<nc-section data-title="Version 1" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder near the stables, a broad-shouldered man in polished armor approached with measured steps. His silver hair caught the fading sunlight, and a long scar traced its way from his temple to his jaw. "You must be Frederick," he said, his voice deep and commanding. "I am Sir Roland, Knight of the Eastern Watch. Your father wrote to me of your arrival." He extended a gauntleted hand, and I clasped it firmly, trying not to wince at his iron grip. "The stable hands will see to your horse. Come—we have much to discuss before the evening meal." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> The stable doors swung open as I pulled Thunder to a halt, and a knight emerged wiping his hands on a cloth. Unlike the pristine warriors I had imagined, this man's armor bore the dents and scratches of countless battles, worn like badges of honor. "Ah, the new squire!" he called out with a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I am Sir Roland. I was just checking on my own mount—old habits, you understand." He patted Thunder's neck with genuine admiration. "Fine animal you have here, lad. A knight is only as good as the bond with his horse. You've passed your first test without even knowing it." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> I had barely swung my leg over the saddle when a stern voice cut through the evening air. "You're late." I turned to find a knight standing in the shadow of the stable, arms crossed over his chest. Sir Roland was younger than I had expected—perhaps thirty winters—but his eyes held the weight of a man who had seen far too much death. "The roads were—" I began. "Excuses are for peasants," he interrupted, stepping forward. "You are to be a knight. When I say dusk, I mean dusk. Not a moment after." He paused, studying me with an intensity that made me stand straighter. "But you're here now. That counts for something. Barely." </nc-section>