Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DAHWEGC2F10P87PHF7D0JZ

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland's Welcome (Version 1)" data-color="red"> The stables stood at the edge of the courtyard, their wooden doors thrown wide, and the smell of hay and leather drifted out to meet me. Before I could dismount, a tall man in dented plate armor strode toward me, his cloak swinging behind him. His beard was streaked with grey, and his eyes were sharp enough to measure me from head to heel in a single glance. "You must be Frederick," he said, his voice rough but not unkind. "I am Sir Roland. I have been expecting a squire who rides like he is trying to outrun his own shadow." I slid from Thunder's saddle, my legs unsteady from the long ride. "I did not mean to arrive so hard, my lord." Sir Roland laughed and clapped a gauntleted hand on my shoulder. "Good. Then you have spirit. Spirit can be taught to be useful. Stubbornness is harder. Let us see which you have brought with you." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland's Welcome (Version 2)" data-color="green"> Stable boys scrambled out of my way as Thunder trotted into the yard, snorting and tossing his head at the unfamiliar smells. Near the largest stable stood an older knight, leaning on a fence post with the ease of a man who had waited a long time and did not mind waiting longer. He wore a worn surcoat bearing a silver hawk, and a faded scar ran along his jaw. "Frederick, I presume," he said, pushing himself upright. "Sir Roland. I trained the last three squires this castle produced, and I am told you are the fourth. Let us hope you last longer than the first." I bowed my head, unsure whether he was teasing. "I will do my best, Sir Roland." "Your best is what I am counting on," he replied, taking Thunder's reins from my hand. He ran a practiced eye over the stallion's legs and nodded approvingly. "Good animal. Take care of him first. A knight is only as good as the horse beneath him, and a squire is only as good as the care he gives it." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland's Welcome (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> The gravel crunched beneath Thunder's hooves as we came to a halt beside the stables. Torchlight flickered along the walls, and in its glow a figure emerged from the shadows of the doorway. He was broad-shouldered and quiet-footed, his armor polished to a dull gleam, and he regarded me with a calm that unsettled me more than any shout could have. "Frederick of Ashford," he said. It was not a question. "I am Sir Roland, and for the next few years, you belong to me. Do not look so alarmed. Most squires survive the first night." "I am not alarmed, Sir Roland," I lied, climbing down with as much dignity as I could manage. A faint smile touched his lips. "Then you are already better than most. Come. Before you see your quarters or your meal, you will learn the first duty of any squire: the horse always eats before the squire does." He turned toward the stalls, and I followed him, Thunder's reins heavy in my hand, the sound of the castle bells ringing faintly across the courtyard. </nc-section>