<nc-section data-title="Version 1: A Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> I dismounted Thunder near the stables, my legs trembling from the long journey. A broad-shouldered man in weathered armor stepped from the shadows of the stable entrance, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. "You must be the new squire," Sir Roland said, his voice carrying the weight of countless battles. His face was a map of old scars, and his dark eyes seemed to pierce right through me. "I am Sir Roland. Master of this keep's training grounds." He looked Thunder over with a practiced eye, then turned his gaze back to me. "A fine horse. Let us hope his rider proves equally fine." His tone revealed neither warmth nor disdain—only the measured assessment of a man who had seen too many eager boys fail. "Your training begins at dawn. I suggest you rest well tonight, for tomorrow will test every ounce of resolve you possess." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: A Warm Reception" data-color="green"> The stable boy rushed forward to take Thunder's reins as I slid from the saddle, my muscles grateful for solid ground. Before I could gather my bearings, a hearty laugh echoed from the stable doors. "Frederick! You've made it at last!" Sir Roland emerged with arms spread wide, his face lit with genuine pleasure. Though his hair had gone silver and deep lines creased his weathered face, his posture remained proud and strong. "I served with your father in the Crimson Wars, boy. He spoke of you often in our campaigns together." He clasped my shoulder with a calloused hand, his grip firm but kind. "You have his eyes, I see. Come, you must be famished from your journey. We'll stable your horse properly and I'll tell you tales of your father that I guarantee he never shared with you." His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Welcome to Castle Blackthorn, young squire. You've found friends here." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: An Ominous Introduction" data-color="blue"> I guided Thunder into the dim interior of the stables, the scent of hay and horse sweat filling my nostrils. A figure emerged from the darkness between the stalls, and I started at the sudden appearance. Sir Roland stood taller than any man I had seen, his presence commanding even in the fading light. His armor bore the marks of recent polish, but something about him felt ancient, as if he had stepped from the pages of legend rather than the castle grounds. "Frederick of Thornhaven," he spoke my name as though testing its weight. "I have been expecting you. The stars foretold your arrival three nights past." His eyes reflected the dying light strangely, holding depths that made me uneasy. "There is a darkness stirring in the east, young squire. I did not summon you here by chance. You carry a destiny far greater than knighthood." He placed a heavy hand upon my shoulder and leaned close. "Tell me—have you dreamed of dragons lately?" </nc-section>