Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0GGCF166B0JTG7XZEGR8H3

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight's Welcome (Version 1)" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder near the stables, a tall figure emerged from the shadows of the archway. Sir Roland was everything the bards had described—broad-shouldered, his silver-streaked beard neatly trimmed, and eyes as sharp as the sword at his hip. His crimson cloak bore the embroidered sigil of the kingdom, a golden griffin rampant. "You must be Frederick," he said, his voice deep and resonant, carrying the weight of countless battles. He extended a calloused hand, which I clasped with as much confidence as my trembling fingers could muster. "Your father was a good man. I served beside him at the Battle of Ashenvale." I swallowed hard, unsure what to say. Mention of my father always stirred something raw within me. Sir Roland seemed to sense my discomfort and clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Come, lad. Stable your horse, and we'll see you fed before your training begins at dawn. The road here is long, and tomorrow will be longer still." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight's Welcome (Version 2)" data-color="green"> The stables smelled of fresh hay and well-oiled leather. I had barely swung down from Thunder's saddle when a booming laugh echoed across the courtyard. "By the gods, they're sending them younger every year!" I turned to see a mountain of a man striding toward me, armor clinking with each step. Sir Roland was not what I had expected. Where I had imagined a stern, grizzled warrior, I found a jovial giant with a wild red beard and eyes that crinkled with mirth. A jagged scar ran from his temple to his jaw, but it did nothing to diminish his easy grin. "Frederick, isn't it?" He seized my hand and pumped it so vigorously I feared my arm might come loose. "I've heard tales of your wooden-sword duels in the village square. Word travels, boy, even to old knights like me." My cheeks burned. "Sir Roland, I—" "Save your formalities for the lords and ladies." He winked, turning to admire Thunder. "Fine beast. Treat your horse well, Frederick, and he'll carry you through hells no knight should ever see. Now, let's get you settled. I've a feeling we're going to be great friends." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight's Welcome (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> I led Thunder toward the stables, my boots crunching on the gravel path. The courtyard was quieter than I had imagined—only the distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer and the soft whicker of horses broke the stillness of dusk. A figure stood waiting by the stable doors, perfectly still, as though he had been carved from the same stone as the castle walls. Sir Roland. I knew it had to be him, though no one had described him to me. He wore no armor, only a simple dark tunic and a worn sword belt, yet there was an unmistakable gravity about him, the stillness of a man who had seen too much and spoken too little about it. "Frederick." He did not phrase it as a question. His pale eyes studied me with quiet intensity, taking in every detail—the dust on my cloak, the way my hand still rested on Thunder's flank, the nervous set of my shoulders. "Sir Roland." I bowed as deeply as I could manage without appearing desperate. He was silent for a long moment. Then, softly: "You have your mother's eyes." Before I could ask how he had known her, he turned and gestured for me to follow. "Stable your horse. There are things we must discuss—things that cannot wait until morning." A chill crept down my spine that had nothing to do with the evening air. </nc-section>