Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95NSFGJENWVM9PJJN4RF9W

<nc-section data-title="Version 1" data-color="red"> As I dismounted, my boots sinking into the damp straw and mud of the stable yard, a shadow fell over me. A man stood there, his frame broad and his armor bearing the deep gouges of previous battles. This was Sir Roland. He was sharpening a dagger with a whetstone, the rhythmic *shinnk-shinnk* providing a sharp contrast to the evening's quiet. "You're the new one, then," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. He didn't look up immediately, his focus entirely on the edge of his blade. "Frederick, if the herald's scroll is to be believed. You've a steady hand on the reins, but we'll see if you can hold a shield as well when the fire starts breathing down your neck." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> I led Thunder toward the warmth of the stables, where the smell of horses and fresh hay offered a brief sense of comfort. Standing by the large wooden doors was Sir Roland, a knight whose reputation for patience was as well-known as his skill with a lance. He was feeding a handful of oats to a massive grey destrier, but his eyes were fixed on me as I approached. "Easy now, lad," Roland said, a small, weary smile tugging at his beard. "You've ridden hard to get here, but the real work begins when you step out of that saddle. Tend to your horse first—a squire is only as good as the animal that carries him. Once Thunder is fed and brushed, come find me in the courtyard. We have much to discuss." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, skeletal shadows across the stable yard. Sir Roland was waiting there, leaning against a support beam with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked less like a knight and more like a sentinel guarding the threshold between my old life and this new, uncertain future. "So, the Dragon's Squire finally arrives," he said, his tone unreadable. He pushed off the beam and stepped into the fading light, his eyes scanning me for any sign of weakness. "They say you have the spark of the old blood in you, Frederick. But out here, in the cold reality of stone and steel, blood is just something that spills if you're too slow. Get your mount settled. Tomorrow, we see if you're made of metal or just tall tales." </nc-section>