<nc-section data-title="The Red Gauntlet" data-color="red"> I tethered Thunder to the post, my hands trembling slightly as the evening chill set in. From the shadows of the main barn, Sir Roland emerged, his silhouette cutting a sharp, menacing figure against the dying light. He did not smile, and the gleam of his polished plate armor reminded me of coals freshly drawn from the forge. "You look like you've seen a ghost, boy," he rumbled, clanking his gauntleted hand against the wood of the stall door. "But ghosts don't know how to hold a sword. Come, let us see if you have the fire in your blood." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Green Shade" data-color="green"> The scent of wet earth filled the stable yard as I guided Thunder to his water trough. A soft, rhythmic creaking stopped me, and Sir Roland stepped from the twilight, the crown of his helm hiding his expression but not the cunning glint in his eyes. He walked with the eerie grace of a predator moving through tall grass. "The old walls remember the scales," he said quietly, resting a gloved hand on his sword hilt. "And they don't like new squires smelling like city dust. Wash yourself, and then we shall speak of the Master's demands." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Blue Oath" data-color="blue"> Rain began to fall, cold and relentless, chasing the warmth of the day away. I shook the water from my cloak and looked up to see Sir Roland standing beneath the eaves of the stable, his face pale and hard as moonlight. There was no warmth in his greeting, only the stark discipline of the soldier. "The castle stands on ancient bones," he stated, offering a cold, formal nod. "You have come to serve. Do not mistake service for friendship. Let us begin your training before the frost takes the horses." </nc-section>