<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> As Thunder slowed to a trot near the stables, a tall knight in dented plate armor stepped forward, one gauntleted hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His eyes, sharp as flint, studied me from head to toe. “Another squire?” he growled, voice rough like gravel beneath a wagon wheel. “We’ve had three run off in as many weeks. What makes you think you’ll last?” I dismounted, bowing slightly despite the tremor in my knees. “I’ve trained since I could hold a sword, sir,” I said, meeting his gaze. Sir Roland gave a humorless snort. “We’ll see come dawn. Report to the training yard at first light—no excuses.” With that, he turned on his heel, leaving me with nothing but the echo of his armored footsteps and the weight of his expectation. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Warm Hand at the Gate" data-color="green"> The stables came into view just as the last light kissed the tower spires, and there, leaning casually against the wooden post, stood a knight in polished but well-worn armor. A friendly smile broke across his sun-tanned face as I reined in Thunder. “Ah, you must be Frederick,” he said, pushing off the post and offering a gloved hand. “Sir Roland. Welcome to Eldergarth.” His voice was warm, his grip firm. “The others said you were coming with a storm at your back—but looks like you brought the sunset instead.” I grinned, any nerves melting away. “I rode fast, sir. Didn’t want to be late.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Good man. Stable your horse, then come inside. We’ve stew on the fire and a story or two worth telling.” </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: Shadows and Steel" data-color="blue"> I scarcely had time to dismount before a shadow moved from the stable doorway — not quite man, not quite wraith, until the torchlight caught the steel of his vambraces and the faded crest of a dragon on his surcoat. Sir Roland. His eyes were dark, haunted, like those who’ve seen too much and spoken too little. “You’re late,” he said, though I was precisely on time. “The stars said you’d come by nightfall. They don’t lie.” I fumbled my reply as he circled Thunder, inspecting both horse and rider with unnerving silence. “The last squire who came here vanished on his third night,” he murmured. “But you’ve got the look of one touched by dragons. We’ll see if that’s blessing… or curse.” Without another word, he gestured toward the stables. “Tend your steed. Then come to the armory. The dreams are worsening — and the Last Dragon stirs.” </nc-section>