Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA80KNBMHZ4RSET3REAP82

Here are three distinct prose sections for your story, each with a different tone and direction while maintaining the core interaction between Frederick and Sir Roland: --- ### **Version 1 (Red – Gritty, Foreshadowing Danger)** <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. My boots struck the cobblestones with a hollow thud as I dismounted, Thunder’s breath steaming in the evening chill. Before I could even secure my saddle, a shadow fell across me. *"You’re late,"* a voice rumbled, deep as a tomb’s echo. I turned to see a knight clad in blackened steel, his tabard bearing the sigil of a broken sword—a mark I didn’t recognize. Sir Roland, I assumed, though his face was a mask of scars beneath his helm. His gaze flicked over me, lingering on the worn leather of my squire’s belt. *"The master doesn’t suffer delays. Especially not from boys who look like they’ve never held a sword."* I swallowed hard. "I—I rode as fast as I could, sir. The road was clear." His lips twisted. *"Clear, or cursed? Doesn’t matter."* He jerked his chin toward the stables. *"Stall your horse. Then find the armory. You’ll need a blade before the night’s out."* As I led Thunder toward the shadows of the stable, I caught the glint of something metallic in Sir Roland’s hand—a dagger, its hilt wrapped in frayed black leather. He didn’t sheath it. Just held it, thumb resting on the edge, as if testing its weight. *"Oh, and Frederick?"* His voice was suddenly quiet, almost a whisper. *"If you hear the horn blow three times before dawn, you run. No questions. No heroics. You *run*."* Then he turned and strode away, his armor swallowing the fading light. --- --- ### **Version 2 (Green – Hopeful, Mentorship Begins)** <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="green"> The castle stables smelled of hay and leather, warm and alive. I’d barely tied Thunder’s reins to the post when a hand clapped my shoulder. *"You must be Frederick!"* The voice was rough but kind, and I turned to see a broad-shouldered knight with a face lined by years of sun and laughter. His tabard bore the golden lion of House Vaelith, and his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. *"Sir Roland, at your service. Though I suspect you’ll be calling me ‘sir’ a lot in the coming weeks."* I grinned back, suddenly less nervous. "Yes, sir! I—I mean, thank you, sir! I’ve been looking forward to this." Sir Roland chuckled, ruffling my hair like I was still a boy back home. *"Good. Because you’re going to need all the forward-thinking you’ve got."* He gestured toward the castle’s training yard, where the first embers of torchlight flickered to life. *"The master’s a hard taskmaster, but fair. And if you’ve got half the grit your father did, you’ll do just fine."* He fell into step beside me as we walked toward the courtyard. *"Now, tell me—what’s your weapon of choice? Sword? Axe? Or are you one of those fancy dagger-wielders?"* I hesitated. *"I—I’ve never really trained with any of them, sir. My father had an old hunting bow, but—"* Sir Roland stopped, turning to face me with a look of genuine surprise. *"A bow? Well, that changes things."* He clapped his hands together. *"Right. First lesson: we find you a proper bow. And then we see if you’ve got the eye for it. The master might just have a use for a squire who can hit a target from a hundred paces."* For the first time since arriving, I felt a spark of excitement. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all. --- --- ### **Version 3 (Blue – Mysterious, Atmospheric)** <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Arrival" data-color="blue"> The stables were empty except for the lowing of cattle and the distant clatter of armor being polished. I ran a hand along Thunder’s neck, murmuring an apology for the rough ride. The horse nickered softly, as if understanding. *"You’re early."* The voice came from the shadows, smooth as oil on stone. I spun to see Sir Roland leaning against a stall door, his arms crossed. Unlike the other knights I’d glimpsed—brightly polished and proud—his armor was dark, almost black, as if worn by a man who preferred the night. His face was half-hidden in the gloom, but his eyes… they were sharp, like a hawk’s. *"The master doesn’t like early,"* he continued, stepping into the torchlight. *"Or late. Or loud. Or… well, much of anything, really."* A ghost of a smile touched his lips. *"But you’re here now. So let’s not waste time."* He pushed off the stall and strode toward the exit, beckoning me to follow. *"The armory’s this way. And Frederick?"* He glanced back, his voice dropping to a murmur. *"The castle has secrets. Some are in the books. Others…"* He shook his head. *"Others are in the walls. Learn to listen."* The air grew colder as we passed through the stables, the scent of damp earth and old stone thick in my lungs. Somewhere above us, a raven cawed, its cry echoing through the halls. Sir Roland paused, tilting his head as if listening to something beyond sound. *"That’s the signal,"* he said quietly. *"Three ravens at dusk. Means the master’s expecting company."* I swallowed. *"Company? Like… guests?"* His gaze was unreadable. *"Like dragons."* --- --- ### **Notes on Tone & Direction:** - **Red (Gritty):** Sets a dark, ominous tone with immediate tension. Sir Roland is a morally ambiguous figure, hinting at danger or a larger conspiracy. - **Green (Hopeful):** Focuses on mentorship and camaraderie, establishing Sir Roland as a patient, encouraging guide. The bow detail adds a unique twist to Frederick’s skills. - **Blue (Mysterious):** Lean into the fantasy elements early, with eerie atmosphere and cryptic hints about the castle’s secrets. Sir Roland is enigmatic, almost supernatural. Would you like any of these expanded further, or adjusted to better fit a specific direction for the novel?