Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD5PRHN013F2N3MNPK2ABMS

<nc-section data-title="The Knight at the Stables - Version 1" data-color="red">A stablehand had barely taken Thunder's reins before a broad figure stepped out from the shadow of the barn doors. Sir Roland was not what Frederick had imagined from the stories — older, his beard more grey than black, his surcoat faded, but his shoulders still wide as a barrel. "You Frederick? The new squire from Millford?" His voice was gravel and iron. He looked Thunder up and down, then Frederick. "Hmm. Skinny. And that horse is lathered. You rode him too hard on the last mile to show off for the gate guards, didn't you?" Frederick's face flushed. "I— Sir—" "A knight cares for his mount before himself. First lesson. You'll muck Thunder's stall yourself tonight, and then you'll find me in the yard at dawn. If you're late, I'll know you aren't worth training." Roland turned, already walking away. "Well? Are you coming, boy?"</nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Knight at the Stables - Version 2" data-color="green">Frederick was just sliding down from Thunder's saddle, his legs stiff after the long ride, when a warm laugh rang out behind him. "By the old gods, you made it! And that's Thunder, is it? A fine name for a fine beast." Sir Roland was tall and sun-browned, his armor dented from honest use, not ceremony. He clapped a hand on Frederick's shoulder — the grip was strong enough to make Frederick wobble, but kind. "I was a squire here twenty years ago, came up that same road with the same lost look," Roland said, taking Thunder's reins and offering Frederick a waterskin. "You must be half-starved. Come, we'll get this fellow rubbed down, get you some bread and stew, and I'll show you where you'll sleep. My squire's bunk is empty since Tomas took his vows. It's yours now, if you'll have it." For the first time since leaving home, Frederick felt his nervous knot loosen.</nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Knight at the Stables - Version 3" data-color="blue">The stables were strangely quiet. Thunder snorted, ears flattening as Frederick led him inside. The other horses shifted uneasily in their stalls. "He doesn't like it here." Frederick spun around. A man leaned against the far post, almost invisible in the gloom. Sir Roland wore no armor, only a plain black tunic. His eyes, pale grey, never left Thunder. "Animals can sense things," Roland said softly, stepping closer. He did not offer a hand. "This castle... it is old. The stones remember things we have forgotten. Especially now. Especially with a new dragon-egg stirring in the north, or so the ravens say." Frederick stared. "My lord, I only—" "I know why you were sent," Roland interrupted, and for a moment his gaze was heavy with something like pity. "They think the last Dragon will choose a pure heart. They sent a boy. Come. Stable your horse quickly. The Master-at-Arms must not see us talking. Not yet."</nc-section>