<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stalwart Welcome" data-color="red"> Frederick led Thunder into the courtyard, the clang of harness and hooves echoing against the stone walls. Before he could dismount, a tall figure in gleaming plate armor strode forward. Sir Roland, the kingdom’s stalwart knight, removed his helm, revealing a weathered face framed by silver-streaked hair. “Welcome to Castle Arondale,” Roland said, voice rich with authority yet softened by a genuine smile. He offered Frederick a gauntleted hand. “I am Sir Roland of the Red Lance. You must be the squire I’ve heard so much about.” Frederick bowed deeply, heart pounding. “Yes, Sir Roland. I am honored to serve.” Roland guided him toward the stables. “Then let us acquaint you with your duties—and with Thunder. A brave horse deserves a caring hand. Follow me, and I will show you the ropes.” With practiced ease, Roland lifted a saddle strap and began explaining the protocols of castle life as they walked beneath the fluttering banners. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Warm Greeting" data-color="green"> Frederick barely had time to steady himself in the stirrups when a boisterous laugh rang out from beneath the stables’ eaves. Sir Roland—broad-shouldered and sporting a mismatched pair of gauntlets—sauntered over, one hand waving in greeting, the other cupping a half–eaten apple. “Well met, young squire!” Roland called, tossing the apple core aside. “I hope you haven’t lost your nerve already. This place can be… lively.” He winked, then offered Frederick a mischievous grin. “Name’s Roland. Don’t let the armor fool you—I’m as fond of jokes as I am of jousts.” Frederick dismounted with a nervous chuckle. “I am ready for whatever awaits, Sir.” “Excellent!” Roland clapped him on the back so heartily Frederick nearly staggered. “First lesson: never walk past the kennel without tossing a scrap to the hounds. They’ll keep you on your toes.” He led the way, humming a jaunty tune, as Frederick followed into the bustle of castle life. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: A Moment of Omen" data-color="blue"> As Frederick guided Thunder into the stables’ shadowed arch, the clang of horseshoes faded into an uneasy hush. A solitary knight emerged from the gloom—Sir Roland, his helm under one arm, eyes reflecting torchlight with unsettling calm. “You must be Frederick,” he said quietly, voice low as the distant toll of the chapel bell. His armor bore faint scorch marks and a rose-shaped crest. “I saw your approach from the battlements. You carry hope in your posture…but times ahead will test both courage and heart.” Frederick’s throat tightened. “I wish only to serve.” Roland nodded solemnly, stepping closer so the glow from the nearby brazier danced across his stern features. “Then learn well, squire. Begin with caring for Thunder—true knights know compassion as well as steel. Tomorrow, you ride with me into the eastern woods. Rest now; the dawn will bring shadows you cannot yet imagine.” With that, Roland turned and disappeared deeper into the stables, leaving Frederick to wonder what perils lay beyond the castle gates. </nc-section>