Run: 2026-09-23-01M36TMZCM9RW67EMHX6HM7791

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> I reined in Thunder just outside the stables, patting his neck as he snorted and tossed his mane. Before I could dismount, a tall figure emerged from the shadowed doorway, armor glinting dully in the fading light. Sir Roland, the local knight, stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his weathered face etched with the kind of lines that came from decades of hard riding and harder battles. "So you're the new squire," he said, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder. He looked me up and down with an appraising eye that made me feel very small indeed. "They told me to expect a boy, but they didn't say you'd still be wet behind the ears." I swung down from the saddle, my boots hitting the packed earth with a thud. "Frederick, sir. I'm here to train under Sir Aldric's banner." Sir Roland's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Aldric's name, and something unreadable passed across his features. "Aldric," he repeated, testing the name like a wine he wasn't sure he trusted. He stepped closer, and I caught the faint scent of iron and old leather. "Aldric's not here, boy. He rode out three days ago and hasn't returned. You'll be training under me until he does." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Warm Reception" data-color="green"> Thunder trotted to a gentle stop as we reached the stables, and I loosened my grip on the reins, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. The castle was even more impressive up close than it had been from the road — ancient oaks lined the courtyard, and the distant sound of hammers rang from somewhere deep within the walls. A man stepped out from the stable, wiping his hands on a rough cloth. He was older than I expected, with a kind, square face and laugh lines carved deep around his eyes. A scar ran along his jawline, but it seemed to suit him — a testament to a life well-lived rather than a warning. "You must be Frederick," he said, breaking into a wide grin as he approached. "I'm Sir Roland. Aldric wrote ahead about you — said you had quick hands and a quicker mind. Let's hope he was right about at least one of those." He extended a hand, his grip firm and warm when I took it. He glanced at Thunder and let out a low whistle. "Fine animal you've got there. I'll have the stable boy see to him. Come along — supper's nearly ready, and trust me, you'll want to eat before the evening training. I don't go easy on new squires, but I always feed them first." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Mysterious Encounter" data-color="blue"> I slowed Thunder to a walk as I approached the stables, the clopping of his hooves echoing off the ancient stones. The courtyard was quieter than I'd expected for this hour — most of the other squires had already retired, and the only light came from a single lantern swaying above the stable door. A man detached himself from the darkness beneath the archway, and I felt an involuntary chill run down my spine. Sir Roland was leaner than the knights I'd imagined — all sharp angles and quiet intensity, with pale eyes that seemed to absorb what little light remained in the sky. "You're late," he said simply. There was no anger in his voice, only a flat statement of fact that somehow felt worse than a reprimand. I dismounted quickly. "The road from Larenthor was longer than—" "I know the road." He stepped forward, and in the lantern light I noticed that his sword bore no crest — just a plain, unadorned scabbard. "I walked it myself, once. Take your horse inside. We ride at dawn, you and I. There are things a squire needs to learn that Aldric's court lessons will never teach you." He turned and walked into the darkness of the stable without waiting for a reply, leaving me standing alone in the moonlight, wondering what exactly I had just agreed to. </nc-section>