<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Cold Welcome" data-color="red"> As Thunder's hooves clattered to a halt on the cobblestone, I dismounted with practiced ease. The stables loomed before me, the smell of hay and horses thick in the evening air. A figure emerged from the shadows—tall, broad-shouldered, clad in polished armor that reflected the dying sunlight. "You must be Frederick," the man said, his voice as hard as the steel he wore. "I am Sir Roland." His eyes, cold and calculating, assessed me from head to toe. He made no move to offer his hand. "I expected you hours ago. Tardiness is not tolerated here, boy. Tomorrow you rise before the sun. Tonight, you'll sleep in the stables with your mount. Perhaps that will teach you the value of punctuality." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Mentor's Welcome" data-color="green"> I guided Thunder toward the stables, my heart racing with anticipation. A knight stood waiting, his weathered face breaking into a warm smile as I approached. His armor, though dented in places, gleamed with meticulous care. "Welcome to Dragonspire, young Frederick," he called, striding forward to help me dismount. "I am Sir Roland. Your father spoke highly of your horsemanship—I see he did not exaggerate." He clasped my forearm in the traditional warrior's greeting. "You must be weary from your journey. Let's stable your fine beast here, and I'll show you to your quarters. Tomorrow, we begin your training in earnest, but tonight—tonight we feast and you shall meet your fellow squires." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: A Mysterious Encounter" data-color="blue"> The castle stables were quieter than I expected as I guided Thunder through the wide doorway. Lanterns cast dancing shadows across the wooden stalls. I was searching for a stable hand when a voice spoke from behind me. "The last squire to arrive is always given the most difficult mount to train," said the voice, deep and melodious. I turned to find a knight watching me, his face half-hidden by a hood despite the warm evening. "I am Sir Roland, your primary instructor." He stepped forward, and I noticed a faint glow emanating from a pendant at his throat. "Your coming was foretold, Frederick." He glanced around, then lowered his voice. "There are things happening within these walls that few understand. Watch carefully whom you trust." His hand fell to the hilt of his sword—a blade that seemed to shimmer with an impossible blue light. </nc-section>