Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0GGC5HGN0YHEJSAX2J7KCV

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight's Welcome (v1)" data-color="red"> As I dismounted near the stables, the scent of hay and horseflesh filled my nostrils. A tall figure emerged from the shadows of the wooden beams, his armor catching the last amber rays of the dying sun. Sir Roland, the legendary knight whose name was whispered with reverence in every tavern from here to the northern borders, stood before me with a warm smile creasing his weathered face. "You must be Frederick," he said, his voice deep and resonant like distant thunder. He extended a gauntleted hand, and I noticed the faded scars that crisscrossed his knuckles—each one a story of battles fought and won. "I've heard much about you from your father. He was a fine soldier, and I expect no less from his son." I clasped his hand firmly, hoping my grip conveyed more confidence than I felt. Thunder whinnied softly behind me, as if sensing the weight of the moment. Sir Roland's piercing blue eyes studied me with the careful appraisal of a man who had spent a lifetime judging the mettle of warriors. "Come," he said, clapping my shoulder with enough force to nearly buckle my knees. "Let us get your horse settled, and then we shall speak of the trials that await you." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight's Welcome (v2)" data-color="green"> The stables smelled of leather and sweat, a scent I had known since childhood but which now felt strangely foreign in this unfamiliar place. As I led Thunder through the arched entrance, a stable boy rushed forward to take the reins, but before I could protest, a commanding voice rang out from the far end of the corridor. "Let the lad tend to his own mount, Tobias. A squire who cannot care for his horse is no squire at all." Sir Roland stepped forward into the lantern light, and I nearly forgot to breathe. He was shorter than the legends suggested, but broader too, built like an oak that had weathered a hundred storms. His dark beard was streaked with silver, and a jagged scar ran from his left temple to the corner of his jaw. "Frederick of Ashwood, I presume?" He did not smile, but there was no coldness in his gaze either—only the measured curiosity of a master craftsman examining raw material. "I am Sir Roland. For the next three years, you will answer to me, train under me, and if the gods are kind, learn from me." I bowed deeply, my heart hammering against my ribs. "It would be my honor, Sir Roland." "Honor," he repeated, and this time the faintest ghost of a smile touched his lips. "We shall see how well you understand that word by the time I am through with you." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight's Welcome (v3)" data-color="blue"> I had barely swung down from Thunder's saddle when I heard the crunch of boots on gravel behind me. Turning, I found myself face to face with a man whose very presence seemed to command the air around him. He wore no helmet, and his graying hair was tied back with a simple leather cord, but the polished breastplate and the longsword at his hip marked him clearly as a knight of the realm. "Sir Roland," I stammered, dropping to one knee before I had fully processed what I was doing. I had seen his likeness painted in the great hall of my father's manor, though the portrait had not captured the intensity of his eyes, nor the quiet authority that radiated from him like heat from a forge. "Rise, boy. The ground is no place for greetings between men." He offered me his arm, and I took it, allowing him to pull me to my feet with surprising gentleness. "You ride well. I watched you from the tower as you crossed the lower fields. Your seat is good, but you hold the reins too tightly. A horse is a partner, not a prisoner." I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "I shall remember that, my lord." "See that you do." He turned toward Thunder, running a practiced hand along the stallion's flank. "Beautiful animal. Care for him well, Frederick, for in the days to come, he may be the only friend who does not judge you when you fail—and you will fail. Often. That is how we learn." </nc-section>