Run: 2026-03-03-01KJV0H6Y1E6AST77JHTWPX550

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Stable Greeting (Version 1)" data-color="red"> I tugged Thunder’s reins tight to the weathered hitching post out front of the castle stables, brushing straw from the sleeves of my undervest as I leaned down to check his flanks for any scrapes from the road. The sharp, sweet smell of alfalfa and blacksmith’s coal hung thick in the twilight air, when a deep, gravelly voice rumbled behind me. “Easy there, squire—you’ll yank those horse’s tongue out before he even gets a chance to drink.” I spun around to find Sir Roland, his scarred left cheek crinkled into a half-smile, his dented steel gauntlet propped against a stack of leather saddle bags. He wore a faded surcoat over his chainmail, the crest of the kingdom half-frayed at the edges, and he tapped a worn leather training log against his thigh. “Heard your master sent you up ahead this morning—glad you made it without scaring the castle geese. C’mon, I’ll show you where your squire’s locker is, and you can stow that horse before we go over your first orders.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Stable Greeting (Version 2)" data-color="green"> The soft crunch of hay under my boots echoed as I stepped into the lined courtyard by the stables, fingers twisting nervously in the strap of my travel satchel. I’d been hyper-aware of every scuff on my well-worn squire’s tunic, half-expecting to be chewed out for arriving a hair later than the dawn curfew. A quiet, warm voice cut through the hum of stable boys mucking out stalls: “You’re Frederick, right? The new squire sent by Elder Thomas?” I looked up to see Sir Roland standing just a few feet away, his clean linen surcoat spotless, a small silver brooch pinned to his collar shaped like a sparrow. He held a bucket of warm water for horses, and his eyes crinkled at the corner when he saw my tense posture. “Don’t worry—most new squires trip over the stable’s stray tomcat within their first hour here. I know because I did it, back when my own mentor left me to feed the warhorses alone. Let me take that satchel, I’ll show you where you’ll bed down tonight before you meet the rest of the trainees.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Stable Greeting (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> I’d finished brushing Thunder’s dappled gray coat and tethered him to the stable’s empty box stall, turning to stretch my sore shoulders when a sharp, crisp voice broke the quiet. “Squire Frederick? Reported to Castle Veyra for squire training?” I spun to face Sir Roland, whose polished steel pauldrons glinted in the fading sunlight, a leather-bound portfolio clutched tight to his chest. He snapped open a flap of parchment and tapped a line with his quill, his gaze steady and unyielding. “I am Master of Squire Training here at Blackspire Castle. Your former lord’s letters of indenture are in order, but you will adhere to three non-negotiable rules while in my charge: no unauthorized horse riding after dusk, no leaving the squire’s barracks without permission, and you will report to the training yard at first light sharp tomorrow. Follow me—you’ll be shown your assigned quarters and given your first training schedule.” </nc-section>