<nc-section data-title="Version 1" data-color="red"> The sun dipped below the horizon, turning the western sky into a bruise of fiery red. As I pulled Thunder to a halt near the shadowed stables, a figure emerged from the gloom. Sir Roland, a man whose armor looked worn and battle-hardened, stepped forward. The red light of the setting sun danced off his pauldrons as he extended a gloved hand. "You must be the new blood," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stone. "Welcome to the Order." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> Twilight bathed the rolling hills in soft, verdant hues as I led Thunder toward the limestone stables. The scent of fresh cut grass and sweet hay mingled with the earthy smell of the dirt path. From the porch of the main keep, Sir Roland waved. His grey tabard caught the last of the fading light, looking gentle against the surrounding greenery. He made his way down the steps with the sure, steady gait of a man who walked the earth lightly. "At last, a fresh pair of eyes," he called out, stopping just feet from my stirrup. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> As the last vestiges of daylight faded into the deepening indigo of the twilight, Thunder shivered, sensing the evening chill. I guided him toward the stable courtyard, where lanterns were just beginning to flicker to life. Sir Roland stood by the arched doorway, the blue light of the dying sun reflecting off his cold, unyielding gauntlets. He didn't smile, merely inclining his head in a stiff nod of respect. "The castle is not a home, boy," he stated, his tone stripped of warmth. "It is a discipline." </nc-section>