Run: 2026-10-20-01M5C6GH8CHMQ1CX3C72N6EGD1

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Red Standard" data-color="red"> I reined Thunder in near the stables, and the scent of hay and horsesmoke settled over me as the last light bled from the sky. A tall knight stepped from the shadow of the stable door, his crimson cloak dusty from the road and his gray eyes sharp as flint. “Frederick, is it?” Sir Roland asked, though his tone suggested he already knew. “The castle has been expecting you.” He looked Thunder over once, then me, and I felt suddenly aware of every speck of mud on my boots. “A squire’s first duty is not glory,” he said, taking my reins without ceremony. “It is care. Water your horse before you seek your bed, and report to the training yard at dawn. If you can keep your seat as well as you kept that gate road, perhaps you’ll survive my lessons.” I opened my mouth to answer, but he had already turned toward the stalls, his cloak snapping in the evening wind. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Green Welcome" data-color="green"> As I slowed Thunder to a walk, the stable boys scattered like sparrows, and a broad-shouldered knight with a green sash across his breastplate came striding out to meet me. Sir Roland’s beard was streaked with silver, and his smile was warmer than the dying sun. “Easy there, lad,” he said, catching Thunder’s bridle with a practiced hand. “You’ve ridden hard. The beast’s lathered and you look half-spent yourself.” He clapped my shoulder before I could bow properly. “No need for ceremony by the stables. I’m Sir Roland, and I’ll be one of the men teaching you how not to fall off in front of the king.” Thunder snorted as if in agreement, and Sir Roland laughed. “Come. We’ll rub him down together, and you can tell me why a squire from the eastern vale arrives with a dragon’s-eye charm tucked under his collar.” My hand flew to the cord at my throat, but he only winked and led Thunder into the warm, lantern-lit dark. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Blue Vigil" data-color="blue"> The castle gates closed behind me with a sound like a drawn breath, and by the time I reached the stables, twilight had deepened to blue. A knight stood waiting beneath the eaves, his armor dark and unpolished, his face half-hidden by shadow. “Frederick,” Sir Roland said. Not a greeting—a confirmation. “Dismount slowly. Keep your hands where the stablemaster can see them.” I obeyed, my heart knocking against my ribs, while Thunder stamped and blew. Sir Roland circled us once, and when he spoke again his voice was low. “You came through the eastern gate after sunset, alone, on a horse no squire should own.” He stopped before me, and I saw then that his cloak bore no sigil, only a faded outline where one had been removed. “There are those in this castle who would ask what you carry and why the dragons have gone quiet. I am not one of them. Not yet.” Behind him, the stable doors creaked open onto darkness, and he gestured me inside. “Stable your horse. Then we will talk about the thing you are not telling me.” </nc-section>