<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight’s Greeting (Version 1)" data-color="red"> Thunder whinnied softly as Frederick guided him toward the row of polished saddles. From the shadows of the stable archway strode a tall figure in gleaming plate armor. A sword’s hilt caught the lamplight at his hip. Frederick’s heart pounded. “Welcome to Castle Avelmar,” the knight said, voice deep and steady. He removed his helm to reveal a square jaw and keen blue eyes. “I am Sir Roland of House Blackwood. I trust your journey was swift?” Frederick dipped into a respectful bow. “Yes, Sir Roland. Thunder carried me through the dusk.” Sir Roland nodded, sheathing any hint of formality in a broad, approving smile. “Good. Tomorrow, we begin your training. For tonight, rest well. You’ll need your strength for what’s to come.” The knight patted the stallion’s neck before turning away, his cloak brushing the stable floor like a dark promise. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight’s Greeting (Version 2)" data-color="green"> Frederick clicked his heels to settle Thunder at the hitch post. As he removed the saddle, a booming laugh echoed behind him. He spun around to find a burly knight hefting a lantern. The knight’s armor was scuffed in all the right places—battle scars, Frederick guessed. “Well met, lad!” called the knight, dropping the lantern onto a barrel. “Name’s Sir Roland. Don’t let the moustache fool you—I’ll eat a dragon before breakfast if the king asks nicely.” Frederick cracked a grin. “I wouldn’t wager against that, Sir.” “Good spirit,” Roland said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Tomorrow at dawn, I’ll show you the sword drill. For now, feel free to sample the stable’s finest hay. It’s the only hay in the realm worth chewing.” With a wink, Sir Roland strode off, leaving Frederick both amused and eager for the next day’s lessons. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Knight’s Greeting (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> Damp mist curled among the stable beams as Frederick unbuckled Thunder’s bridle. A lone torch flickered at the end of the row, and from its glow emerged a solitary knight. His visor was down, armor tarnished by countless battles. He halted two paces from Frederick. No greeting came at first—only the hiss of his breath. Finally, he raised a gauntlet. “Squire Frederick,” he said, tone clipped. “I am Sir Roland. The days ahead will test you beyond your training.” Frederick’s fingers trembled on the reins. “I—understand, sir.” “Good. We ride at dawn. The border patrol reports stirrings in the forest. This castle is not as safe as it seems.” Roland’s voice softened, just enough. “Trust your horse. And trust your mettle.” With that warning, he turned and melted into the shadows, leaving Frederick to wonder what threats stirred beneath the castle walls. </nc-section>