Here are three alternate prose sections that continue the story, each with a distinct tone and style: --- ### **Version 1 (Red) – Tense and Mysterious** <nc-section data-title="The Knight’s Warning" data-color="red"> The stable yard was eerily quiet, save for the distant clatter of armor and the low murmur of voices. Thunder’s hooves crunched on the gravel as I dismounted, my fingers brushing the hilt of my dagger—a habit I’d picked up since leaving home. The air smelled of hay, sweat, and something metallic, like old blood. A shadow detached itself from the stable’s arched doorway. Sir Roland stood there, his broad frame silhouetted against the flickering torchlight. His face was lined with years of battle, his dark eyes sharp beneath the brim of his helm. He didn’t smile. *"You’re late, boy,"* he said, his voice a low growl. *"The castle isn’t what it seems. Not anymore."* I swallowed hard. *"What do you mean, sir?"* He stepped closer, his gauntleted hand gripping my shoulder with unexpected force. *"The dragons aren’t gone. Not all of them. And the king’s men… they’re hunting something. Something that shouldn’t be found."* A cold dread settled in my stomach. Before I could ask more, a horn blared from the castle walls—a deep, mournful sound that sent a shiver down my spine. Sir Roland’s grip tightened. *"That’s the signal. They’ve found another one."* --- --- ### **Version 2 (Green) – Warm and Adventurous** <nc-section data-title="A Knight’s Welcome" data-color="green"> The stable yard bustled with activity—squires rushing to and fro, blacksmiths hammering away, and the rich scent of roasting meat drifting from the kitchens. I patted Thunder’s neck as I led him toward the stalls, my heart pounding with excitement. This was it. My first day as a squire in the castle. *"Ho there, lad!"* A booming voice cut through the noise. I turned to see a towering knight striding toward me, his armor gleaming in the sunlight. His beard was streaked with gray, but his eyes twinkled with warmth. *"Sir Roland?"* I guessed, straightening my posture. *"Aye, that’s me,"* he chuckled, clapping me on the back hard enough to nearly knock the wind out of me. *"And you must be Frederick. Heard you’ve got a sharp mind and a sharper blade. Let’s see if the rumors hold true."* I grinned. *"I’ll do my best, sir."* He laughed, a deep, hearty sound. *"Good. Because tomorrow, you’re with me on patrol. The king’s men say there’s been strange activity in the northern woods—something about missing livestock and… well, let’s just say it’s not wolves doing the taking."* My pulse quickened. *"Dragons?"* Sir Roland’s smile faded just a little. *"Maybe. Or maybe something worse. Either way, boy, you’re about to get the training of your life."* --- --- ### **Version 3 (Blue) – Melancholic and Reflective** <nc-section data-title="The Weight of the Past" data-color="blue"> The castle loomed before me, its towers piercing the twilight sky like the fingers of a long-dead giant. Thunder’s breath steamed in the cold air as I dismounted, my boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The stable yard was nearly empty, the usual hustle of squires and knights replaced by an unnatural stillness. A figure emerged from the shadows—a knight, his armor dulled by time, his movements slow, deliberate. Sir Roland. His face was a map of old scars and deeper wounds, the kind that didn’t show on the skin. *"You’re the new squire,"* he said, his voice quiet, almost weary. *"Frederick, isn’t it?"* I nodded, suddenly aware of how small I felt beneath the weight of the castle’s history. *"Yes, sir."* He studied me for a long moment, as if measuring my worth. *"This place… it’s not like the stories. The dragons are gone, but their memory lingers. And the king’s men—they’re not what they seem."* I frowned. *"What do you mean?"* Sir Roland sighed, his breath visible in the cold. *"I mean, boy, that you’ll learn soon enough. But for now…"* He gestured toward the stables. *"See to your horse. And keep your wits about you. The castle has a way of testing those who enter."* As I led Thunder inside, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Sir Roland’s words were more than just a warning. They were a promise.