Run: 2026-10-09-01M4FZPT58AY0792EFA64Z493W

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: A Warm Welcome (Version 1)" data-color="red"> The stable yard was loud with hooves and hammering when I finally reached it. Thunder tossed his head and snorted at the smell of hay, and before I could dismount, a broad-shouldered man in a dusty tabard strode toward me, one hand raised in greeting. "You must be the new squire," he called. His beard was streaked with grey, but his grin was young and easy. "I am Sir Roland. Climb down before that beast decides to take you on a tour of the paddock." I slid from the saddle, my legs stiff from the long ride. Sir Roland clasped my forearm in a firm grip, then glanced at Thunder with open admiration. "A fine animal. Bred in the northern valleys, if I'm not mistaken. You'll need to earn his respect as much as I expect you to earn mine." "I intend to, sir," I said, and meant it. He laughed, a deep sound that carried across the yard. "Good. Confidence is the first thing a squire learns to hide, and the last thing he should lose." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: The Measure of a Squire (Version 2)" data-color="green"> Near the stables, a knight stood watching me with his arms folded across his chest. He wore plain leather armor scarred by years of use, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as I approached. "Frederick, is it?" he asked. "Sir Roland. I've been told to keep an eye on you until the Master-at-Arms has finished with his paperwork." I bowed as I had been taught, though my knees still ached from the ride. "An honor, Sir Roland." "Honor?" He snorted and nodded toward the stable boy who was already leading Thunder away. "Let's see if you still think so after a week of mucking out stalls. Every squire in this castle starts in the stables. Not because we are cruel, but because a knight who cannot care for his horse will never be trusted with a battlefield." He began walking, and I followed, my heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and excitement. Somewhere beyond the walls, a bell rang out for evening prayers. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Shadows at the Stables (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> The stable doors creaked open as I stepped into the fading light, and there, leaning against a wooden post, stood Sir Roland. His face was half-hidden in shadow, but his eyes were sharp and watchful, missing nothing. "You rode in hard," he observed quietly. "Your horse is lathered, and so are you. Something chased you, or you were eager to arrive." I hesitated. "Eager, sir. I have wanted this for as long as I can remember." He studied me for a long moment before pushing away from the post. "Eagerness is a fine flame, Frederick. Keep it, but learn to bank it, or it will burn you before you reach the fight." He gestured toward the rear of the stables. "Come. There is something you should see before you meet the others." As I followed him into the gloom, I noticed that the stable hands fell silent as we passed, and one of them quickly made a sign over his heart. </nc-section>