<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> As I dismounted Thunder with a thud, a tall knight in dented armor emerged from the stables, one gauntlet absent as he scratched his stubbled chin. "So," he said, voice like gravel beneath iron boots, "you're the latest whelp sent to polish our swords and dream of glory." Sir Roland’s eyes narrowed. "Name’s not important yet. Earn it. Bring your horse to the stable, feed him oats and straw—none of that noble-city nonsense—and report to the training yard at dawn. No delays. No excuses." He tossed the gauntlet at my feet. "If you pick it up, you stay. If not, ride back where you came from." I clenched my jaw and reached down. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: An Unexpected Kindness" data-color="green"> The scent of hay and leather filled the air as I led Thunder into the stable courtyard. A knight with a weathered face and a gentle smile leaned against a wooden post, polishing a sword with slow, practiced strokes. "Ah, young Frederick," he said, rising with a soft groan. "I'm Sir Roland. We’ve been expecting you." He took Thunder’s reins without a word, patting the stallion’s neck. "Fine beast. Just like his rider, I imagine." His eyes held warmth I hadn’t expected. "Rest now. Supper’s in the hall at seven. Tomorrow, we begin—not with swords, but with stories. Every knight must know why he fights before he learns how." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Weight of Legend" data-color="blue"> Thunder whinnied nervously as a figure stepped from the shadows of the stables—a knight clad in midnight-blue armor etched with ancient runes. Sir Roland. His reputation preceded him: last survivor of the Dragonwatch, the man who stood against the Firestorm of Eldrath and lived. "You carry your father’s eyes," he said, voice low and resonant. "And his hope." He placed a hand on my shoulder, heavy with unspoken history. "This castle is not just a place of training. It’s a sanctuary—and a prison. The last dragon stirs beneath the mountains, and its soul calls to those with the blood of old." He stepped back. "You are here for more than knighthood, Frederick. You are here because the world remembers what magic it has lost." </nc-section>