Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE8ZJBDQPQTBBQ0ZWN5E8TN

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: A Knight's Welcome (Version 1)" data-color="red"> As Thunder's hooves clattered to a stop before the stables, a broad-shouldered figure emerged from the shadows of the doorway. Sunlight caught the edges of his weathered breastplate, and a scar traced silver across his jaw. "You must be the new squire," the man said, his voice carrying the gravel of a hundred battles. "Sir Roland. I've been expecting you." He extended a calloused hand, gripping Frederick's forearm with the strength of someone twice his size. "Off your horse, lad. We've work to do before the moon rises, and I don't tolerate laziness." Frederick swallowed hard, dismounting quickly. There was something in the knight's eyes—stern, assessing, but not unkind—that told him his training was about to begin in earnest. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: A Knight's Welcome (Version 2)" data-color="green"> "Well now, look what the wind blew in!" The voice boomed across the stable yard, warm and hearty as a hearth fire. Sir Roland strode forward, his chainmail jingling merrily with each step, a grin splitting his weather-beaten face. He was older than Frederick expected, silver threading through his beard, but his eyes sparkled with the mischief of a much younger man. "Frederick, is it? Climb down from that beast before you fall off and embarrass us both." He chuckled, clapping the boy on the shoulder as he dismounted. "I remember my first day here—fell flat on my face in front of the entire garrison. Best if you avoid that particular tradition." He took Thunder's reins with practiced ease, running a hand along the stallion's neck. "Fine horse. Let's get him settled, and then I'll show you where you'll be sleeping. Can't have my new squire wandering the halls lost—the kitchen staff would eat you alive." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: A Knight's Welcome (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> The stables smelled of hay and leather, and it was from within their dim interior that Sir Roland first appeared—not with fanfare, but quietly, leading a limping mare by the bridle. He paused when he saw Frederick, studying him with a measured gaze before speaking. "You made good time. The roads have been unkind to travelers this season." His tone was even, almost distant, yet there was a watchfulness in it, as though he were already forming judgments he wouldn't voice aloud. He tied the mare to a post and approached, wiping his hands on a cloth tucked into his belt. "I am Sir Roland. I'll be overseeing your training." He glanced at Thunder, then back to Frederick. "Tend to your horse first. A squire who neglects his mount will neglect everything else in time. We'll speak more once you're settled." He turned without waiting for a response, leaving Frederick to wonder if he had passed some manner of test already—or merely postponed one. </nc-section>