Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DAK1RF10PEBQQ4FC8GCEC2

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: A Knight at the Stables (Version 1)" data-color="red"> The stable boys took Thunder's reins before I had fully dismounted, and I nearly stumbled onto the cobblestones. Recovering my balance, I looked up to find a broad-shouldered man leaning against the stable door, arms folded across his chest. His grey beard was trimmed close, and a dented shield bearing a silver stag hung on the wall behind him. "You ride like someone who has never once been told to slow down," he said, a grin tugging at his mouth. "I am Sir Roland. I trained the last three squires who came through that gate, and I have buried two sets of boots in the mud trying to keep up with them. Consider yourself warned." I straightened my tunic and bowed as my father had taught me. "I am Frederick, sir. I am honored to serve under you." "Honored, is it?" Sir Roland pushed off the doorframe and clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. "We will see how honored you feel after a week of sunrise drills. Come. The horse is in good hands, and you look as though you could use a hot meal before you fall over." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Quiet Welcome (Version 2)" data-color="green"> Thunder snorted and tossed his head as a stable boy led him away, and I found myself alone in the yard with my saddlebags and a rapidly sinking feeling in my stomach. Then a voice spoke from the shadows beside the stables. "He's a fine animal. Nervous of strangers, but fine." A tall knight stepped into the fading light. He was older than I had imagined, his face lined like weathered leather, yet he moved with an easy grace that made me think of a cat on a fence. His cloak was patched at the shoulders, and the sword at his hip was plain, but well oiled. "Sir Roland," he said, offering his hand. "I keep the young ones in line around here. You are Frederick, I assume? You have the look of a boy who has been traveling for days and has not yet decided whether he is glad of it." I clasped his hand, surprised by the firmness of his grip. "I am glad to be here, sir. I think." Sir Roland's eyes crinkled. "Honesty. That will serve you better than you know. Leave your bags for now. Tomorrow you will learn what the castle expects. Tonight, you will learn where the kitchens are." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Challenge at the Stables (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> I had barely lifted my saddlebags from Thunder's back when I heard the clang of a practice sword striking a wooden post. I turned toward the sound and saw a man standing near the stable wall, a training blade resting easily on his shoulder. He was lean and sharp-eyed, and the scar running from his temple to his jaw told me he had seen more than a few battles. "Frederick, is it?" he called, striding toward me. "Sir Roland. Your father wrote that you were eager. I see he was not exaggerating." I hastily set down my bags and bowed. "Thank you, sir. I hope to prove worthy of the training." Sir Roland tapped the flat of his blade against his palm and studied me with open appraisal. "Hope is a fine start, but it will not hold a shield. Here is what we will do. Put your gear in the barracks, eat, and sleep. At first light, you and I will see exactly what you can do with a sword in your hand. Do not worry. I will not expect miracles, only effort." He turned back toward the yard, then glanced over his shoulder with a faint smile. "Oh, and Frederick? Do not bring that horse into my practice ring. He looked far too proud to take orders from anyone." </nc-section>