<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted near the stables, a tall knight in dented plate armor approached, his expression as hard as forged steel. "You're late, boy," Sir Roland growled, his voice like gravel beneath a wagon wheel. He eyed Thunder with a critical gaze. "Fine horse. Let's hope his rider is half as capable." Without another word, he turned and gestured for me to follow. "Come. The dawn brings training, and you’ve already wasted enough of my time." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Brother in Arms" data-color="green"> The moment I tied Thunder to the post, a broad-shouldered knight emerged from the stable doors, straw in his greaves and a warm smile on his sun-tanned face. "Ah! Frederick, I presume?" Sir Roland boomed, clapping me on the shoulder with a gauntleted hand. "Welcome, lad. I was a squiring fool once too—fell off my horse more times than I care to admit." He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Let’s get you settled. Tomorrow, the real adventure begins." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: Whispers of the Last Dragon" data-color="blue"> Sir Roland waited by the stable gate, his cloak lined with faded dragon-scale embroidery that shimmered faintly in the twilight. "You carry the look of someone who has seen dreams no boy should know," he said softly, peering into my eyes. I stiffened—how could he know about my visions of fire and wings? "The dragon stirs in the north," he murmured, "and your path is not merely to squire, but to awaken what sleeps." He placed a hand on Thunder’s neck. "This horse was born under a dying star. So were you." </nc-section>