<nc-section data-title="A Warning in the Red" data-color="red"> The final rays of the sun were dying on the horizon, painting the clouds in shades of blood and ash. Thunder snorted nervously, his hooves kicking up dirt as I halted near the stable entrance. A heavy silence hung over the yard, broken only by the creak of wood. Sir Roland stepped out of the shadows of the main hall, his plate armor stark and unadorned. He looked not at me, but past me, toward the distant mountains where the sky burned violet. "You have the look of a dreamer, boy," he said, his voice like grinding stones. "But at the castle of steel, dreams break before the dawn. Stay close." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Gentleman Knight" data-color="green"> As I tethered Thunder to the post, the scent of damp hay and wildflowers filled the air. Sir Roland approached from the winding garden paths, his tabard bright with the fleur-de-lis of the realm. He stopped before me, his boots gleaming in the twilight, and offered a broad, welcoming smile. "I am Roland," he said, extending a gloved hand to touch Thunder’s mane. "You’re late. The horses always begin to settle only when the boy arrives. Rest well, squire; you will need your strength." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Duty Calls" data-color="blue"> The late afternoon light washed over the stone courtyard in a cold, pale blue. I was just sliding from Thunder’s saddle when Sir Roland intercepted me. He wore his helm tucked beneath his arm, revealing a face that had seen too many winters but still possessed the hard lines of a veteran. He didn't waste time on pleasantries. "The Duke awaits reports," he muttered, checking a list on a ragged scrap of parchment. "Ensure your gear is inspected before curfew. I don't want to send a soldier out half-armed. Where is your bag?" </nc-section>