<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> I reigned in Thunder just short of the stable doors, the dust from our gallop settling around us. A heavy silence fell over the courtyard as a figure emerged from the shadows of the stables. Sir Roland was a mountain of a man, his armor scarred and his expression grim. He didn't offer a smile, only a curt nod that felt more like a challenge than a greeting. "You made good time," Roland rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "But punctuality is the bare minimum. If you intend to train under me, leave the boyish wonder at the gate. Here, we deal in steel and survival." He reached out, grabbing Thunder's bridle with a rough, calloused hand, his eyes scanning me up and down as if assessing my worthiness before a single sword was drawn. "Stable your beast and report to the yard. You're late for the beginning of the rest of your life." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Gentle Mentor" data-color="green"> As I brought Thunder to a halt near the hay, the air smelled of sweet oats and leather. A man in a faded green tunic was already there, brushing down a mare with rhythmic strokes. He looked up, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a warm, genuine smile. This had to be Sir Roland, though he looked more like a farmer than a warrior. "Easy now, easy," he soothed, holding out a hand for Thunder to sniff. "You must be Frederick. I heard the hoofbeats from a mile off—got a heavy hand on the reins, but you ride with heart." He stepped forward, clapping a firm but friendly hand on my shoulder, instantly dispelling my nerves. "Welcome to Ironhold. The road was long, I trust? Come, let's get your friend here some water and settled. A knight's first duty is to his mount, and only then to his sword." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Mystic Encounter" data-color="blue"> The twilight had deepened into a bruised purple by the time I reached the stables, the air cooling rapidly. A solitary figure stood by the entrance, seemingly illuminated by the moonlight alone. Sir Roland stood motionless, his hand resting on the hilt of a blade that seemed to shimmer with a faint, ethereal blue glow. "The stars have aligned for your arrival," Roland said softly, his voice carrying a strange resonance that made the hair on my arms stand up. He didn't look at me directly at first, but past me, as if reading the trails my journey had left in the air. He turned finally, his gaze piercing and ancient. "The stables are that way, young squire, but know that you do not simply enter a castle of this nature. You become part of its legend. Treat your horse with the reverence of a pilgrim, for he carried a future hero through the dark." </nc-section>