Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5JN6P4JSYE8N5BF5H5X6N

Of course! Here are three alternate prose sections that continue the story. <nc-section data-title="The Squire's Welcome" data-color="red"> I dismounted, my boots sinking into the soft earth beside the stable yard. Before I could even loosen Thunder's girth, a figure emerged from the deepening shadows. He was a man built like a fortress, his armor scarred but gleaming in the last of the sun. Sir Roland’s gaze was a physical weight. "Frederick," he said, his voice a low rumble that spoke of weathered stone and distant battles. "We've been expecting you. Your father wrote of his… hopes." He eyed my travel-stained clothes and the simple sword at my hip. "Hope is a fragile thing here, boy. We deal in sweat and steel. Stow your horse, then report to the armory. Dawn does not wait for the weary." There was no welcome in his words, only a challenge laid bare. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="An Unexpected Guide" data-color="green"> As I led Thunder towards the stable's welcoming warmth, a man stepped into my path. His armor was simple but well-kept, and his face, while lined, held a spark of kindness that put me at ease. Sir Roland offered a slight, courteous bow. "Frederick of Greenvale, I presume? Welcome. Your journey was long, I trust it was peaceful." He took Thunder’s reins from my hands with practiced ease. "Let me. A good mount is a knight's first responsibility." He began to unbuckle the saddle, speaking over his shoulder. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we begin not with swordplay, but with the care of the heart that beats beneath you. All true strength starts with stewardship." His gentle authority was more commanding than any shout. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Knight in Twilight" data-color="blue"> The castle's great shadow fell over me as I approached the stable entrance. A tall, silent figure leaned against the stone archway, observing my arrival with an unsettling stillness. Sir Roland was all sharp angles and quiet intensity, his blue eyes capturing the twilight’s last gleam. "You're late," he stated, his voice devoid of accusation, merely noting a fact. "The evening patrol has already departed. Your first lesson: time is the one enemy you can never outrun." He pushed off from the wall and gestured for me to follow him into the dim stable. "We will speak as we work. Tell me of the roads you traveled—the state of the bridges, the mood of the villages. Here, we listen as much as we watch." His greeting was a puzzle, and my training had already begun. </nc-section>