<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted, a tall knight clad in blackened steel stepped from the shadow of the stables. His gauntleted hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "You're late," he said, voice like gravel beneath a wagon wheel. "The other squires arrived at dawn. I am Sir Roland, Keeper of the West Gate, and I expect discipline—not dawdling at twilight." He eyed Thunder with mild disdain. "A fine horse, but even the swiftest steed means nothing without a punctual rider. Stable him, then report to the armory. We’ll see if you’re fit to carry a sword by week’s end." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Fatherly Greeting" data-color="green"> A broad-shouldered knight emerged from the stables, his armor polished but scarred from many campaigns. His smile was warm beneath a thick, graying beard. "Frederick, lad! I’ve been expecting you," he said, clapping me so hard on the shoulder I nearly stumbled. "I knew your father in the border wars—he carried himself with honor. You’ve his eyes, I see." He gently patted Thunder’s neck. "Fine beast. Bring him in, get him brushed down. Then join me for supper. We’ve much to speak of—your training starts tomorrow, and I’d know the sort of man I’m shaping." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: A Test of Worth" data-color="blue"> Before I could tie Thunder to the post, a knight in silver-trimmed armor appeared as if from nowhere. "Draw your dagger," he commanded. I froze. "Now!" he barked. Trembling, I fumbled at my belt. In one swift motion, Sir Roland snatched the blade and flung it into the dirt ten paces away. "A squire must react, not hesitate," he said coldly. "You ride well, but riding is for messengers and fools. If you wish to serve under me, you’ll learn to think like a warrior. Retrieve your blade. Then stable your horse. And pray you move faster next time." </nc-section>