Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DAB2G5M2RTKR2QXX9KX9EX

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stables (Version 1)" data-color="red"> I had barely swung down from Thunder's saddle when a broad-shouldered man strode out from the stable doors, wiping his hands on a leather apron. His grey beard was trimmed close, and a scar ran white across his left cheek. Behind him, the stable boys scattered like startled sparrows. "You must be Frederick," he said, his voice deep and steady. "I am Sir Roland. I have been expecting you since the morning bell." I straightened my tunic, suddenly aware of the dust clinging to my boots. "Yes, sir. I come to begin my squireship." Sir Roland's gaze moved over Thunder, lingering on the stallion's flanks, and then returned to me with a faint smile. "A fine horse. Too fine to be ridden as hard as you've ridden him. We will see whether you are as careful with your own discipline as you are with his." He gestured toward the courtyard. "Come. Leave your horse with Tomas. Your real training begins now." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stables (Version 2)" data-color="green"> The stable doors creaked open, and the smell of hay and leather washed over me. A tall knight stepped into the fading light, his plain brown cloak snapping at his heels. He moved with the unhurried ease of a man who had long since stopped needing to prove himself. "Frederick, is it?" he asked. "Sir Roland. I keep the stables and the lists in this castle, and I'm the one who will decide whether you are worth the bread you'll eat here." I opened my mouth to answer, but he had already turned his attention to Thunder, running a calloused hand down the stallion's neck. The horse snorted and leaned into his touch, which surprised me; Thunder rarely trusted strangers. "He likes you," I said. "He likes that I don't shout at him." Sir Roland glanced at my dusty boots and then at my face. "Shouting is for those who have nothing else to offer. Let's see what you have to offer, squire. Tomas will see to your horse. You and I will talk before the evening meal." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Stables (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> A figure emerged from the shadows beside the stables, lantern in one hand and a worn practice sword in the other. It was Sir Roland, the local knight whose name I had heard spoken with equal parts respect and wariness on the road. He was older than I had imagined, with iron-grey hair tied back at the nape of his neck and eyes that missed nothing. "Frederick of Ashford," he said, not as a question. "You ride like a man running from something." My cheeks warmed. "I was eager to arrive, sir." "Eagerness is a fine thing in a squire, so long as it does not outrun his good sense." He lifted the lantern, studying me in its golden light. Then he nodded toward the stable yard. "The master of the stables will tend your horse. Walk with me. I want to know what your father taught you before I decide what I must unteach." Somewhere behind the walls, a bell began to toll, marking the end of the day. </nc-section>