Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8X085P890CKVCMV0QG0K26

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Greeting (Version 1)" data-color="red"> The stable doors groaned as I dismounted Thunder, my boots sinking into the soft mud of the courtyard. Before I could gather my saddlebags, a towering figure emerged from the shadow of the stables — Sir Roland, his armor scarred from a dozen campaigns, his eyes hard as flint. He looked me up and down with barely concealed disdain. "So you're the boy they've sent me," he said, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder. "You look like a stiff breeze would knock you flat." He turned sharply on his heel. "Come. We'll see what you're made of before the sun fully sets. I have little patience for weakness, squire." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Greeting (Version 2)" data-color="green"> I had barely looped Thunder's reins around the stable post when I heard a warm, bellowing laugh cut through the evening air. Sir Roland strode toward me with his arms wide open, his silver-streaked beard catching the last light of the sun. He was broader than I had imagined, yet there was a gentleness in his weathered face that instantly put me at ease. "Frederick! By the old gods, you look just like your father did at your age!" He clasped my shoulder firmly, nearly buckling my knees. "Welcome, lad. These stables, this castle — they'll be your home now. Come, let me show you around before supper grows cold." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Greeting (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> The stables were quiet save for the soft shuffling of horses when a lone figure stepped out from within, lantern in hand. Sir Roland was younger than I had expected — perhaps forty, with sharp, calculating eyes that assessed me the way a merchant assesses a gemstone. He said nothing at first, simply holding the lantern up to illuminate my face. "You rode hard to get here," he finally said, noticing the road dust caked across my cloak. It was not a question. He handed me the lantern and took Thunder's reins himself, guiding the stallion gently into the stable. "A knight who cannot tend his own horse has already failed." He glanced back at me with a faint, enigmatic smile. "Watch carefully, Frederick. Your first lesson has already begun." </nc-section>