Run: 2026-06-24-01KVX38QA6VTC5TG7HABB4B3TW

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Gruff Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder near the stables, a tall figure clad in gleaming armor strode toward me. His face was weathered by years of battle, a thick scar running from his left eye to his jaw. Sir Roland, the local knight, stopped before me and looked me up and down with a critical eye. "So, you're the new squire," he said, his voice like gravel grinding beneath a cart wheel. "You look like a strong wind could knock you over." I straightened my back and met his gaze. "I am Frederick of Ashwood, sir. I am stronger than I appear." Sir Roland let out a grunt that might have been a laugh. "We shall see, boy. We shall see. Stables need mucking first thing. Then we'll see if you can hold a sword without cutting yourself." He turned on his heel and walked away, his cape swishing behind him. I swallowed hard. My training had begun. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Warm Reception" data-color="green"> The smell of hay and horses filled the air as I led Thunder into the stables. A kind-faced man with silver hair approached, wiping his hands on a cloth. Despite his age, his arms were thick with muscle, and he moved with the easy grace of a seasoned warrior. "You must be Frederick," he said warmly, extending a calloused hand. "I'm Sir Roland. I've been expecting you." I shook his hand, feeling the firm grip of a man who had spent a lifetime holding a sword. "It's an honor, sir. I've heard stories of your deeds since I was a boy." Sir Roland smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Stories grow taller with each telling, I assure you. But come, let's get your horse settled. You've had a long journey, and tomorrow we begin your training in earnest. There is much to learn, and less time to learn it than there once was." A shadow passed over his face as he said this, as if some unspoken worry weighed on his mind. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: An Unsettling Encounter" data-color="blue"> I had barely dismounted when I sensed someone watching me. Near the stable entrance, leaning against a wooden post, stood a knight in dark armor. His arms were crossed, and his eyes—pale blue and piercing—studied me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "Took your time getting here," Sir Roland said flatly, not moving from his post. "The roads were—" "I don't care about the roads." He pushed off from the post and walked slowly toward me. "What I care about is whether you're worth the trouble. Lord Aldric sent word that you have potential. I don't see it yet." He stopped inches from me. Up close, I could see the faint silvery pattern of old burns on his neck, disappearing beneath his armor. "Tell me, Frederick of Ashwood," he whispered, glancing toward the darkening sky to the east. "Do you believe in dragons?" The question caught me off guard. Before I could answer, he turned away. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, everything changes."