Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8J6FE5HKN1TG4H8ZE6780

Here are three distinct prose sections for your story, each with a unique tone and direction while maintaining the core interaction between Frederick and Sir Roland: --- ### **Version 1 (Red – Tense, Foreshadowing)** <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="red"> The iron-shod hooves of Thunder crunched over gravel as I reined him to a halt near the stables. The air smelled of damp hay and leather, but beneath it lingered something sharper—smoke, perhaps, or the faint metallic tang of unease. Before I could dismount, a shadow fell across me. *"You’re late,"* a voice rumbled, deep and gravelly as a landslide. I turned to see a knight clad in blackened steel, his tabard bearing the sigil of a broken sword crossed over a dying dragon. Sir Roland’s face was a map of scars, his eyes sharp as flint. *"The king doesn’t suffer delays, squire."* I swallowed hard, gripping Thunder’s reins. *"I—I meant no disrespect, sir. The road was worse than expected."* His gaze flicked to the worn leather of my saddlebags, then to the sword at my hip—still in its scabbard, untouched. *"A squire who arrives empty-handed is a squire who hasn’t learned his first lesson."* He reached out, and I flinched as his fingers closed around my wrist, prying the sword free. The blade was lighter than I expected, its edge dull with age. *"This isn’t a toy, boy. It’s a tool. And tools must be sharpened before they’re used."* Behind him, the stables groaned as if holding their breath. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed. </nc-section> --- ### **Version 2 (Green – Hopeful, Mentorship)** <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="green"> Thunder’s breath came in steady puffs as I slid from his back, my legs unsteady from the long ride. The stables were alive with the clatter of hooves and the low murmur of grooms, but my attention was snagged by a figure leaning against a post, polishing his armor with slow, deliberate strokes. A silver-haired knight with a warm smile and eyes the color of autumn leaves. *"You must be Frederick,"* he said, straightening. *"Welcome to Blackthorn Keep. I’m Sir Roland."* I bowed hastily. *"Thank you, sir. I’m honored to train here."* He chuckled, tossing the cloth over his shoulder. *"Honor’s a start, but it won’t keep you alive in the training yard."* His gaze flicked to my sword, still sheathed. *"That blade looks like it’s seen better days. Let’s see if you can handle it—or if it’ll handle *you*."* Before I could answer, he clapped his hands. *"Come on, then. The others will be waiting, and I’ve a feeling you’ve got more fire in you than that old steed of yours."* He turned, and I followed, my heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. For the first time since leaving home, I didn’t feel like a boy lost in the world. I felt like a squire with a chance. </nc-section> --- ### **Version 3 (Blue – Mysterious, Atmospheric)** <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="blue"> The stables were bathed in twilight when I dismounted, the last light bleeding through the high windows like molten gold. Thunder stamped impatiently, sensing my hesitation. Then, a voice cut through the quiet: *"You’re the new squire."* I turned. A knight stood in the shadows, his armor etched with strange, fading runes—symbols I didn’t recognize. His face was half-hidden beneath the brim of his helm, but his eyes gleamed with something unreadable. Sir Roland. *"Sir Roland,"* I corrected, my voice tighter than I intended. He stepped forward, the torchlight catching the edge of a scar that ran from his temple to his jawline. *"Roland is fine."* His fingers brushed the hilt of my sword, and I stiffened. *"This blade is old. Older than the kingdom, perhaps."* He exhaled, a sound like wind through dead leaves. *"It’s been waiting for someone like you."* A draft slithered through the stables, carrying the scent of rain and something else—something sharp and metallic, like the air before a storm. *"The king expects great things,"* Sir Roland murmured. *"But great things require great sacrifice."* His gaze lifted to the rafters, where the shadows seemed to twist. *"Are you ready, Frederick?"* </nc-section>