<nc-section data-title="A Gruff Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted, my legs unsteady from the long ride, a figure emerged from the deepening shadows of the stable archway. He was built like a mountain, his plate mail scarred and dented from a hundred battles. A thick, grey-streaked beard covered a jaw that looked as if it were hewn from granite. "You must be the new whelp, Frederick," he grunted, his voice a low rumble like shifting stone. He didn't offer a hand, merely crossed his massive arms over his chest. "I am Sir Roland. The horse goes in the third stall. Don't expect the grooms to do your work for you. Here, you earn your keep, or you get sent home." His eyes, cold as a winter morning, scanned me from head to toe, and I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Mentor's Greeting" data-color="green"> A man with a kind face and laugh lines around his eyes met me as I led Thunder towards the stables. His armor, though well-maintained, was clearly that of a veteran, polished smooth in places by years of use. "Welcome, lad. You must be Frederick," he said, his voice warm and inviting. He reached out and gave my shoulder a firm, reassuring squeeze. "I am Sir Roland. That's a fine beast you have there." He gave Thunder an appreciative pat on the neck. "Come, let's get him settled. The lads will see to your gear. You look tired from the road. We'll have a hot meal and a warm bed waiting for you." He smiled, and in that moment, the imposing castle felt less like a fortress and more like a home. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="A Knight's Weariness" data-color="blue"> I had just swung my leg over Thunder's back when a knight approached, his steps heavy and slow. He leaned against the stable doorframe, the setting sun glinting off the tarnished silver of his pauldrons. He looked tired, not just from the day, but with a deep, bone-bred weariness that seemed to settle in the lines on his face. "Frederick," he stated, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. It wasn't a question. "I am Sir Roland." He watched me for a long moment, his gaze distant, as if he were looking through me and seeing the ghosts of a dozen other boys who had stood in the very same spot. "The stable master will show you your place. Training begins at dawn. Try to keep up." He turned and walked away without another word, leaving me alone with the whistling wind and a profound sense of unease. </nc-section>