<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> Sir Roland stood by the stables, his armor polished to a mirror shine, one gauntleted hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He eyed Thunder with mild disdain as I pulled the reins to a halt. “Squire,” he said, voice like gravel under steel, “we don’t ride stallions like warhorses into the courtyard. You’ll spook the mares.” I stammered an apology, dismounting awkwardly. He stepped forward, towering over me. “You’re late. Training begins at dawn, not sunset. You’re not a noble’s pet—you’re here to serve the crown. Remember that.” His words stung, but beneath them, I sensed the weight of duty he bore. I bowed my head. “Yes, Sir Roland.” He grunted, then tossed me a feed sack. “Then start by mucking the stables. We’ll see if you’ve got grit before we teach you glory.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: An Unexpected Ally" data-color="green"> As I guided Thunder into the stable yard, a knight emerged from the shadow of the hayloft, smiling beneath a neatly trimmed beard. His armor was worn but lovingly maintained, and a sparrow perched briefly on his shoulder before flitting away. “Ah! The new squire!” he called, his voice warm and rich. “You must be Frederick. I’m Sir Roland.” He extended a hand, calloused but kind. I shook it, surprised by the ease in his manner. “Thunder’s a fine beast,” he said, patting the stallion’s neck. “And you’ve got a rider’s seat. That’s half the battle won.” “I hoped to arrive earlier,” I said, “but the river crossing was slow.” “No matter,” Roland said with a chuckle. “The stars still guide us, and the stables aren’t going anywhere. Come—let’s bed your horse, then I’ll show you the armory. There’s much to learn, but we’ll take it one step at a time.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: Echoes of the Past" data-color="blue"> Sir Roland stood silhouetted against the dying light, his back to me as I approached. He didn’t turn, even as Thunder’s hooves clattered on the cobbles. “You’re the son of Elias,” he said at last, his voice low, as if speaking to a ghost. I froze. My father’s name hadn’t been spoken in years. “Y-yes, sir.” He turned then, his eyes sharp and ancient, like chips of storm-gray sky. “He saved my life at Blackfen Pass. Died with a dragonfang arrow in his chest.” I swallowed hard. I’d never known the full story. Roland stepped closer, studying my face. “They say you’ve his eyes. And his fire. If that’s true, then this castle will either burn—or rise—because of you.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Welcome, Frederick. Your training begins tonight.” </nc-section>