Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD6ABV2APFTP39PEGW95JMM

<nc-section data-title="Version 1 - The Gruff Welcome" data-color="red"> Frederick had barely swung down from Thunder's back when a voice barked from the shadow of the stables. "You must be the new squire. Frederick, was it?" Sir Roland was not what Frederick had imagined from the stories. His beard was more grey than brown, his surcoat stained with horse-sweat and mud, and his left gauntlet was missing entirely. He looked Frederick up and down, then at the lathered horse. "You rode him too hard on the last mile. A squire who doesn't care for his mount won't last long in my yard. Cool him, brush him, and then find me in the armory. And try not to get lost." With that, he tossed Frederick a coarse brush and strode away, limping slightly on his right leg. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2 - The Kind Welcome" data-color="green"> The stables were warm and smelled of hay and leather when Frederick finally led Thunder inside. A tall knight in a faded blue cloak was already there, forking fresh straw into an empty stall. "You'd be Frederick," the knight said, smiling before Frederick could even bow. The lines around his eyes crinkled kindly. "I'm Roland. I've been watching for you from the wall." He set down his fork and came forward, extending a calloused hand. "That's a fine animal. You did well to get him here in one piece, the road from the lowlands is treacherous this time of year. Come, we'll water him together. You must be hungry yourself — the kitchen still has stew if we get there before the hounds do." His grip was firm and reassuring, and for the first time since leaving home, Frederick felt his nervousness ease. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3 - The Quiet Welcome" data-color="blue"> Near the stables, away from the clamor of the main courtyard, a lone figure stood in silence. He wore no helm, and his armor, though immaculate, was old-fashioned, pitted with tiny marks that could only have come from dragonfire. Frederick knew without asking that this was Sir Roland. "You arrived at sunset," Roland said quietly, his voice barely louder than the nickering of the horses. "Just as it was foretold." Frederick frowned. "Foretold, Sir?" Roland finally turned to look at him, and his eyes were a startling, pale grey. "The last dragons are always restless when a new squire arrives. Listen." Frederick held his breath. From deep within the mountain behind the castle, almost too low to hear, came a long, mournful sound — not quite a roar, and not quite a sigh. "Come," Roland whispered. "We have much to discuss before your training can begin." </nc-section>