Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD6J8ZWFSW156G1R6GCF0GP

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> Frederick had barely dismounted, his legs still shaking from the long ride on Thunder, when a voice like grinding steel cut through the stable yard. "You the new squire?" A broad-shouldered man in a dented breastplate stood before him, wiping his hands on a horse cloth. His beard was iron-grey, his nose crooked from an old break. This had to be Sir Roland. "I am," Frederick said, straightening as best he could. "Frederick of Ashford, sir. Arrived for training." Sir Roland looked him up and down, then looked at Thunder, then back at Frederick's soft hands and clean boots. He snorted. "Ashford, eh? We don't have much use for farm boys playing knight here. Stable master will show you where to sleep. Be in the yard at first light. If you're late, I'll leave you mucking stalls until your pretty boots rot off. Understood?" Frederick swallowed and nodded. "Yes, Sir Roland." "Good. Now get that beast stalled before he catches cold. This isn't a parade ground." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Kindly Mentor" data-color="green"> The smell of hay and horses was overwhelming near the stables, but welcome after days on the road. Frederick was just leading Thunder toward an empty stall when a laugh rang out behind him. "Well, you must be Frederick! You arrived just in time - we were about to eat all the supper without you." Frederick turned to see a tall knight approaching, his armor off, sleeves rolled up, carrying two buckets of water as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a knight to do. His face was sun-worn and kind, with laugh lines deep around his eyes. "Sir Roland?" Frederick asked, bowing hastily and nearly spilling the water. "The same," Sir Roland said, setting his buckets down and extending a calloused hand. "And you don't need to bow to me out here by the stables, lad. Save that for the lords inside. Here, we're just men who look after horses." He clapped Frederick on the shoulder, his grip firm and warm. "I knew your uncle, you know. A good man with a lance. You'll do fine here, Frederick. Come, let's get Thunder settled and I'll show you the barracks. There's stew, and then tomorrow, your real training begins." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Ominous Warning" data-color="blue"> Frederick led Thunder into the shadow between the stables, where the sunset's glow did not reach. The castle yard was suddenly quiet. He was alone - or so he thought - until a figure stepped from the dark of the stable doorway. An older knight, lean and sharp, his surcoat faded to almost grey. A sword - not ornate, but heavily used - hung at his side. "Frederick," the knight said. Not a question. Frederick jumped. "Yes? My lord?" "Sir Roland. I am keeper of this yard, and of the squires who train in it." Roland's eyes didn't leave Frederick's face. They were pale and unsettling. He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Frederick could hear over the stamping of the horses. "Listen to me well, boy. You chose a strange time to come to this castle. The King is old. The mountain... stirs. We train squires quickly here now. Too quickly." He placed a hand on Thunder's flank, and the horse stilled instantly. "If you want to live long enough to wear spurs, keep your head down, do as you're told, and at night, no matter what you hear from the high tower, do not go looking." Roland then smiled, but it never reached his eyes. "Welcome to Caerlyn, squire." </nc-section>