hand on Thunder’s neck. The stallion flicked an ear toward him, then settled, accepting the touch. “Sir Roland. You’ll be seeing a great deal of me, if you last longer than the others.” “The others?” I echoed before I could stop myself. Sir Roland’s gaze drifted toward the stable doors, where darkness pooled like ink. “Castle life chews up boys who come dreaming of songs and shining blades.” He looked back at me, eyes a flinty gray. “But if you came for something else—duty, perhaps—then you’ll do.” A groom approached, reaching for Thunder’s reins, but Sir Roland lifted two fingers, halting him. “Not yet. Let the lad learn.” He nodded at the straps. “Loosen the cinch. Rub him down. A knight’s horse is his second heart, and a squire who forgets that ends up walking.” My fingers fumbled at the buckles. The leather was warm from the ride, and my hands were still shaking with the thrill of arrival—or with fear, I couldn’t yet tell. Sir Roland watched in silence, then said quietly, “You made good time. The road’s been…less safe than it ought to be.” I paused. “Bandits?” His expression didn’t change, but the evening seemed to cool around his words. “If only. Finish up. Then you’ll report to the captain of the squires. And Frederick—” He waited until I met his eyes. “Whatever you heard on the road about dragons, forget it. The castle does not welcome careless tongues.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> The stable yard was a small world tucked against the castle’s flank—alive with straw, sweat, and the low murmur of men who spoke more to animals than to each other. I guided my horse between carts and water troughs, heart thumping as if I’d ridden into a dream and feared waking. A shadow detached itself from the stable doors. He wasn’t large, not like the storybook knights carved into chapel stone, but he had the sure stance of a man who’d worn armor long enough that it sat on him like skin. His hair was dark and braided back from his brow, and his gauntlets were tucked beneath one arm as if he’d only just removed them. “You’re late,” he said, not harshly—more like a man stating the weather. “I—” I swallowed. “The road—” “Always is.” He came closer, and his eyes flicked over the horse, the saddle, the way my hands held the reins. “Good seat. Bad dismount, if I’m judging by the way you’re limping.” Heat rushed to my face. I tried to straighten, only to feel the ache in my legs protest. His mouth twitched. “Frederick, is it? Master Harlan sent word.” “Yes, sir.” “Sir Roland.” He extended a hand, not for a formal clasp but for the reins. When I hesitated, he raised a brow. “Don’t worry. I’m not stealing him. Though if you treat him poorly, I might.” I surrendered the reins. Sir Roland led my horse to the nearest post and looped the line with a quick, clean knot that made mine seem childish in memory. “Listen,” he said, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “This place has rules. Some written, most not. First: you speak with respect. Second: you work until your arms shake. Third—” He glanced toward the stable interior, where the shadows were thick and the air oddly still. “—you do not go wandering where you’re not told.” I frowned despite myself. “Is there somewhere I shouldn’t—?” He cut me off with a look. “Curiosity is a fine blade. It can also cut the hand that holds it. You’ll learn to tell the difference.” A groom hurried past, tossing hay into an empty stall. Sir Roland watched him for a heartbeat, then turned back to me, his tone shifting—less warning, more instruction. “Now. Show me you’re worth the ink on that letter. Strip the tack. Check his hooves. And when you’re done, you’ll follow me.” “To where?” Sir Roland’s gaze went up to the castle’s highest tower, where the last of the sunset bled into the stone. “To meet the people who will decide what you become here.” He started toward the stable doors, then paused, as if remembering something he didn’t want to say. “And Frederick? If anyone asks what you heard on the road, you heard nothing. Understood.” I nodded, suddenly very aware of the way the stable seemed to listen. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> By the time I reached the stables, the castle yard had begun to empty. Men carried buckets from the well, a smith banked his forge, and the last swallows cut black stitches across the sky. Thunder—my faithful mount—shook his head, foam at his bit, eager for water and rest. I was tugging at the strap beneath his belly when a polished voice spoke behind me. “You’re fighting the leather. It’s fought harder battles than you have.” I turned sharply and nearly knocked my elbow into Thunder’s flank. A knight stood there, arms folded, watching with the patient amusement of someone who’d seen a hundred boys arrive thinking they were already men. His armor was not ceremonial; the dents in the breastplate and the scuffs along his greaves told their own tale. “Apologies, sir,” I said quickly. “No apologies,” he replied. “Only improvement.” He stepped closer, and his shadow fell across the straw at my feet. “Frederick.” It wasn’t a question. The way he said my name made it feel like it had been written down somewhere important. “Yes, sir.” “Sir Roland.” He offered a brief nod rather than a bow. “I’m tasked with making sure you don’t embarrass yourself—and, by extension, this castle—before you’ve even unpacked.” I managed a thin smile. “I’ll do my best.” “You’ll do better than your best,” Sir Roland said, and there was steel under the calm. “Because best isn’t what keeps you alive in training yards or on patrol.” He reached past me without asking and loosened the cinch with a single practiced pull. Thunder let out a relieved huff, and I stared, half impressed and half frustrated that my struggle had been so easily undone. “Thank you,” I said. “Don’t thank me. Learn.” He took Thunder’s reins and guided him toward an open stall where fresh straw lay in a golden mound. “He’s a good animal. Treat him like a companion, not a tool.” “Yes, sir.” Sir Roland paused at the stall door, eyes narrowing as if listening to something beyond the ordinary stable sounds—the creak of wood, the rustle of hay, the distant clang of a gate. For a moment the amusement drained from his face, replaced by something older and wary. Then he looked back at me, and the mask returned. “Tell me, Frederick. On the road here, did anyone try to fill your head with tales?” “Tales, sir?” “Of beasts in the hills. Of fire in the night.” His voice remained measured, but his gaze sharpened. “Of dragons.” My pulse stumbled. “I heard…rumors. In the villages.” “Rumors have teeth,” Sir Roland said quietly. He handed me a brush from a nearby peg. “Start with his shoulders. Long strokes. You’ll feel the knots if you pay attention.” I began to groom Thunder, the rhythm settling my nerves, though my mind snagged on the word he’d spoken. Sir Roland watched for a few breaths, then nodded once, as if satisfied by something only he could see. “Good. When you’re finished, find me at the armory. We’ll see what kind of hands you have for more than reins.” He turned to go, then stopped and added, almost as an afterthought, “And keep your rumors to yourself. Some doors in this castle open easier than they close.” </nc-section>