Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD86PB0VDR00F80FC2364SM

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland - Variant 1" data-color="red"> Thunder had barely stopped steaming when a voice cracked like a whip from the stable doors. "You the squire? Frederick?" The man was broad as a barrel, his beard more grey than brown, his surcoat faded from washing. Sir Roland of the Lowgate, scarred at the throat, limped slightly as he approached. He didn't offer a hand. He grabbed Thunder's reins and eyed Frederick up and down, from mud-caked boots to his too-clean sword belt. "You're late. And you're soft. Stable master needs hands, not lords. You know how to curry a horse without laming it, boy?" Frederick swallowed. "Yes, Sir." "Good. You will tend your own mount first. Always. Then the knights' warhorses. If I find a burr in his coat or a stone in his shoe, you'll sleep in the stall with him. Am I understood?" Frederick nodded quickly, and for the first time, the castle didn't look like a place of banners and glory. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland - Variant 2" data-color="green"> Frederick was still trying to dismount with some dignity when a laugh boomed out from the stables. "Careful there, lad! Thunder looks like he’s more noble than both of us combined!" A knight came striding out, wiping his hands on a rag. His armor was off, his gambeson stained, but his face was open and sun-weathered. This had to be Sir Roland. He clapped Frederick firmly on the shoulder as soon as his feet hit the straw. "Frederick, is it? I’ve been told to expect you. Welcome to Greywall. I’m Roland." He took Thunder’s reins with practiced ease and handed Frederick a bucket of water. "First lesson they never tell you in the songs— knights spend more time with horses than with swords. Come on, walk him with me. He’s had a long ride, and you have too. Supper’s in an hour, and we’ve saved you a spot near the fire." For the first time since leaving home, Frederick felt the tight knot in his chest loosen. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland - Variant 3" data-color="blue"> The stables were already deep in shadow when Frederick led Thunder in. A knight was waiting there alone, sitting on an overturned pail. He was not in armor, just an old woolen cloak, and his hair was white though his face was not yet old. He looked up as if he had been expecting Frederick for a long time. "So you came," said Sir Roland quietly. "A new squire. At the end of things." Frederick frowned. "Sir?" Roland stood, his joints popping, and stepped forward to place a weathered hand on Thunder's flank, then on Frederick's shoulder. His eyes were pale and tired. "The other boys, they come dreaming of dragons. But there are no dragons left, Frederick. Or so we tell ourselves." He glanced toward the dark mountains beyond the castle wall, where a cold wind was rising. "Still, the stables are warm. Let's get your horse settled. The night is coming on fast, and the castle can be... unwelcoming to those who don't yet know its stories." </nc-section>