<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Knight’s Welcome" data-color="red"> Frederick’s heart hammered as he slid from Thunder’s saddle, the stallion stamping impatiently beneath him. Before he could tighten the girth, a tall figure in shining armor strode forward along the row of stables. The newcomer’s helm caught the morning sun and sent a burst of light dancing off his breastplate. “You must be the new squire,” the knight said, voice warm yet commanding. He removed his helm, revealing keen green eyes and a crescent scar on his cheek. “I am Sir Roland. Welcome to Drakenfell Keep. Come—let me show you where honor is forged.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Stables’ Greeting" data-color="green"> The air smelled of fresh straw and horseflesh as Frederick led Thunder toward the castle’s stables. A booming laugh made him start; a giant of a man in battered armor leaned against a wooden post, polishing a bridle with one gauntlet. “By the gods, another greenhorn!” the knight called out with good humor. He strode over, clapped Frederick on the shoulder so hard the lad nearly pitched forward, and offered a wide grin. “I’m Sir Roland—your guide to chores, drills, and occasional danger. Stick with me, boy, and we’ll turn you into a proper knight yet!” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Knight’s Gaze" data-color="blue"> Frederick tightened Thunder’s reins, scanning the castle’s stables for direction, when a figure emerged from the shadows of a loft above. The knight moved with silent authority, armor whispering on polished steel. He stopped before Frederick, piercing him with quiet gray eyes that seemed to measure every tremor in the young squire’s stance. “You look ready for an adventure—or a battlefield,” the knight murmured, voice low and measured. He inclined his helm in a respectful nod. “Sir Roland,” he said. “Come. There is much to learn, and time is seldom kind to the unprepared.” </nc-section>