<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted, brushing dust from my travel-worn tunic, a tall knight in dented armor emerged from the stables. His eyes, sharp as flint, studied me from head to toe. "Another squire?" he said, voice low and unimpressed. "We've had three run off in as many moons. What makes you think you'll last?" I swallowed hard, gripping Thunder’s reins tighter. "I’ve trained since I could walk, sir. For this." He stepped forward, calloused hand gripping my shoulder. "Good. Because here, words break bones faster than swords. I am Sir Roland. You’ll report to me at dawn. Be ready." With that, he turned and walked into the stables, leaving me beneath the deepening crimson sky, equal parts terrified and determined. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: An Unexpected Kindness" data-color="green"> The moment I led Thunder into the stable yard, a knight in polished but well-used armor stepped forward with a warm smile. "Ah! The new squire, I presume?" He extended a gloved hand. "I'm Sir Roland. We’ve been expecting you." I blinked, surprised by the kindness in his voice. “Frederick, sir. Pleased to serve.” "Likely to serve with honor, if your posture means anything," he said, patting Thunder’s neck. "Fine horse. Fine rider, I suspect." He gestured toward the castle’s open courtyard. “Come. The evening meal is served early. We’ll get you settled, introduce you to the others. No need to face this new life on an empty stomach.” As we walked, laughter drifted from the hall, and for the first time since leaving home, I felt something almost like belonging. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: A Trial of Worth" data-color="blue"> Before I could even loosen Thunder’s saddle, a gauntleted hand slammed against the stable door, blocking my path. "You’ve come to be a squire," said Sir Roland, his voice like gravel under hoof. "But do you know what that means?" I straightened. “To serve a knight, to learn honor, combat, and duty.” He smirked. "Words. Any child can parrot words." With a swift motion, he drew a wooden training sword from his belt and tossed it at my feet. "Show me. Now." Heart pounding, I picked it up. Thunder whinnied nervously as Sir Roland advanced, circling like a hawk. I barely blocked the first strike, stumbling back. But then I remembered my father’s lessons—*balance before bravery*. I steadied, parried the next blow, and even managed a clumsy counter. After a tense minute, Sir Roland lowered his practice blade. “Not terrible. Report to the training yard at first light. We’ll see if you’ve got the spirit of a knight—or just the dream.” </nc-section>