<nc-section data-title="The Iron Welcome" data-color="red"> I pulled hard on the reins, bringing Thunder to a skidding halt just before the stables, the dust swirling around his hooves. Before I could even dismount, a heavy figure detached itself from the shadows of the doorway. Sir Roland was a mountain of a man, clad in chainmail that glinted dully in the fading light. He did not smile. His face was a map of old scars, and his eyes bore into mine with an intensity that made my blood run cold. "So," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stones, "this is the boy they sent." He crossed his arms, effectively blocking the entrance to the stables. "You're late, squire. And you ride too recklessly. If you value your hide, you'll learn to control that beast before you learn to wield a sword." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="A Friendly Face" data-color="green"> I guided Thunder into the cool shade of the stables, the smell of hay and leather instantly calming my racing heart. A man with a thick grey beard and a kind, crinkled face looked up from grooming a dapple-grey mare. He wiped his hands on a rag and offered a warm smile that reached his bright eyes. "You must be Frederick," he said, his voice booming with hearty laughter. "I saw you tearing across the fields. You ride like the wind, lad! I am Sir Roland, though you can save the 'Sirs' for when the King is visiting." He clapped a heavy hand onto my shoulder as I slid from the saddle. "Come now, let's see to Thunder. A horse that runs that hard deserves a good rub down, and I reckon you could use a drink of water yourself." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Silent Watcher" data-color="blue"> As Thunder slowed to a trot and then a walk, the sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the courtyard into a deep, bruised purple twilight. I approached the stables slowly, the earlier adrenaline fading into a quiet nervousness. There, leaning against a wooden post near the entrance, stood Sir Roland. He was younger than I expected, his armor polished to a mirror sheen, but his expression was distant, his gaze fixed on the darkening sky. He turned his head slowly as I approached, his eyes searching my face for a long, uncomfortable moment. "Frederick," he stated, not a question, but a recognition. He pushed off the post and motioned toward the stable doors. "Put your horse away. The night air carries secrets, and we have much to discuss before the moon rises." </nc-section>