<nc-section data-title="Alternate Version 1" data-color="red"> The morning sun had just begun to warm the dew-damp cobblestones when Sir Roland strode out of the stables, his polished breastplate gleaming. He paused mid-step, eyeing Frederick with a curious blend of scrutiny and approval. “Good morning, squire,” Roland rumbled, his voice deep as rolling thunder. He stepped closer, resting a gauntleted hand on Frederick’s shoulder. “I am Sir Roland of House Hawkwell. Your arrival has been long anticipated. Today marks the first day of your service—and your trials.” Frederick swallowed, heart pounding. Thunder the stallion nickered softly at his side, but Sir Roland’s grip was firm. “Follow me,” the knight instructed, pivoting toward the open door of the great barn. “There is much to learn: the ways of the sword, the secrets of the stables, and the codes of chivalry. Come, let us begin your training.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Alternate Version 2" data-color="green"> Frederick had barely settled his saddle when a booming laugh echoed from the barn doorway. Sir Roland, draped in dented armor and a stained tabard, beckoned with a broad grin. “By the gods, boy, did they send you fresh from the plow?” he teased, clapping Frederick on the back so hard the young squire nearly toppled. “I’m Sir Roland—local troublemaker, occasional dragon-slayer, and your new tormentor in shining steel.” Thunder fidgeted as Roland produced a carrot from a leather pouch and offered it to the stallion. “First lesson: earn a horse’s loyalty before you try to ride one. Mind you, he bites if you’re rude.” Frederick laughed with relief, taking the carrot. Roland winked. “Come on, lad—let’s show you the ropes. And don’t worry, I only bite when you sleep through dawn drills.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Alternate Version 3" data-color="blue"> Shadows pooled beneath the eaves of the stable as Sir Roland appeared almost silently, his dark cloak brushing the straw. He studied Frederick with keen, steel-gray eyes. “You must be the new squire,” he said, voice soft but carrying an edge. “We’ve been expecting you—though not for the reasons you might think.” Roland stepped aside to reveal etched runes along the stable door: wards against dark magic and dragonfire. “This castle holds more than royal banquets. Strange stirring in the mountains, whispers of a dragon long thought vanished.” Frederick felt a chill. Thunder snorted, stamping the ground. Roland’s hand hovered above one of the glowing sigils. “Your training begins, not with the sword, but with understanding. If you fail, the Last Dragon may rise—and this realm with you.” </nc-section>