Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0GD33Z4YYV685QZ74FWF2B

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight's Welcome (Version 1)" data-color="red"> I dismounted Thunder near the stables, my boots sinking into the soft earth still damp from the morning's rain. The scent of hay and leather filled my nostrils—a welcome change from the dust of the road. Before I could unbuckle Thunder's saddle, a booming voice called out from behind me. "You must be young Frederick!" I turned to see a towering figure emerging from the shadow of the stable doorway. Sir Roland was every bit the legend I had heard whispered about in my village. His broad shoulders strained against a crimson tunic, and a silver-threaded beard framed a weathered face marked by a jagged scar that ran from his left brow to his cheek. Yet his eyes—sharp and green as summer moss—held an unexpected warmth. "I am, my lord," I managed, bowing low. "None of that 'my lord' nonsense." He clapped a massive hand on my shoulder, nearly buckling my knees. "In the stables, we are equals—you, me, and the horses. Especially the horses." He grinned, revealing a chipped front tooth. "Come. We've much to discuss before nightfall, and I suspect you're hungrier than a wolf in winter." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight's Welcome (Version 2)" data-color="green"> The stables smelled of fresh straw and oiled saddles. I led Thunder through the wide oaken doors, my legs aching from the long ride, when I noticed a man tending to a dappled grey mare in the far stall. He was older than I had expected—perhaps fifty—with close-cropped silver hair and hands that moved with practiced gentleness as he brushed the mare's flank. He did not look up as I approached, but spoke all the same. "A fine animal," he said quietly. "You rode him hard, but not cruelly. That tells me something about you already, squire." I froze, unsure how to respond. "Sir Roland?" Now he turned, and I was struck by the stillness in him—the quiet of a man who had seen too many battles to waste words on unnecessary ones. He wore no armor, only a simple tunic of undyed wool, but there was no mistaking the authority in his bearing. "Tend to your horse first, Frederick. A knight who cannot care for his mount cannot care for his men." He handed me a brush without ceremony. "When you're finished, meet me by the well. Your training begins tonight—and I warn you, it will not be what you expect." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight's Welcome (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> I had barely swung down from Thunder's back when a clang of steel rang out from the stable yard. Startled, I spun to find a knight in half-plate armor practicing sword forms against a wooden post, his blade a silver blur in the fading light. He moved with impossible grace for a man his size, each strike landing with precise, devastating force. With a final flourish, he buried his sword into the post and turned to face me, barely winded. "Frederick of Ashford, I presume?" His voice carried the easy confidence of a man accustomed to command. "I am Sir Roland. I've been expecting you since midday." "Forgive me, sir—the western road was washed out. I had to take the long way around." "Good." He nodded approvingly and strode toward me, pulling off his gauntlets. "A squire who thinks for himself is worth three who simply follow orders. Remember that." His gaze drifted to Thunder, and something softened in his stern expression. "And you've brought a noble companion. Tell me, Frederick—what do you know of dragons?" The question caught me like a blow to the chest. I stammered, unable to find words. Sir Roland's smile did not quite reach his eyes. "No matter. You will learn soon enough. Come—there is someone within the keep who wishes to meet you. And she does not like to be kept waiting." </nc-section>