Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD58PC4MMASR7EK4HH9YPFA

<nc-section data-title="Version 1 - The Gruff Welcome" data-color="red"> Frederick had barely dismounted from Thunder when a broad shadow fell across the stable yard. A man in dented plate, his beard more grey than brown, stood with his arms crossed, a pitchfork leaning against his leg where a sword should have been. "You the new squire? Frederick?" the knight grunted. "I'm Sir Roland. Keeper of this sorry lot and apparently keeper of you now too." He took Thunder's reins from Frederick's hands and gave the horse a practiced once-over. "Good bones, this one. Better than yours, I'll wager. You had a long ride, boy. You stink of road and nerves." Frederick straightened. "Yes, Sir Roland, I—" "Don't 'Yes Sir Roland' me yet. Stables first. If you can't muck a stall properly, you can't hold a sword properly. Come on. Thunder needs water, and you need to learn where the buckets are before sunset." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2 - The Kind Welcome" data-color="green"> Near the stables, a tall knight in a simple blue surcoat was already waiting, as if he had been watching the road. He raised a hand and smiled, and Frederick felt some of the tightness in his chest loosen. "Frederick? Welcome. I am Sir Roland," he said, approaching not with a knight's swagger but with a stablehand's steady gait. He extended a hand and then, seeing Frederick's hesitation, gently took the reins of Thunder instead. "We got word you would arrive today. He is a magnificent horse," Roland said, running a calm hand along Thunder's sweaty neck. "You rode him hard to get here before dark. That speaks well of you." He gestured toward the open stable doors, where the scent of hay and horses drifted out. "Come, let's get him settled. The training yard and the oaths and all that chivalry can wait until morning. Tonight, you are just a boy who has traveled far, and who deserves a warm meal and a dry place for his horse." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3 - The Ominous Welcome" data-color="blue"> Frederick led Thunder into the shadow of the stables, and found them strangely quiet. No stableboys. No squires. Only a single knight sitting on an overturned barrel, sharpening a dagger, the scrape of steel on whetstone echoing. "You must be Frederick," the knight said without looking up. His voice was low and even. "Sir Roland." Roland finally looked up, and his eyes were a pale, washed-out grey. He didn't smile. "We don't get many new squires anymore," he said, sheathing the dagger. "The last one left three nights ago. Didn't even take his horse." He stood and stepped closer to Thunder, and the stallion snorted and pulled back, ears flat. Roland ignored the horse and stared at Frederick. "The master said you were coming. He said you have promise. We'll see if that keeps you alive through the winter here." He turned toward the dark interior of the stables. "Tie him in the last stall. And stay away from the north tower after bells. That is not a suggestion for training. That is a rule." </nc-section>