<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Cold Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder, a stern voice echoed from the shadows of the stable. "You're late, boy." Sir Roland emerged, his weathered face twisted in a scowl beneath his silver-streaked beard. The knight's armor gleamed despite the dim light, polished to perfection like his reputation for breaking squires. His cold eyes assessed me from head to toe, finding every flaw in my travel-worn appearance. "Frederick of Westmere, I presume? I expected better." He circled me like a predator, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword. "The journey from your village takes three days. You've taken five. In battle, such tardiness would cost lives." I swallowed hard, knowing my first impression was already shattered beyond repair. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Mentor's Welcome" data-color="green"> "Ho there, young Frederick!" A booming voice called out as I led Thunder toward the water trough. A broad-shouldered knight with kind eyes and laugh lines stepped forward, extending a calloused hand. "Sir Roland, at your service. Welcome to Castle Dragonspire." His grip was firm but welcoming as he shook my hand. "I've been expecting you, lad. Your father spoke highly of your swordsmanship in his letters." My heart swelled with pride. "You knew my father, sir?" "Aye, fought alongside him in the Crimson Campaign." Sir Roland's eyes twinkled with memories. "If you've half his spirit, you'll make a fine knight someday. Come, let's get your horse settled, and I'll show you to your quarters. Training begins at dawn tomorrow." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: A Mysterious Encounter" data-color="blue"> I was brushing Thunder down when I felt a presence behind me. Turning quickly, I found myself face to face with a tall knight whose armor bore the scars of countless battles. His right hand was missing two fingers, and a thin scar ran from his left eye to his jaw. "Frederick." It wasn't a question. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, yet it commanded attention. "Sir Roland?" I asked, bowing awkwardly. The knight nodded once, his eyes never leaving mine. There was something unnerving in his gaze—something that seemed to look through me rather than at me. "You've arrived on an auspicious day," he said, glancing skyward. "The red moon rises tonight. Not seen in a hundred years." He pressed something cold and metallic into my palm. "Keep this close. The old magic stirs, and the castle has ears." Before I could examine the object or ask what he meant, Sir Roland melted back into the shadows, leaving me alone with more questions than answers. </nc-section>