Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKA46XHWK4XKZS8J3VBTM5J

<nc-section data-title="Version 1" data-color="red"> As I passed beneath the shadow of the great gatehouse, Thunder’s hooves rang sharp against the cobblestones. A handful of stablehands glanced up from their work, but it was the man in gleaming mail by the stables who held my gaze. He was taller than I’d imagined a knight would be, broad in the shoulders, with a cloak the color of storm clouds thrown back from his armor. A sword hung at his hip, the hilt worn smooth by years of use. He watched me dismount with eyes a hard, clear gray. “You ride well enough for a boy from the provinces,” he said, stepping forward to take Thunder’s reins himself. “I am Sir Roland, sworn sword of this keep. You must be Frederick.” His voice carried the easy authority of someone used to being obeyed. I straightened instinctively, trying to look less travel-worn than I felt. “Yes, my lord,” I replied. “Frederick of Alderfen.” “Alderfen,” he repeated, tasting the word. “We’ll see what metal Alderfen puts into its sons.” He looked Thunder over, running a gauntleted hand along the stallion’s neck, then nodded in approval before turning back to me. “The stables are no place for ceremony,” Sir Roland said. “You’ll have enough of that at court. For now, see your horse settled. Then wash, eat, and sleep. Training starts at dawn, and dawn does not wait for squires—or for dragons.” He said the last with a faint, wry twist of his mouth, as though it were some old joke I did not yet understand. Still, the word “dragons” sent a shiver down my spine. “I won’t keep dawn waiting, ser,” I managed. Sir Roland’s gaze lingered on me a heartbeat longer, weighing, measuring. Then he clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, nearly driving the breath from my lungs. “Good,” he said. “We’ve no use for laggards here. Welcome to the castle, Frederick. Your real life begins now.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> Thunder slowed to a trot as we neared the stables, the rich scent of hay and horses rising to meet us. Lanterns flickered to life along the stable walls, their glow soft against the coming dusk. I slid from the saddle a bit too quickly, my legs trembling from the long ride. “Easy there,” came a calm, steady voice. “You’ll need those legs tomorrow, boy.” I turned to see a man leaning against a stable post, arms folded across a chest wrapped in chainmail. His tabard bore the royal crest—silver dragon on a field of midnight green—faded but well-kept. A thin scar traced from his temple to his jaw, not disfiguring, but impossible to ignore. “I—yes, ser,” I said, hastily trying to stand straight. He pushed off the post with lazy grace and walked toward us, boots crunching on stray straw. His eyes were a deep brown, thoughtful rather than stern, as they swept over me and then Thunder. “You ride a fine animal. He’s seen hard road and didn’t throw you. That speaks well of both of you.” He extended a hand. “Sir Roland. I keep order in this corner of the world. And you are our new squire.” I swallowed, suddenly very aware of the dust on my cloak and the dull ache in my shoulders. I clasped his forearm the way my father had taught me. “Frederick, ser. Frederick of—” “Alderfen,” he finished for me, a faint smile touching his lips. “Your father wrote ahead. Spoke highly of your determination. Less highly of your sense.” Heat flared in my cheeks. “He said that?” “He did,” Sir Roland said, still faintly amused. “But I find determination can make up for a lack of sense—at least for a while. We’ll see what we can do about the rest.” He handed Thunder’s reins off to a waiting stableboy with a nod. “See him watered and brushed down. He’s done his work well.” Then, to me, more quietly, “The castle can be…overwhelming. Stone, steel, too many voices. If you find yourself lost, the stables are a good place to remember who you are. Horses don’t care for titles. Only for how you treat them.” I nodded, caught off guard by the kindness in his tone. “Come,” Sir Roland said, turning toward the inner courtyard. “I’ll show you the barracks and the training yard. Tonight you rest. Tomorrow, you begin learning what it truly means to stand between this kingdom and the things that would burn it.” Again, that word—burn—brought with it an image of wings and fire, half-remembered from childhood tales. I followed him, my heart beating faster than it had even on the ride. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> By the time I reached the stables, the last light of day had given way to a deep violet sky. Thunder tossed his head, snorting, as if he, too, sensed the change that waited for us within these walls. A figure emerged from the dimness of the stable archway, outlined by the lantern glow behind him. His armor did not gleam like the heroes of the songs; it was scuffed and darkened, a working man’s gear. A wolf-fur mantle hung from his shoulders, brushing the backs of his gauntlets as he walked toward us. “You cut it close,” he said, voice rough as gravel but not unkind. “Another hour and the gate would’ve been shut.” I swung down from the saddle, boots slipping a little on the smooth stone. “The roads were muddy, ser. I—” He lifted a hand to stop my excuses. “The roads are always something. Bandits, mud, storms, rumors of things worse. You made it. That’s what matters.” He came to stand beside me, close enough that I could see the streaks of silver at his temples, the deep lines around his eyes. When he smiled, the sternness melted away, replaced by a tired warmth. “I am Sir Roland,” he said. “The king calls me his hound. The squires call me worse, but only when they think I can’t hear. You’ll have time to decide your own name for me.” “I—I’m Frederick,” I stammered. “From Alderfen, ser.” “Alderfen.” He nodded slowly. “Good soil there. Hard winters. The kind of place that teaches a boy how to endure.” He reached up and patted Thunder’s neck, murmuring something under his breath that made the stallion settle at once. I stared, surprised. “You speak to horses?” I blurted, then immediately regretted it. Sir Roland laughed, a short, genuine sound. “I listen to them. That’s harder. You’ll learn, if you don’t get yourself killed first.” He gestured toward the long, low building beside the stables, where muffled laughter and the clatter of wooden practice swords drifted into the night. “Your bunk is in there. Second row, third from the end. Put your gear away, check your tack yourself—never trust another man with your horse’s saddle—and get some sleep.” “You’re not going to test me?” I asked, the question escaping before I could stop it. “Or—ask what I can do?” Another of those measuring looks. “No need. The road here was your first test. The rest comes with sunrise.” He turned, then paused and glanced back over his shoulder. “Frederick. One more thing.” “Yes, ser?” “This is a dragon-kingdom,” Sir Roland said quietly. “We sit under old fire and older oaths. Remember that when you see things that don’t fit the stories you were told. And remember that bravery is not the same as foolishness.” With that, he left me standing by Thunder’s side, the weight of his words settling on my shoulders heavier than any armor.