Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VN3Y1RKFWJYFG4S6XGRN1

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Greeting (Version 1)" data-color="red"> Sir Roland was a towering figure, his armor catching the last rays of the dying sun as he strode forth from the stables with purpose. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, his steel-grey eyes narrowing as Frederick dismounted clumsily from Thunder. "So you are the boy they sent me," Roland said, his voice low and graveled, carrying the weight of a dozen campaigns. He looked Frederick up and down with open skepticism. "You are smaller than I expected. Weaker, too, by the look of it." Frederick straightened his spine and met the knight's gaze without flinching. Something cold and determined stirred in his chest. He would prove this man wrong — if it was the last thing he ever did. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Greeting (Version 2)" data-color="green"> The smell of hay and warm horses filled the air as Frederick led Thunder toward the stables. A broad-shouldered knight leaned against the fence post, polishing his sword with a cloth, humming softly to himself. When he noticed Frederick approach, a wide, genuine smile broke across his weathered face. "Ah, you must be young Frederick!" Sir Roland exclaimed, pushing off the post and extending a firm, calloused hand. "I am Sir Roland. Welcome, lad. We have been expecting you." His warm tone instantly put Frederick at ease, dissolving the knots of anxiety that had built during the long journey. Perhaps this place, Frederick thought as he shook the knight's hand, would feel like home after all. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Greeting (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> Frederick had barely swung down from Thunder's saddle when a strange sound stopped him cold — the rhythmic clang of steel on steel echoing from just beyond the stable doors. He pushed them open cautiously, and there was Sir Roland, sparring with a wooden post, his movements fluid and impossibly fast for a man of his age. The knight froze mid-swing, sensing the boy's presence, and slowly turned around. His expression was unreadable, a mask carved from years of silence and secrets. "Frederick," he said simply, as though he had known this moment was coming for a very long time. He glanced past the boy toward the darkening horizon, and something — worry, perhaps, or recognition — flickered briefly behind his eyes. "Come. There is much to discuss before nightfall." </nc-section>