Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HH7RWWWGKQMNGZ04ZQX1D

<nc-section data-title="Version 1" data-color="red"> Near the stables, the smell of hay and leather hung thick in the evening air. Frederick had barely slipped down from Thunder's saddle when a broad-shouldered knight stepped from the stable doors, his spurs ringing softly against the stone. He wore a weathered surcoat marked with the sigil of the castle, and though his face was stern, there was warmth in his eyes. "You'll be Frederick," the knight said, offering a gloved hand. "Sir Roland. Master of horse when I must be, sword instructor when I cannot escape it." Frederick straightened at once and bowed awkwardly before taking the knight's hand. "Yes, sir. I've just arrived." "So I see," Sir Roland replied, glancing at Thunder with an appraising look. "And with a fine beast, too. That horse carries himself like he knows more of battle than half the boys who come through these gates." A faint smile touched Frederick's lips, but it quickly faded beneath his nerves. The castle seemed enormous now that he stood in its shadow, and the clamor of men, horses, and distant voices made him feel very small. Sir Roland appeared to notice. "Easy," the knight said, lowering his voice. "Every squire who comes here arrives with shaking hands, whether he admits it or not. You'll find your footing soon enough." He took Thunder's reins with practiced care and nodded toward the stable yard. "Come. Your horse will be fed, and you'll be shown where you sleep. Tomorrow, we begin seeing whether you've brought courage with you, or only ambition." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> The stable yard bustled with the last labors of the day. Grooms hurried with buckets, horses stamped in their stalls, and swallows dipped beneath the eaves. As Frederick approached, uncertain where to go, a knight in polished mail emerged from the dimness of the stable, carrying his helm beneath one arm. He was an older man, square-jawed and silver at the temples, with the easy bearing of someone long obeyed. His gaze fell on Frederick at once. "You are late by half a bell," he said. Frederick's heart lurched. "I beg your pardon, sir. The road from the south was muddied by rain." For a moment the knight said nothing. Then, to Frederick's surprise, he gave a short laugh. "A good answer. Better than an excuse." He stepped closer and inclined his head. "Sir Roland, sworn knight of this castle. I was told to expect a new squire, though I expected one taller." Frederick flushed, unsure whether he was being mocked. But there was no cruelty in Sir Roland's expression—only a dry humor sharpened by years. "I am Frederick, sir," he said. "I mean to serve well." "See that you do." Sir Roland reached out and patted Thunder's neck, earning an approving snort from the stallion. "Any boy trusted with a horse like this has been taught something worthwhile. We shall discover what." He gestured toward the rows of lantern-lit stalls. "Bring your kit. The castle has little patience for idlers, but it has room enough for those willing to learn. And if you listen more than you speak, you may survive your first week with your pride intact." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> Frederick led Thunder toward the stables, his boots crunching over the straw scattered across the yard. The day's last light painted the wooden doors in amber and gold. Before he could call for a groom, a knight stepped out from within, ducking beneath the low beam with the casual grace of a man accustomed to armor. His cloak was travel-stained, and a scar traced a pale line from brow to cheek, but his expression was calm. He regarded Frederick for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Welcome to Castle Greyhaven," he said. "I am Sir Roland." Frederick bowed quickly, nearly fumbling Thunder's reins in the process. "Frederick, sir. I've come to begin my service." Sir Roland's eyes flicked to the boy's hands, his posture, the road dust on his cloak, measuring him in a glance so swift it was almost invisible. "Then your service begins with caring for the creature that carried you here. A knight who neglects his horse is worth less than a dull blade." "Yes, sir," Frederick replied at once. At that, Sir Roland's stern features eased. "Good. There is hope for you yet." He took hold of Thunder's bridle and ran a knowing hand along the stallion's neck. Thunder, who had shied from strangers before, stood still beneath the touch. Frederick noticed and felt a fresh stir of awe. Sir Roland glanced back at him. "The castle can be hard on boys who dream of glory. Best learn early that glory smells more often of sweat, hay, and steel than of songs." He handed the reins back and pointed toward an open stall. "See to your mount, then come find me in the yard. We will speak of duty before supper." </nc-section>