<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: A Knight’s Welcome" data-color="red"> Still flushed from the ride, I guided Thunder into the soft straw of the stables. A sudden clang of armor made me look up: Sir Roland strode forward, sunlight glinting off his breastplate. His broad shoulders and steady gaze filled the stall doorway. “Welcome to Ardendale Keep, Frederick,” he said, voice warm but firm. He extended a gauntleted hand, which I took with reverence. “I’ve heard much of your skill with a blade. Here, you’ll learn that a knight’s true strength lies in honor as much as steel.” He patted Thunder’s flank, and the stallion snorted in approval. Dismounting with effortless grace, Sir Roland led me away from the stalls. “Come,” he said, “there is much to see before your first lesson at dawn.” His cloak swept the ground like a banner heralding the dawn of my new life. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Stableyard Introductions" data-color="green"> I loosened Thunder’s reins as I swept aside a stray hay bale. A jovial laugh startled me – Sir Roland leaned against the rail, one boot propped on a feed trough. “Well met, young squire!” he called. His armor was lighter than I expected, polished but bearing dents that spoke of real battle. “I trust the journey wasn’t too dull?” He winked and produced a small cloth, wiping his helm with theatrical flourish. I managed a nervous smile. “Not at all, sir knight.” He nudged me with an elbow. “Call me Roland. Formal titles make for stiff necks and stilted conversation. Thunder’s a beauty—mind if I give him a scratch behind the ears?” Before I could answer, he was already leaning over the stall, and Thunder nuzzled his pauldron in approval. Roland turned back to me, grin wide. “Tomorrow we ride at sunrise. Consider yourself warned.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Under the Evening Sky" data-color="blue"> The torches in the stable loft flickered as I closed the stall door. A shadow detached itself from the stone archway: Sir Roland, his helm tucked under one arm, surveyed me with eyes that seemed to weigh my very soul. “Frederick,” he said softly, voice echoing in the quiet. “By dawn’s light, you will choose the path a squire must walk: servitude or sacrifice. Here, you will learn more than swordplay.” He stepped closer; the flicker of flame revealed a scar tracing his cheekbone. “Every scar tells a story. Yours begins tonight.” I swallowed, feeling the gravity of his words. Thunder stamped impatiently, sensing the tension. Roland reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Rest now. Tomorrow, we test your mettle in the yard. But remember—courage without conviction is but hollow armor.” With that, he turned and vanished into the corridor, leaving me to the soft rustle of straw and the endless questions in my heart. </nc-section>