<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> As Thunder skidded to a halt before 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 Frederick from head to toe. "Another squire?" Sir Roland's voice was gravel wrapped in iron. "We’ll see if you last longer than the last three. Stable your horse, then report to the armory. And don’t dawdle—I’ve no patience for lazy boys." Frederick swallowed hard, dismounting with stiff limbs. The warmth of the sunset suddenly felt distant, as if already swallowed by shadow. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Brotherly Hand" data-color="green"> The moment Frederick reined in Thunder, a broad-shouldered knight emerged from the stable doors, grinning beneath a neatly trimmed beard. "By the stars, you must be Frederick!" Sir Roland clapped him on the shoulder with a force that nearly knocked him over. "Heard tales of your riding from the northern keep—Thunder here must be tireless! Come, let’s get him watered and fed. You’ve earned a rest, lad, but tomorrow we start shaping a knight." His laughter rang through the courtyard like warm bell tolls, and Frederick felt the knot of anxiety in his chest begin to loosen. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: Echoes of the Past" data-color="blue"> Sir Roland stood like a statue beside the stable gate, his silvered armor catching the last rays of dusk. He didn’t smile, but his gaze held something—recognition? Sorrow? "You ride like your father," he said quietly, so only Frederick could hear. "He rode Thunder’s sire the day he left for the Black Pass. Never came back." Frederick stared, stunned. He’d never heard his father spoken of before. "Welcome to Castle Varys," Roland continued, turning toward the stables. "If you’ve half his spirit, you may yet survive what’s coming." </nc-section>