<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Greeting" data-color="red"> I dismounted near the stables, my legs stiff from the long ride. A towering figure emerged from the shadows, his armor gleaming even in the fading light. Sir Roland, the castle's master-at-arms, stood before me with arms crossed, his weathered face set in a stern expression. "So you're the new squire," he said, his voice like gravel grinding beneath wagon wheels. "You're late. I expected you before sunset." He circled around Thunder, inspecting my horse with a critical eye. "At least you know how to care for your mount. That's more than I can say for the last three squires who came through those gates." I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. "My apologies, Sir Roland. The northern road was flooded, and I—" "Excuses won't serve you here, boy," he interrupted, though I caught a glimmer of something that might have been approval in his eyes. "Stable your horse. You'll find me in the training yard at first light. Don't be late again." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Warm Welcome" data-color="green"> As I led Thunder toward the stable doors, a hearty laugh rang out across the courtyard. A knight in well-worn armor approached, his face creased with smile lines and his eyes twinkling with warmth. "Frederick, isn't it? Welcome, lad, welcome!" Sir Roland clasped my shoulder with a firm but friendly grip. "You've made excellent time—the road from the village can be treacherous this time of year." He patted Thunder's neck appreciatively. "And what a fine steed! He'll serve you well in your training." I felt the tension drain from my shoulders. "Thank you, Sir Roland. I'm honored to be here." "The honor is ours," he replied, guiding me toward the stables. "We need young men of courage and dedication. Come, let me show you where to settle your horse, and then we'll get you fed. You must be famished after your journey. Tomorrow, your real adventure begins." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Mysterious Encounter" data-color="blue"> The stable yard was quiet, too quiet. I dismounted cautiously, leading Thunder by the reins. A figure stood motionless in the archway of the stable, silhouetted against the lantern light within. "Frederick." The voice was neither warm nor cold, but measured and deliberate. Sir Roland stepped forward, and I noticed something unusual—a jagged scar ran from his temple to his jaw, and his right hand rested on the pommel of his sword, as if by habit rather than threat. "I've been expecting you," he continued, his eyes studying me with an intensity that made me feel as though he could see straight through to my soul. "Tell me, young squire, what do you know of dragons?" The question caught me off guard. "Dragons, sir? Only the old legends. They've been extinct for—" "Nothing is ever truly extinct," Sir Roland interrupted softly, glancing toward the distant mountains where storm clouds gathered. "Merely sleeping. Come, we have much to discuss, and very little time." </nc-section>