<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Crimson Welcome" data-color="red"> The smell of leather and horse sweat hung heavy in the air as Frederick led Thunder toward the stables. A figure in crimson armor stepped from the shadows of the hayloft, his cloak the color of dried blood against the gray stone. "You are late," Sir Roland announced, his voice like iron scraping against stone. He did not extend his hand, but instead appraised the young squire with eyes that seemed to weigh the worth of his very soul. The torchlight cast harsh shadows across the knight's scarred face as he gestured toward an empty stall with a gauntleted hand. "A squire who cannot manage his time is worse than useless. Prove to me by dawn that you belong here, or return to your father's farm with your tail between your legs." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Earthly Welcome" data-color="green"> Hay dust motes danced in the slanted afternoon light as Frederick approached the stables with Thunder's reins in hand. Sir Roland emerged from between the wooden stalls, his leather apron smelling of sweet oats and polished tack. He was not armored, but rather dressed like the grooms, his hands stained with the honest dirt of labor and his smile creasing weathered cheeks. "Welcome, lad," he said, his voice rich and warm as he clapped a hand on Frederick's shoulder. "The castle has been waiting for fresh blood with good hands and a better heart." He took Thunder's bridle with gentle expertise, chuckling as the stallion nickered against his palm. "Your training begins now, not with sword or shield, but with knowing the beasts who will carry you into legend. Here, we measure a man by how he cares for those in his charge." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Twilight Welcome" data-color="blue"> Twilight had settled over the courtyard by the time Frederick found the stables, the stone walls radiating the day's stored heat into the cooling evening air. Sir Roland stood waiting in the archway, his silver hair catching the last azure light of dusk, his armor unadorned and practical in the gloom. He said nothing at first, only watched as Frederick dismounted, his expression unreadable as the distant mountains. "Frederick," he said finally, the name falling like a stone into still water. He gestured toward the stalls where lanterns glowed with pale, ghostly light against the deepening blue shadows. "Every knight who ever served this kingdom began where you stand now, trembling between who they were and who they must become. Do not speak tonight. Listen to the horses. Listen to the silence. Tomorrow, we begin." </nc-section>