<nc-section data-title="Alternate 1: A Knight’s Welcome" data-color="red"> Frederick led Thunder through the shadowed row of stalls, the pungent scent of hay and horses swirling around him. As he wiped sweat from his brow, a tall figure in polished armor emerged from beneath the lantern’s glow. Sir Roland’s broad shoulders filled the stable doorway, his helm tucked under one arm. “Good eve, young squire,” Roland intoned, voice rich as a bell. He rested a gauntleted hand on Thunder’s withers, offering Frederick a knowing smile. “I trust your journey was fair?” Frederick bowed, heart fluttering against his breastplate. “Yes, sir. The king’s roads were clear, and my mount proved steadfast.” Roland chuckled, clapping Frederick on the shoulder. “A fine start. Tomorrow at dawn, we ride to the training grounds. Rest well—your first lesson awaits.” With that, the knight strode off, leaving Frederick to absorb the weight of destiny beneath the stable’s eaves. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Alternate 2: A Chivalrous Introduction" data-color="green"> Frederick guided Thunder toward the wooden rail that divided the stalls from the main courtyard. He paused, adjusting the straps of his saddle, when a heraldic banner snapped overhead and a heavy step approached. Sir Roland, emblazoned with the silver griffin of the realm, stood before him. “Frederick of Oakvale?” Roland asked, voice precise. His polished greaves reflected the lantern light as he extended a gloved hand. “I am Sir Roland, your mentor and guide in the art of the blade.” Frederick inclined his head, accepting the handshake. “It is an honor, sir.” Roland nodded approvingly. “Your reputation precedes you. Come: I will show you the armory, then witness the way you mount your steed.” He gestured toward a row of training swords hung on the wall. As Frederick followed, the knight’s measured strides set the pace for the young squire’s new life. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Alternate 3: A Stern Salute" data-color="blue"> The lanterns flickered along the stable wall as Frederick tightened Thunder’s reins. A hush fell over the yard when Sir Roland appeared, silhouette sharp against the courtyard’s torchlight. His visor was down, but Frederick felt the knight’s gaze like a steel blade. Roland stopped a pace away and saluted crisply. “Squire Frederick.” Frederick returned the salute, voice steady though his pulse thundered. “Sir Roland.” For a long moment, the knight lingered, the quiet broken only by a distant hoofbeat. Then Roland’s visor lifted, revealing keen gray eyes. “I’ve heard you wield a sword as deftly as any knight,” he remarked, tone unreadable. “Prove that rumor true at dawn. Meet me here with your blade polished and your spirit ready.” Without another word, Sir Roland turned and melted into shadow, leaving Frederick alone beneath the watchful stars. </nc-section>