<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Cold Reception" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder and led him toward the stables, a tall figure emerged from the shadows. His armor gleamed dully in the fading light, weathered from countless battles. The insignia on his breastplate marked him as Sir Roland, the knight I'd heard whispered tales about since childhood. "So you're the new one," he said, his voice gravelly and unwelcoming. His eyes, cold as winter frost, assessed me from head to toe. "Frederick, is it? Don't look like much. The king must be desperate these days." He circled me slowly, like a predator. "Stable your horse and report to the barracks before nightfall. Your training begins at dawn. I suggest you sleep while you can." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Mentor's Welcome" data-color="green"> I had just finished guiding Thunder into the stables when a hearty laugh echoed behind me. Turning, I found myself face to face with Sir Roland himself, his weathered face creased in a warm smile beneath his salt-and-pepper beard. "You must be Frederick," he said, extending a calloused hand. "I've been expecting you, lad. Your father spoke highly of your potential." I grasped his hand, surprised by the gentleness in his firm grip. "It's an honor to meet you, Sir Roland. I hope to serve the kingdom as faithfully as my father did." The knight's eyes twinkled. "We'll make a proper knight of you yet. Come, let me show you to your quarters. We have much to discuss about your training, and I find such conversations are best had over a hot meal." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Testing" data-color="blue"> I had barely led Thunder into the stables when the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Instinctively, I spun around, catching the wooden practice sword flying toward my head. "Good reflexes," remarked a knight leaning against the stable entrance, his arms crossed over his chest. The insignia of the Royal Guard gleamed on his shoulder. "Sir Roland," he introduced himself with a slight nod. "Though catching a flying stick is a far cry from surviving your first real battle." He pushed himself off the wall and approached, studying me as one might examine a new blade. "Your father called you promising. I reserve judgment until I see what you're made of." He retrieved the practice sword from my hands. "Your quarters are in the eastern wing. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we'll see if you're worthy of the training I provide." </nc-section>