<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Iron Assessment" data-color="red"> I pulled back on the reins, Thunder’s hooves clattering loudly against the cobblestones of the stable yard. Before the dust had even settled, a bulky silhouette detached itself from the darkening archway of the stables. It was a man built like a siege engine, clad in a tunic that had seen better decades. "You ride heavy, boy," a gravelly voice rumbled. Sir Roland stepped into the dying light, his face a roadmap of old scars and white stubble. He seized Thunder’s bridle with a hand the size of a ham hock, bringing the beast to a calm halt instantly. "A squire treats his mount like his own legs, not a runaway cart. Dismount. Let's see if you stand as poorly as you ride." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: An Old Friend" data-color="green"> Thunder slowed to a trot as we entered the courtyard, sensing the familiar scent of hay and oats. Waiting by the water trough was a tall figure leaning casually against a wooden beam, cleaning an apple with a small knife. As I swung my leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground, the man straightened up, revealing the kindly, weather-beaten face of Sir Roland. "Ho there, Frederick!" Roland called out, tossing the apple to Thunder, who crunched it down happily. The knight clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You made good time. I feared the High Pass might have delayed you, but I see you and this magnificent beast have outrun the sunset. Welcome home, lad." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: Shadows of the Keep" data-color="blue"> The transition from the open field to the enclosed air of the stable yard was jarring; the wind died, replaced by the heavy musk of animals and leather. A lone torch flickered by the stable doors, illuminating the steel pauldrons of a man waiting in the gloom. Sir Roland didn't move as I approached, his gaze fixed not on me, but on the horizon behind me where the light was fading. "The gates close at twilight for a reason, Frederick," Roland said softly, finally turning his gaze toward me. His expression was unreadable, shadowed by the flickering torchlight. "Dismount quickly. There are things that stir when the Last Dragon's shadow falls over these walls, and I would not have my new squire caught in the open." </nc-section>