Run: 2026-09-03-01M1K9SSB8QG4VXMPKX0GYH08H

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> Sir Roland stood in the shadow of the stable door, arms folded across a chest scarred by old battles. His eyes, the color of winter iron, swept over Frederick as the squire swung down from Thunder’s back. “You’re late,” the knight said flatly. “The sun’s nearly down, and a squire who cannot keep time will not last a week.” Frederick opened his mouth to explain the rough road from the valley, but Sir Roland raised a gauntleted hand. “Stow the excuses. Tie your horse, then present yourself at the training yard at first light. If your hands are soft, we’ll harden them. If your spirit is weak, we’ll break it—or you’ll break yourself.” He turned and stalked away, spurs ringing on the cobblestones, leaving Frederick alone with Thunder’s warm breath against his neck. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Knight's Kindness" data-color="green"> Sir Roland came forward from the stable’s half-open gate with a smile that softened the hard lines of his face. “Frederick, by the look of you—road-weary and still upright. That’s the first test passed.” He reached out and stroked Thunder’s muzzle with unexpected gentleness. “A fine horse. You’ve cared for him well.” He called to a passing stable boy, ordering fresh hay and water, then clapped Frederick on the shoulder. “Come, lad. There’s bread and stew in the hall, and a pallet by the fire with your name on it. We’ll talk of your training tomorrow, but tonight you rest. A squire who arrives alive is worth more than one who arrives early.” Frederick felt the knot in his chest loosen as Sir Roland led him toward the warmth of the keep. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Quiet Omen" data-color="blue"> Sir Roland did not announce himself. He was simply there, standing beside the stable wall as if he had grown from the stone. His gaze fixed on Frederick, unblinking, and for a long moment he said nothing. Then he stepped forward and took Frederick’s chin, turning the boy’s face toward the last ember-light of the sun. “You have the look,” the knight murmured, more to himself than to Frederick. “The same as your grandfather.” He released him and glanced at Thunder, then back at the boy’s hands. “Keep your sword close tonight. The castle walls are high, but the shadow beneath them has been stirring.” Frederick shivered despite the warm air. Sir Roland turned and walked toward the keep, leaving behind a single whispered word that Frederick could not quite catch. </nc-section>