Run: 2026-10-08-01M4D9ZS4A41MKZV1E2JR79BF4

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> Frederick dismounted before Thunder had fully stopped, his boots striking the cobblestones with a jolt that rattled his teeth. Near the stables, a broad-shouldered man in dented plate stood with his arms folded, watching the young squire with the patience of a hawk. His grey beard was trimmed close, and a long scar ran from his left temple to his jaw. "You're late," the knight said, not unkindly. "The gate bell rang an hour ago. I am Sir Roland, and until the master-at-arms decides otherwise, you are mine to train." He nodded toward the stalls. "Brush down that stallion first. A good knight's horse is cared for before he is. Then we'll see what you're made of." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Knight in the Straw" data-color="green"> A sudden clatter came from the stables, followed by a burst of laughter. Frederick looked up to see a tall man in a leather apron emerge, wiping his hands on a rag. Only when he came closer did Frederick recognize the faded crest on the man's tabard and the easy grin beneath his silver-streaked hair. "Sir Roland, at your service," the knight said, offering a calloused hand. "Don't let the straw fool you. I was mucking out Gareth's stall because he bet me I couldn't do it without complaint, and I've already lost that wager." He clapped Frederick on the shoulder and steered him toward the water trough. "Now, you've ridden a long way. Let's get that dust off you, and then I'll tell you everything you need to know about surviving your first month here." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Weight of a Name" data-color="blue"> The stable doors creaked open, and a figure stepped into the fading light. Sir Roland was older than Frederick had imagined from the stories told in his village, his shoulders bent slightly beneath a worn cloak, yet his eyes were sharp and unhurried as they swept over the young squire and the sweat-darkened stallion. "Frederick of Ashford," he said quietly, as though testing the name. "Your letter spoke of courage. Courage is common in a boy your age. What is rare is the restraint to stay humble once it has been tested." He gestured toward the stalls. "Thunder is a fine horse, but he is not yours yet. Tend him, and then join me by the well. There is a matter of your oath I wish to discuss before the sun is gone." </nc-section>