<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Friendly Salute" data-color="red"> Frederick led Thunder toward the row of stalls when a tall figure in polished steel stepped forward, torchlight dancing off his breastplate. The knight’s gauntleted hand curved into a welcoming bow. “Welcome to Ravenford Keep, Squire Frederick,” Sir Roland said, voice warm and steady. He released his greeting with a hearty clap on Frederick’s shoulder that rattled the young man’s breastplate in the best possible way. “I’ve heard much of your skill with the lance—come, let me introduce you to the rest of our order.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Formal Inspection" data-color="green"> As Frederick tied Thunder’s reins, a sharp click of steel on cobblestone turned his head. Sir Roland emerged from between the stalls, brows knitted over a stern gaze. He halted before Frederick, arms folded. “Squire Hartwell,” the knight intoned, voice measured. He scrutinized Frederick’s tunic and armor with a knight’s exacting eye. After a long pause, he nodded once. “You will find no leniency here. Report to the training yard at first light.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: A Mysterious Omen" data-color="blue"> The stable’s lanterns flickered as Frederick led his horse inside. From the shadows stepped Sir Roland, cloak hooded, sword at his hip. His voice was low, carrying an edge of warning. “Squire,” he whispered, eyes distant, “we have been expecting you sooner than you know.” He reached out and traced a rune carved into Thunder’s bridle—a symbol Frederick had never seen. “Keep your wits about you; the castle’s walls hold secrets older than dragons.” </nc-section>