Run: 2026-02-18-01KHQ94A08TNAYSJ484F90EVVF

Here are 3 alternate prose sections that continue the story: <nc-section data-title="Version 1: Sir Roland's Greeting" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder near the stables, a towering figure emerged from the shadows. Sir Roland, the local knight, was a broad-shouldered man with a salt-and-pepper beard and eyes that seemed to have seen a thousand battles. He crossed his arms over his chest, studying me with a piercing gaze that made my knees tremble. "So, you are the young squire they sent me," he said, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder. "You look barely old enough to lift a sword, boy." He circled me slowly, his boots crunching on the hay-strewn ground. "But I have made knights out of worse." He stopped in front of me and extended a gauntleted hand. "Welcome to Castle Aldenmere, Frederick. Your training begins at dawn — and I promise you, it will not be pleasant." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: Sir Roland's Greeting" data-color="green"> The stable hands rushed to take Thunder's reins as I swung down from the saddle, my legs aching from the long ride. Before I could gather my senses, a warm laugh rang out across the courtyard. Sir Roland strode toward me with an easy smile, his armor catching the last rays of the dying sun. He was younger than I had imagined — perhaps forty — with kind eyes and a genuine warmth that instantly put me at ease. "Frederick! By the stars, you look just like your father did when he first came to these walls." He clasped my hand firmly and shook it with enthusiasm. "I rode with him once, you know. A finer man I never met." He draped a friendly arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the castle entrance. "Come, let's get you fed and settled. The horses can wait — you, however, look like you might collapse at any moment." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: Sir Roland's Greeting" data-color="blue"> I had barely tied Thunder to the post outside the stables when I heard the measured, deliberate clink of armor approaching. Sir Roland emerged from the stable doors, wiping grease from his hands with a worn cloth — apparently having tended to his own horse himself, with no help from the stable hands who stood awkwardly to the side. He was a lean, weathered man, quieter in presence than I had expected of a knight of his reputation. He said nothing at first, simply looking me over with an unreadable expression. The silence stretched long enough that I felt compelled to speak. "Sir Roland, I am Frederick. I have been sent to—" He raised a single hand to silence me. "I know who you are," he said quietly. "What I do not yet know is what you are made of." He tucked the cloth into his belt and nodded toward the castle. "Follow me. And listen more than you speak — that is the first lesson I will give you, and it may be the most important one." </nc-section>