Run: 2026-09-29-01M3P2J959FTVSJZ20JGQSBQKZ

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Gruff Welcome" data-color="red"> The stable yard smelled of hay, leather, and horse sweat, and I had barely swung down from Thunder's back when a shadow fell across me. The man was broad as a barn door, with a grey-shot beard and a scar that ran from his left ear to the corner of his jaw. His armor was dented in a dozen places, and he wore each dent like a medal. "You're late," he said. "The road from Alderbrook was longer than I was told, sir." "The road is always longer than you're told." He looked me up and down, lingering on my borrowed boots and the sword I had never once swung in anger. "I am Sir Roland. I'll be the one shouting at you for the next three years. Get used to the sound." He took Thunder's reins in one gauntleted hand, and to my surprise the stallion, who bit every stablehand back home, only huffed and lowered his head. "Good horse," Roland grunted. "Pity about the rider. We'll fix that." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Warm Hearth of Welcome" data-color="green"> A lantern glowed beside the stable doors, and beneath it stood a tall man with a weathered, kindly face and silver threaded through his auburn hair. He was rubbing the nose of a grey mare and murmuring to her as though she were an old friend. When he heard Thunder's hooves, he looked up and smiled. "You must be young Frederick," he called, crossing the yard with his hand outstretched. "We've watched the road for you since noon. I'm Sir Roland. Welcome to Castle Highmere." His grip was firm and warm. I had rehearsed a dozen formal greetings on the ride, but every one of them fled my mind. "I... thank you, Sir Roland. I hope I'm not too late for supper." He laughed, a rich sound that startled the sparrows from the rafters. "Lad, the cook always makes too much. Stable your horse, wash the dust from your face, and come to the kitchen. Training begins at dawn, but no squire of mine starts an empty-bellied." For the first time since leaving home, my shoulders loosened. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Knight with a Secret" data-color="blue"> I was unbuckling Thunder's saddle when I realized someone was watching me. An older knight leaned against the stable wall, so still that I might have mistaken him for part of the stonework. His cloak was the deep blue of the royal guard, and a pendant shaped like a curled dragon hung at his throat. "Steady hands," he said quietly. "Most boys fumble the girth strap when they're nervous." "I'm not nervous," I lied. "Of course not." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Sir Roland of Highmere. I'm told you're the boy who came with a letter from your uncle." I fumbled for the letter, but he raised a hand. "Keep it. I know what it says." His gaze drifted to the darkening hills beyond the wall, and something troubled passed across his face. "Listen well, Frederick. The castle has ears in odd places, and these are not peaceful times. Trust your horse, your sword, and me, in that order, until you know better." Before I could ask what he meant, he pushed off the wall and strode into the dusk, his dragon pendant glinting once in the last of the light. </nc-section>