Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9XWKCDJC6CQMP1K94JZJY

Here are three distinct versions of the next section, each with its own tone and style: --- <nc-section data-title="The Meeting (Version 1)" data-color="red"> The clatter of hooves on cobblestone faded as I dismounted Thunder, my breath coming in sharp bursts. The stables loomed before me, their wooden doors slightly ajar, the scent of hay and leather thick in the air. Before I could even tie Thunder’s reins, a voice cut through the dusk. *"You must be Frederick."* I turned to see a knight clad in polished steel, his surcoat bearing the sigil of the kingdom—a silver dragon coiled around a sword. His face was weathered, his eyes sharp as flint. Sir Roland. *"At your service,"* I said, bowing slightly, my fingers brushing the hilt of my practice sword at my side. *"You’re late,"* he remarked, not unkindly, but his tone brooked no argument. *"The master expects you at the training yard by sundown. And you’ve got the look of a man who’s never held a blade in earnest."* He stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over me. *"You’ll start with the basics—posture, grip, the weight of steel. No shortcuts."* I swallowed hard. *"Yes, sir."* Roland smirked, almost like he could see the fear in my eyes. *"Good. Now, let’s see if you’ve got the stomach for it."* He turned toward the castle, his voice dropping to a growl. *"And Frederick? Don’t let the dragon’s breath fool you. The real fire comes from within."* --- </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="The Welcome (Version 2)" data-color="green"> The stable doors swung open as I slid from Thunder’s back, my legs unsteady from the ride. The air was crisp, carrying the faintest hint of smoke from the castle’s hearths. Then, a deep chuckle rumbled behind me. *"Well, well. If it isn’t the boy who rode all the way from the northern marches."* I spun around to find Sir Roland leaning against a post, his arms crossed over his chest. His armor gleamed under the fading light, and his smile was warm, almost fatherly. *"You made it. I was starting to think the wolves would get you first."* I grinned, some of the tension leaving my shoulders. *"Thunder’s faster than most wolves."* *"Good. Speed’ll save your life one day."* He pushed off the post and extended a hand. *"Name’s Roland. And you’re in for a treat—Master Aldric’s been expecting you. He’s the one who’ll turn you from a squire into something more."* My stomach twisted. *"More like what?"* Roland’s eyes twinkled. *"A knight. Though I suspect you’ll be sweating more than fighting in the beginning."* He clapped me on the shoulder. *"Come on. The master’s waiting. And don’t worry—he’s got a soft spot for new blood. Just don’t let him catch you napping."* --- </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="The Challenge (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> The stables fell silent as I dismounted, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. The castle’s gates loomed ahead, their shadows stretching long across the courtyard. Then, a voice cut through the quiet—dry, amused, and unmistakably Sir Roland’s. *"So. The famous Frederick. The boy who rode through the night to answer the dragon’s call."* I turned to see Roland leaning against a stone pillar, his arms folded, his expression unreadable. His armor was immaculate, his sword sheathed but ready. *"I’m told you’ve got a reputation for recklessness."* I lifted my chin. *"And you’ve got a reputation for being the last knight who stood against the Shadowfang."* His lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl. *"Aye. And I’ve got a feeling you’ll learn why."* He stepped forward, his voice dropping to a growl. *"Master Aldric doesn’t waste time. You’ll start at dawn—with the sword, with the magic, and with the truth. No excuses. No mercy."* I swallowed. *"Understood."* Roland’s gaze darkened. *"Good. Because the world out there isn’t kind to those who hesitate."* He turned toward the castle, his voice echoing like a warning. *"And Frederick? If you want to be a knight, you’ll have to earn it. Every cut. Every bruise. Every breath."* --- </nc-section>