Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5E5A4FN590XATSTVJZ07B

Of course, here are three alternate prose sections continuing the story. <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="red"> Frederick, a young squire, arrives at the castle to begin his training. Reining Thunder to a halt before the castle's imposing stone archway, Frederick dismounted with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The scent of hay and horse filled the air as he led his steed toward the stables. A figure stepped from the shadows, his armor not gleaming, but bearing the dull, honest scuffs of hard use. It was Sir Roland, his face a roadmap of old wounds and his eyes holding a penetrating, almost harsh, clarity. "Frederick of Elmsworth," the knight stated, his voice a low rumble that tolerated no nonsense. "Your comfort ends here. The forge and the pell await. Drop your travel cloak." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="green"> Frederick, a young squire, arrives at the castle to begin his training. The rhythmic clopping of Thunder's hooves echoed in the stable yard as Frederick slid from the saddle, his legs stiff from the long journey. Before he could even loosen the girth, a calm, steady voice spoke from the doorway. "A fine animal. Treat him well, and he will be your first and most loyal companion." Sir Roland stood there, a man whose strength seemed to emanate from a deep-rooted stillness rather than brute force. He smiled, a genuine creasing of the eyes that put Frederick at ease. "Welcome, Frederick. Let me show you where you'll both rest. There is time enough for duty tomorrow." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="blue"> Frederick, a young squire, arrives at the castle to begin his training. Frederick's heart hammered against his ribs as the great castle gates loomed overhead. Leading Thunder into the cool dimness of the stables, he was met by a man who seemed carved from the same granite as the fortress itself: Sir Roland. The knight's gaze was intense, analytical, missing nothing from the quality of Frederick's boots to the wary look in his eyes. "The Castellan's report said you showed promise with a blade," Roland said, his tone neither warm nor cold, purely factual. "We shall see. First, tend to your mount. A knight who neglects his horse is a knight who will soon be walking." He gestured to an empty stall, his instructions clear and precise. </nc-section>