<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 scar traced a path from his left temple to his jaw. "You must be the new squire," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "I am Sir Roland, Knight of the Eastern Watch. I've been expecting you, young Frederick." He extended a gauntleted hand, and I grasped it firmly, trying to hide the trembling in my fingers. His grip was like iron, but his eyes held a warmth that put me at ease. "Welcome to Castle Thornwood. Your training begins at dawn." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> A stable boy rushed forward to take Thunder's reins as I slid from the saddle, my legs aching from the long journey. Before I could gather my belongings, a booming laugh echoed across the courtyard. "By the old gods, they're sending them younger every year!" I turned to find a knight striding toward me, his red cloak billowing behind him. Sir Roland was nothing like I had imagined—he was younger than my father, with a easy smile and mischief dancing in his dark eyes. "Frederick, yes? Your uncle wrote to me about you." He clapped a hand on my shoulder, nearly buckling my knees. "Said you had spirit. We shall see if that's true soon enough." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> The stables smelled of hay and leather, a comforting scent after days on the road. I was brushing Thunder's coat when a shadow fell across the stall door. "Most squires let the stable hands tend to their mounts." I spun around to face a lean, weathered knight leaning against the doorframe. His arms were crossed, and he studied me with an unreadable expression. This had to be Sir Roland—I recognized the dragon crest emblazoned on his chest plate. "My father taught me that a knight who doesn't care for his horse doesn't deserve one, my lord," I replied, standing straighter. For a long moment, silence hung between us. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted. "Your father taught you well. Perhaps there's hope for you yet, Frederick." </nc-section>