Run: 2026-09-03-01M1K5QH780JY7ZAPF37JTXW8P

<nc-section data-title="Version 1 - The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> Frederick had barely dismounted at the stables, his boots still dusty from the ride, when a towering figure in polished plate stepped from the shadows of the hayloft. Sir Roland, his beard streaked with grey and his cloak bearing the sigil of the white hawk, looked him up and down with a critical eye. "So you're the new squire," Roland said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Thunder's a fine horse, but he'll need tending. So will that saddle. We start before dawn, boy. If you're late, you'll muck stalls for a week. Understood?" Frederick swallowed his nerves and nodded quickly. "Yes, Sir Roland." Roland's stern face cracked into a brief, approving smile. "Good. Leave your horse to me tonight. Come, I'll show you where you'll sleep." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2 - The Warm Welcome" data-color="green"> The stables were warm and smelled of hay and leather when Frederick led Thunder inside. A knight was already there, brushing down a great dapple-grey destrier. He turned, his face kind and weathered beneath a mop of brown hair. "You must be Frederick," the knight said warmly, setting aside his brush and extending a calloused hand. "I am Sir Roland. We've been expecting you." Frederick shook his hand, relieved at the friendly greeting. "Thank you, sir. I hope I haven't kept you waiting." "Not at all," Roland laughed, taking Thunder's reins gently. "Any squire who cares enough to walk his horse cool after a long ride is welcome here. Come, let's get Thunder settled with some water and oats, and then I'll take you to the kitchens. You've had a long journey." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3 - The Ominous Welcome" data-color="blue"> Near the stables, the evening mist was already gathering. Frederick was patting Thunder's neck when a voice spoke from behind him, making him jump. "We don't get many new squires this late in the year." Sir Roland leaned against the stable door, arms crossed. His armor was dented and unpolished, and his eyes were sharp beneath his helm. He did not smile. "Tell me, Frederick," he said quietly as he stepped closer. "Do you know why you were sent here to train under me, and not at the King's barracks in the capital?" Frederick hesitated. "No, Sir Roland." Roland glanced toward the dark silhouette of the castle's high tower, where a single light burned. "Because this castle has need of squires who don't ask too many questions. And dragons, boy — they have not been as gone as the stories say. Remember that." </nc-section>