<nc-section data-title="Version 1" data-color="red"> Frederick guided Thunder into the shadow of the castle’s stone stables, the stallion’s hooves echoing against the cobbles. Before him stood a tall figure clad in burnished armor, the emblem of a roaring lion embossed onto his breastplate. Sir Roland offered a broad smile, his gauntleted hand resting on the polished hilt of his sword. “Welcome to Amberhold, young squire,” he intoned, his voice both warm and authoritative. “I am Sir Roland of Highvale. I trust your journey was swift?” He inclined his helm slightly, and Frederick felt a surge of pride at the knight’s courteous greeting. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> Frederick dismounted with a creak of leather and saddle, wiping sweat from his brow as he patted Thunder’s flanks. A robust knight emerged from the doorway of the stables, whistling a jaunty tune. His armor gleamed so brightly it nearly outshone the midday sun. “Hail, squire!” the knight boomed, clapping Frederick on the shoulder with a grin. “I’m Sir Roland, master of mischief and occasional dragon-tamer.” Frederick blinked in surprise as Sir Roland stroked Thunder’s mane. “If your skills match your flair for the dramatic, you’ll fit right in.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> The stable doors creaked open, revealing a knight whose presence seemed to still the afternoon air. Sir Roland’s dark eyes studied Frederick with measured intensity before he stepped forward, the chains on his breastplate whispering like distant thunder. “You must be the new squire,” he said, voice low and steady. “I’ve heard tales of your courage from the northern roads. Here, every choice ripples through the realm—choose wisely, Frederick.” He held out a gauntlet-lined hand, not in friendship, but as a test. Frederick felt the weight of destiny pressing down on him as he took the knight’s hand in silent acceptance. </nc-section>