Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8W576PN3YDRJS9NGK22QG1

Here are three alternate versions of the next scene: <nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> The stables smelled of hay and leather as I dismounted Thunder, my legs aching from the long ride. I had barely begun to loosen the saddle when a shadow fell across the cobblestones behind me. "You're late." I turned to find a towering figure clad in polished steel plate, his arms folded across a broad chest bearing the kingdom's crest. Sir Roland. His jaw was set like granite, and his dark eyes appraised me the way a butcher might inspect a cut of questionable meat. "Frederick of Ashenmoor, I presume," he said. It wasn't a question. He stepped closer, his boots striking the stones with military precision. "I expected you at midday. The sun is nearly gone, boy." "The eastern road was flooded, sir. I had to take the ridge pass through—" "Excuses are the currency of the weak." He seized Thunder's reins from my hand and, with surprising gentleness, began leading the stallion into the stable. "A knight adapts. A knight arrives when he says he will, come flood or fire." He glanced back over his shoulder, and for the briefest moment, I thought I caught the ghost of a smile. "Still — you made it. That counts for something. Get your things. Your training begins at dawn." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Warm Reception" data-color="green"> A stablehand rushed forward to take Thunder's reins as I slid from the saddle, my boots crunching against the straw-littered ground. The castle stables were grander than anything I had imagined — vaulted wooden ceilings, iron lanterns glowing amber, and rows upon rows of fine warhorses nickering softly in their stalls. "Ah, so *this* is the lad old Ashenmoor has been writing to me about!" The voice was rich and booming, full of warmth that seemed to fill the entire stable. I turned to see a broad-shouldered knight striding toward me, his auburn beard neatly trimmed, his green cloak billowing behind him. Sir Roland's face was weathered by years of campaign, yet his eyes sparkled with genuine kindness. He clasped my hand before I could even bow. "Frederick, my boy. Welcome, welcome! Your father and I fought side by side at the Siege of Thornwall — did he ever tell you that?" "Many times, sir," I managed, still stunned by the warmth of his greeting. He laughed — a deep, thunderous sound — and clapped me on the shoulder so hard I nearly stumbled. "Good man. Come, let's get you fed. You look half-starved, and the cook has prepared a roast that could make a dragon weep with envy. We'll have plenty of time to discuss your training over a full belly." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: A Mysterious Encounter" data-color="blue"> I led Thunder into the dim quiet of the stables, the last light of day slanting through the wooden slats in thin golden ribbons. The other horses shifted nervously as we entered, stamping and snorting as though something unseen had disturbed them. Thunder, too, pulled against his reins, his ears pinned flat. "Easy," I whispered, stroking his neck. "Easy, boy." "Your horse senses it too, then." I spun around, my hand instinctively reaching for the short blade at my hip. A knight stood in the shadowed corner of the stable, leaning against a support beam as though he had been waiting there for hours. He was lean and angular, his silver-streaked hair pulled back from a face marked by a long, pale scar that traced from his left temple to his jaw. His armor was unlike any I had seen — dark metal etched with symbols that seemed to shift when I wasn't looking directly at them. "Sir Roland?" I asked cautiously. He nodded slowly, his pale grey eyes never leaving mine. "Frederick of Ashenmoor. I've been expecting you." He pushed off the beam and walked toward me, his movements unnervingly silent for a man in armor. He stopped and looked past me — toward the horizon, toward something far beyond the castle walls. "Tell me, boy — on your ride here, did you see anything in the sky? Anything... unusual?" A chill crept down my spine. Because I *had* seen something — a shape in the clouds, vast and winged, gone as quickly as it had appeared. I had told myself it was nothing. The look in Sir Roland's eyes told me it was anything but. </nc-section>