Run: 2026-10-09-01M4FXZ77Y4D812JASMNJRYPAE

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland's Welcome (Version 1)" data-color="red"> The stable doors stood open when I reached the courtyard, and a broad-shouldered man in dented chainmail stepped out to meet me. His grey beard was trimmed close, and a scar ran white across his left cheek. He took Thunder's bridle before I could dismount. "You must be the new squire," he said, studying me with sharp, unhurried eyes. "I am Sir Roland. I have trained every squire in this castle for twenty years, and not one has ever arrived looking as nervous as you do." I straightened my shoulders and tried to look less like a boy who had ridden three days alone. "I am Frederick, sir. I am ready to learn." Sir Roland gave a short laugh. "Good. Readiness is the easy part. Come, put your saddlebags down. Your first lesson begins with the horse, and the horse does not care who your father was." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: A Quiet Greeting (Version 2)" data-color="green"> Near the stables, an old knight was brushing a grey mare with slow, patient strokes. He did not look up when I approached, but he spoke before I could say a word. "Frederick, is it? Thunder's a fine animal. He'll need a rubdown and a feed before you think of your supper." I blinked. "You know my name, sir?" "Everyone in these walls knows the name of the boy who wrote the letter asking for a place here." He set down his brush and turned, and I saw the gentleness in his face beneath the weathered lines. "I am Sir Roland. I was once as eager as you, and as foolish. Let us see if we can make you a little less foolish by the end of the season." He smiled, and for the first time since leaving home, I felt the knot in my chest begin to loosen. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Knight at the Stables (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> The clatter of hooves drew my attention to the stables, where a tall knight in a faded blue surcoat leaned against the doorway with his arms folded. The emblem on his chest, a silver wolf, had been polished so many times that the edges had worn soft. "Dismount, lad, before your legs forget how," he called, pushing away from the post. "I am Sir Roland, and I am told you are the one who rode through the storm on the northern road." I slid from the saddle, my knees protesting. "I did, sir. I did not think it wise to wait for better weather." Sir Roland's mouth twitched. "Neither did I, at your age. Thunder seems to have forgiven you for it, which is more than most horses do. Come inside. There is a hot meal waiting, and tomorrow the real work begins." </nc-section>