Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8WR5YEJ7N2G9FRA8Y32GEX

Here are three alternate versions of the scene where Sir Roland greets Frederick near the stables: <nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder near the stables, the clatter of armored boots on cobblestone drew my attention. A tall, broad-shouldered man emerged from the shadow of the gatehouse, his hand resting casually on the pommel of a well-worn sword. His face was weathered, carved with lines that spoke of countless campaigns, and his dark eyes studied me with the sharpness of a hawk sizing up its prey. "You're the new squire, then," he said. It wasn't a question. His voice was deep and carried the weight of authority. "I am Sir Roland, Knight of the Eastern Watch. You're late." I opened my mouth to explain — the swollen river crossing, the detour through Mirren's Pass — but he raised a gauntleted hand to silence me. "Excuses are the currency of the weak, boy. Stow your horse, see that he's properly watered, and report to the training yard before the last light fades. We have much to discuss, and I do not enjoy wasting time." He turned on his heel and strode away, his crimson cloak billowing behind him. I stood there, heart hammering in my chest, and wondered what exactly I had ridden into. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Warm Reception" data-color="green"> I had barely swung my leg over Thunder's saddle when a hearty laugh rang out across the stable yard. A knight leaned against the wooden fence of the nearest paddock, arms folded over a breastplate that gleamed like polished silver. He was older than I expected — perhaps fifty — but there was a youthful spark in his green eyes and a generous smile half-hidden beneath a thick, salt-and-pepper beard. "By the stars, you must be Frederick!" he called out, pushing himself upright and crossing the yard in a few easy strides. He clasped my hand before I could bow, shaking it with a grip that could have bent iron. "I'm Sir Roland. Your father wrote to me — said you had spirit and a stubborn streak a mile wide. I told him that's exactly what I look for in a squire." He clapped me on the shoulder and glanced approvingly at Thunder, who snorted and stamped in the cool evening air. "Fine animal. Come — let's get him settled and find you something warm to eat. The kitchens make a lamb stew on Thursdays that could make a dead man weep with joy." He grinned and gestured toward the stable doors. "Welcome to Caelmore, lad. Your real life starts tonight." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: A Mysterious Encounter" data-color="blue"> The stable yard was eerily quiet when I arrived. I guided Thunder into the nearest stall and began loosening his saddle, my fingers fumbling with the buckles in the dim light. A lantern swayed on a hook overhead, casting long, restless shadows across the hay-strewn floor. "You ride well for someone so young." I spun around, my hand instinctively reaching for the small dagger at my belt. A figure stood in the doorway of the stable — motionless, half-swallowed by twilight. As he stepped forward, the lantern light revealed a knight clad in dark, unadorned armor. His face was pale and angular, framed by silver hair that fell just past his jaw. A thin scar traced a line from his left temple to the corner of his mouth, and his grey eyes held something I couldn't quite name — sorrow, perhaps, or a secret carried too long. "I am Sir Roland," he said quietly, his gaze drifting past me to the darkening sky beyond the stable window. "I will be your mentor here. But before we begin, I need you to understand something, Frederick." He paused, and the silence between us felt heavy, alive. "This castle holds more than stone and soldiers. There are things within these walls that the Crown would prefer the world forgot." His eyes locked onto mine. "Are you prepared for that?" Thunder whinnied nervously behind me. I swallowed hard and nodded, though in truth, I wasn't sure at all. </nc-section>