Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8PGJB8RQX7D88C1Q0MDBY

Here are three distinct prose sections for your story, each with a different tone and style while maintaining the core interaction between Frederick and Sir Roland: --- ### **Version 1 (Red – Gritty, Tense, and Foreshadowing)** <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="red"> The castle gates loomed ahead, their iron-bound oaks groaning under the weight of centuries. Thunder’s hooves kicked up dust as I reined him in, my fingers tightening around the reins. The stables were a hive of activity—armored squires hauling saddles, grooms cursing at unruly horses—but no one spared me a glance. Then, a voice cut through the chaos like a blade. *"You’re late."* I turned. A man stood in the stable’s shadow, his armor blackened as if forged in the heart of a volcano. The sigil on his pauldron—a silver dragon coiled around a sword—marked him as one of the kingdom’s last true knights. Sir Roland. His gaze was sharp, his expression unreadable, but the way his hand rested on the hilt of his sword sent a chill down my spine. *"Frederick of Black Hollow,"* I said, dismounting with as much dignity as I could muster. *"Sent by Lord Aldric to train under you."* Sir Roland didn’t move. *"Lord Aldric’s letters say you’re a squire. They don’t say you’re a liar."* His voice was low, dangerous. *"You ride like a man who’s never seen a battlefield. You carry yourself like a boy who’s never held a blade that wasn’t for show."* He stepped closer, close enough that I caught the scent of iron and old leather. *"Prove me wrong. Now."* Before I could answer, a stable boy—no older than ten—tossed me a rusted training sword. *"First lesson, squire,"* Sir Roland said, drawing his own blade. *"Survive."* The first clash of steel rang out before I could draw breath. </nc-section> --- ### **Version 2 (Green – Hopeful, Mentorship, and Warmth)** <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="green"> The castle gates yawned open before me, and for the first time in my life, I felt the weight of something greater than myself. Thunder whinnied softly, as if sensing my nerves, and I patted his neck before sliding from the saddle. The stables were alive with the clatter of hooves and the murmur of voices, but my eyes were drawn to a figure leaning against a stall, polishing a sword with slow, deliberate strokes. *"You must be Frederick,"* the man said without looking up. His voice was rough, like gravel underfoot, but there was a kindness in it—a warmth that made my shoulders relax. I bowed my head. *"Sir Roland, I presume? Lord Aldric’s letter said you’d be expecting me."* At last, he turned. His armor was well-worn, the silver dragon on his pauldron faded with age, but his eyes—sharp and knowing—held a spark that made me think of a fire that had burned for decades but still burned bright. *"Aye, lad. And you’re earlier than I thought."* He sheathed his sword and straightened, offering me a hand. *"Come. There’s much to do before the sun sets."* He led me to a stall where a young mare nickered at us. *"This is Storm. She’s yours now—part of your training. Squires learn as much from beasts as they do from blades."* His tone was fatherly, but his grip on my shoulder was firm. *"You’ll make mistakes. We all do. But if you listen, learn, and never stop asking questions, you’ll be a knight one day."* As we walked toward the training grounds, the weight in my chest lifted. For the first time, I believed it might be true. </nc-section> --- ### **Version 3 (Blue – Mysterious, Atmospheric, and Intriguing)** <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="blue"> The castle was not what I expected. From the outside, its towers clawed at the twilight sky, but the air smelled of damp stone and something older—something like old blood and forgotten magic. Thunder’s ears twitched as we approached the stables, his muscles tense beneath me. The grooms moved in eerie silence, their faces half-lit by flickering lanterns, and none of them looked up as I dismounted. Then, a shadow detached itself from the darkness. *"You’re the new squire."* The voice was smooth, almost amused, but there was an edge to it—a warning. A man stood before me, his armor black as midnight, the dragon on his chest coiled around a sword that seemed to drink in the light. Sir Roland. His eyes were the color of storm clouds, and when he smiled, it didn’t reach them. *"Frederick of Black Hollow,"* I said, bowing my head. *"Sent by Lord Aldric."* Sir Roland tilted his head, studying me like a hawk sizing up a mouse. *"Lord Aldric sends many. Most leave before the first moon."* He stepped closer, and I caught the faintest hint of something metallic—like old coins or rusted iron. *"But you… you have the look of a man who’s already lost something."* His voice dropped, conspiratorial. *"Or perhaps you’re the one who’s about to."* Before I could respond, he turned and beckoned me forward. *"Come. The castle’s secrets don’t reveal themselves to those who linger in the stables."* As we walked, he added, *"And Frederick? If you’re to survive here, you’ll need more than a sword. You’ll need to learn the language of the shadows."* The torchlight flickered, and for a moment, I swore I saw the dragon on his armor *move*. </nc-section>