Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8X3PRD2Q9WNPSES5XFAJK2

Here are three alternate versions of this scene: <nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Warm Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder near the stables, the heavy clank of armored boots echoed across the cobblestones. A broad-shouldered knight with a thick auburn beard and kind eyes strode toward me, his hand already extended in greeting. "You must be Frederick," the knight said, his voice deep and resonant, carrying the easy confidence of a man who had seen a hundred battles and lived to speak of them all. "I am Sir Roland, Knight of the Eastern Watch. Your father wrote to me — said you had the heart of a warrior, though the arms of a scarecrow." He laughed heartily at his own jest, and despite my exhaustion, I couldn't help but smile. His gauntleted hand clasped mine and nearly crushed it. A stable boy appeared to take Thunder's reins, and Sir Roland draped a heavy arm across my shoulders, steering me toward the keep. "Come, lad. Let's get some food in you before training begins at dawn. You'll need every ounce of strength the gods can spare." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Stern Introduction" data-color="green"> I had barely swung my leg over the saddle when a voice, sharp as a blade drawn from its scabbard, cut through the evening air. "You're late." I turned to find a knight leaning against the stable door, arms folded across a breastplate scarred with the memory of countless battles. His dark eyes studied me the way a hawk studies a mouse — with patience, precision, and absolutely no warmth. A jagged scar ran from his left temple to his jawline, disappearing beneath a neatly trimmed silver beard. "Sir Roland?" I asked, my voice cracking in a way I immediately despised. "That depends," he said, pushing himself off the wall and closing the distance between us in three deliberate strides. "If you're Frederick, then yes, I am Sir Roland, and I am the man responsible for turning whatever *this* is —" he gestured at me from head to toe, "— into something resembling a knight. If you're anyone else, I've never heard the name." He turned on his heel without waiting for a response. "Stable your horse. Then find the barracks. Training starts before the sun rises, and I do not repeat instructions." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: A Mysterious Encounter" data-color="blue"> The stables were quiet save for the soft nickering of horses and the rustle of hay. I led Thunder into an empty stall and began loosening his saddle when I noticed a figure standing in the shadows at the far end of the stable row — utterly still, watching me. "You ride well for a boy your age," the figure said, stepping into the fading light that filtered through the slats. He was tall and lean, clad in dark leather armor rather than the polished plate I had expected of a castle knight. His face was weathered but ageless, and his pale grey eyes held something unsettling — a sadness, or perhaps a secret. "I am Sir Roland," he said quietly, as though the name itself was something he wished to keep hidden. "And you are Frederick, the squire I was told to expect." He paused, glancing over his shoulder toward the castle's eastern tower, where a single candle flickered in the highest window. "Tell me, boy — on your journey here, did you see anything... unusual in the skies? Anything at all?" The question caught me off guard. I thought of the strange shadow I had glimpsed passing over the moon the night before — the one I had dismissed as a cloud. Sir Roland read the answer on my face before I could speak it. His jaw tightened. "Then it has begun sooner than I feared. Come with me, Frederick. There is much you need to know — and very little time to learn it." </nc-section>