Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQHM8CZ5QZREG85NSAC4PQ

Here are three alternate prose sections for your story, each with a distinct tone and style: --- ### **Version 1 (Red – Dramatic, Intense)** <nc-section data-title="The Knight’s Shadow" data-color="red"> The castle loomed before me, its jagged towers clawing at the darkening sky. Thunder’s hooves thundered against the cobblestones as I reined him in near the stables. The air smelled of hay and iron—war was never far from this place. Then I saw him. Sir Roland stood like a statue carved from battle, his armor blackened by fire and blood. His gauntleted hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the blade half-drawn, as if he expected an enemy to emerge from the shadows. His eyes, cold and sharp as a winter’s blade, locked onto mine. “You’re late, squire,” he growled. The words were not a greeting, but a challenge. I swallowed hard. This was no welcoming committee. This was a test. </nc-section> --- ### **Version 2 (Green – Warm, Welcoming)** <nc-section data-title="A Knight’s Welcome" data-color="green"> The castle stables were alive with the soft nickering of horses and the golden light of lanterns. I slid from Thunder’s back, my boots sinking into the fresh straw. The scent of hay and leather filled the air, and for the first time since leaving home, I felt a flicker of belonging. A deep, rumbling chuckle broke the quiet. “Not bad for a first ride,” a voice said. I turned to see a broad-shouldered knight leaning against a stall, his armor polished but worn, his face lined with the kind of warmth that only comes from years of hard-won wisdom. A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Sir Roland, I presume?” I asked, bowing slightly. He clapped a hand on my shoulder—firm, but not unkind. “Aye, lad. And you must be Frederick. Come, let’s get you settled. The others are eager to meet you.” </nc-section> --- ### **Version 3 (Blue – Mysterious, Forboding)** <nc-section data-title="The Silent Guardian" data-color="blue"> The stables were eerily quiet. No grooms, no horses—just the hollow echo of Thunder’s breath as I dismounted. The castle’s shadow stretched long and cold across the courtyard, as if the stones themselves were watching. Then I saw him. Sir Roland stood motionless, his back to me, his cloak draped like a shroud over his armor. The fading light glinted off the runes etched into his sword, symbols I didn’t recognize—and didn’t dare ask about. He didn’t turn, didn’t speak. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. “You’re here,” he said at last, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Good.” I opened my mouth to reply, but the words died in my throat. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the last embers of the sun bled into the night. Something was coming. And I had the unsettling feeling I’d just been chosen to face it. </nc-section> ---