Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAJQZ9TFNTSC4Q2FVXSHMN

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Red Cloak’s Barking Greeting" data-color="red"> Thunder’s hooves skidded to a halt as a figure burst from the stables’ splintered oak doors—Sir Roland, his scarlet cloak flapping like a wounded raven, his gauntleted fist curled around a pitchfork’s handle. “Squire Frederick!” he roared, the shout rattling the hay bales stacked along the stable wall. Frederick fumbled to dismount, his fingers tangling in Thunder’s reins as the stallion snickered at the knight’s fury. “You think galloping like a raider to the gates earns you favor?” Sir Roland jabbed the pitchfork at a half-empty water trough at Thunder’s hooves. “Your first lesson: slack care for your mount is slack care for your kingdom. Fill that trough before the moon crests—or you’ll sleep in the hay loft with the rats tonight.” The red glow of the stable’s hearth gilded the knight’s scowl, a sharp reminder that Frederick’s training would not be gentle. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Ivy-Covered Stables’ Gentle Welcome" data-color="green"> Thunder nuzzled a cluster of clover growing at the stables’ ivy-draped base when a soft voice called out: “You’ve got a steady hand with him, squire.” Frederick turned to find Sir Roland, his tunic dusted with fresh hay, kneeling beside a skittish foal whose coat matched the green of the ivy curling up the stable beams. The knight gestured for Frederick to join him, his fingers brushing the foal’s trembling nose. “I watched you slow Thunder before the gates—most new squires would have raced to impress the guard and spooked their mount.” He handed Frederick a handful of clover. “Your first task: tend to this foal’s sore hoof. Training starts not with swords, but with care for the creatures that carry us into battle. A green heart for small things makes a great knight.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Mist-Shrouded Stables’ Quiet Declaration" data-color="blue"> A thin blue mist curled around the stables’ stone foundations as Frederick led Thunder toward the hay racks, and a voice like distant thunder rumbled from the shadow of a post: “You’ve come for more than swordplay, haven’t you, squire?” Sir Roland stepped into the faint glow of the stable’s blue-tinted lantern, his sash stitched with the kingdom’s blue dragon crest glinting at his waist. He leaned against the post, his gaze fixed on Thunder’s star-shaped white patch. “I saw you pause to stare at the dragon banner above the gates. Most squires don’t notice the fray in its edge—proof it hung during the last dragon’s attack.” He gestured to a hidden niche in the stable wall, where a shard of blue dragon scale glinted. “Your training will include more than lances. It will include the truth no one else dares speak about the last dragon’s fate.” </nc-section>