Run: 2026-07-07-01KWZ3SA5E5RGK7R8W0M79GDZ8

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> The stable yard reeked of manure and wet straw as Frederick dismounted, his legs trembling from the long ride. A shadow fell over him before he could steady himself. "So you're the boy they sent," came a gruff voice. Frederick looked up to find a mountain of a man standing before him. Sir Roland's face was a canvas of old scars, and his chainmail clinked softly as he crossed his arms. The knight's dark eyes narrowed, studying Frederick. "Thin as a reed. Soft hands. Probably never held a real sword in your life," Sir Roland said, each word landing like a physical blow. Frederick opened his mouth to protest, but the knight had already turned away. "Stable your horse, boy. Then report to the training yard. We'll see if you're worth the food you'll be eating." Sir Roland paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "And Frederick—forget whatever notions of glory brought you here. By the time I'm done with you, you'll either be a knight or you'll be gone. There's no middle ground." With that, the knight strode away, leaving Frederick alone with his racing heart and the sinking realization that his training had already begun. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Father Figure" data-color="green"> "Easy now, lad. Let him drink slow," a warm voice called out. Frederick turned to see a knight approaching from the stable entrance. Though past his prime, Sir Roland moved with the easy confidence of a man comfortable in his own skin. His grey beard was neatly trimmed, and laugh lines creased the corners of his eyes. "Name's Roland. I'll be looking after you during your time here." He took Thunder's reins gently, guiding the horse toward a stall. "Fine animal. Took good care of you on the road, I expect?" "Yes, sir. My father gave him to me before I left." Sir Roland nodded sagely. "A father's gift is not given lightly. You'll want to honor that by becoming someone worth the giving." The knight's hands moved with practiced ease as he helped Frederick unsaddle Thunder. "Training begins at dawn, but there's no need to rush things tonight. You'll need your strength—what little you've got." He chuckled. "Come. Cook has saved you something warm. We'll talk about what's expected of you while you eat." Frederick followed, surprised by the kindness in the grizzled warrior's voice. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Test" data-color="blue"> Frederick had barely stepped away from Thunder when he heard the footsteps behind him—deliberate, measured, like a predator stalking prey. "Don't turn around." Frederick froze. "What do you see before you, boy?" "The—the stables, sir." "Wrong." A hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around. Sir Roland's ice-blue eyes bored into him. The knight was leaner than Frederick had expected, but something in his posture spoke of barely contained violence. "You see the last place you'll ever feel comfortable. From this moment forward, comfort is a memory." The knight released him and produced a wooden training sword from somewhere within his cloak. He tossed it at Frederick's feet. "Pick it up. Attack me." "Here? Now? But I've just arrived—" "Your enemies won't wait for you to rest, boy. They won't ask if you're ready." Sir Roland assumed a fighting stance. "Now—show me what you know, or show me how quickly you can learn. Either way, your training begins in three seconds." Frederick swallowed hard and bent to retrieve the wooden blade. </nc-section>