Run: 2026-03-18-01KM07ZJPK3E8CNNHXCS41N297

Here are three alternate prose sections continuing the story with Sir Roland greeting Frederick near the stables: --- <nc-section data-title="A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> The moment Thunder’s hooves clattered against the cobblestone courtyard, a shadow fell over Frederick. A towering figure stood before him, clad in polished black armor that gleamed even in the fading light. Sir Roland’s grizzled face was set in a frown, his piercing gaze dissecting Frederick with an intensity that made his stomach twist. "So, you’re the new squire," Sir Roland rumbled, his voice like gravel. "I had hoped for someone older. Someone with actual skill." He stepped forward, his spurs jingling ominously. Frederick swallowed hard but lifted his chin, forcing himself not to flinch. The knight circled him like a predator sizing up prey. "We’ll see if you’ve got the mettle to survive the trials ahead. But mark my words—many have failed before you." Frederick’s fingers clenched the reins of Thunder, knuckles white. He had heard tales of Sir Roland’s ruthlessness. If this was the man who would shape his future, then the path ahead would be fraught with peril. </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="A Warm Embrace" data-color="green"> Before Frederick could dismount, a hearty laugh echoed through the courtyard, and a broad-shouldered knight clapped him on the back hard enough to rattle his ribs. Sir Roland’s armor gleamed, but his eyes twinkled with genuine warmth as he grinned up at Frederick. "Welcome, lad! I was starting to think the king had forgotten to send someone." He reached up to pat Thunder’s neck, his calloused hand gentle with the horse. "You’ve traveled far, I’ll wager. Come, let’s get you settled. You’ll want to meet the others—Gilbert’s been mending his bow, and if you’ve got an eye for archery, he’ll be eager to challenge you." Frederick exhaled in relief. The tension in his shoulders melted away. Sir Roland’s easy manner was a stark contrast to the grim stories he’d heard. Maybe this training wouldn’t be so daunting after all. </nc-section> --- <nc-section data-title="A Chill Greeting" data-color="blue"> The stables were quiet as Frederick led Thunder inside, the only sound the echo of their footsteps. Then, from the darkness, a voice cut through the silence. "Drop the reins." Frederick’s breath caught. He turned slowly to see Sir Roland leaning against a wooden post, his face half-hidden in shadow. His armor was unpolished, as if he hadn’t worn it in days—or perhaps he simply preferred the gloom. The knight’s voice was flat, devoid of warmth. Frederick hesitated, then obeyed, letting the reins slip from his fingers. Sir Roland stepped forward, his movements deliberate, almost predatory. "You’re late. And underprepared." He tilted his head, studying Frederick with an unsettling intensity. "But perhaps that’s why the king sent you." Frederick couldn’t shake the feeling that Sir Roland wasn’t just speaking about his tardiness. </nc-section>