Run: 2026-11-11-01M755V20QA81221YG9AG1DB34

<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Knight's Welcome" data-color="red"> By the time Frederick reined in Thunder at the stable yard, the last light had thinned to amber on the castle walls. A broad-shouldered man in dented mail was unlatching a stall door, an oiled whetstone in his hand and a halved apple in his pocket for the horses. "You must be the new lad," he called, grinning, as Frederick swung down stiff-legged from the saddle. "Thunder, is it? Fine animal. He'll do well here, if you do." The man stuck out a gauntleted hand. "Sir Roland. I keep the stables and the younger squires, which means I keep an eye on both." Frederick shook his hand, relief loosening his shoulders. Roland clapped him once on the back, took Thunder's bridle with practiced ease, and pressed the apple into Frederick's palm. "Don't tell the master-at-arms. A horse remembers kindness long after a boy forgets his lessons. Come, I'll show you where you'll sleep, and where Thunder will sleep better than you." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Knight's Inspection" data-color="green"> At the stables, the local knight, Sir Roland, awaited with his arms crossed over a mail hauberk still smelling of the forge. He did not smile. "Name. Age. Village. Who sent you?" he asked, as Frederick dismounted beside Thunder, who stamped and shook dust from his coat. "Frederick, sir. Sixteen. Of Millford. Lord Haren sent me with-" "With a horse that is lathered at the neck and a saddle girth three holes too loose," Roland interrupted. He stepped forward, ran a palm down Thunder's flank, checked the hooves one by one, then Frederick's own boots, blistered and caked in mud. "You ride like a boy who has never been corrected," Roland said. "That will change. Here, squire does not arrive and rest. Here, squire arrives and learns." He unbuckled Thunder's saddle himself, showing Frederick the knot, the order of the brushes, the tally board by the door where every feed and watering was marked. "Your lodging is above the tack room. Your duties begin at dawn bell. If Thunder limps, you walk. If you are late, we both walk. Understood?" "Yes, sir," Frederick said. Roland nodded once. "Good. Then unsaddle him properly, and try to look less surprised by work." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Knight's Warning" data-color="blue"> The stables were quieter than the courtyard, shadow pooling between stalls where horses shifted and snorted in the cooling air. Sir Roland stood there alone, holding a lantern, though he did not seem to be tending any animal. He seemed to be listening. When Frederick led Thunder in, the knight lifted the lantern, and its light caught the deep lines around his eyes. "You came at dusk," Roland said at last. "The old road through the western pass. Did you see anything on the ridge? Tracks? Smoke?" Frederick hesitated. "Only... only birds, sir. They were all flying south, away from the mountains." Roland lowered the lantern slowly. "They always fly south before a storm. Or before something else wakes." He took Thunder's reins, but his gaze stayed on Frederick, measuring him as if searching for something he hoped not to find. "The Chronicles speak of a last dragon, boy, who does not die but sleeps, and chooses a bearer when it wakes. Kings send their squires here to be trained. They do not all stay to be knighted." A horse stamped in the dark, and Roland flinched, hand moving instinctively to the sword at his hip. "Rest your horse," he said quietly. "And if you hear singing from the eastern tower at night, do not answer it. Do not tell anyone you heard it. Especially not me." </nc-section>