<nc-section data-title="Version 1" data-color="red"> I dismounted near the stables, my legs trembling from the long ride. A burly man in weathered armor stepped from the shadows, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. "You must be the new squire," Sir Roland said, his voice rough and humorless. His eyes scanned me from head to toe, lingering on my scuffed boots and the travel stains on my tunic. "I've trained many boys. Most didn't last a fortnight. We'll see if you're made of sterner stuff." He turned sharply toward the stable doors. "Stable your horse. Then report to the barracks. You'll find no warm welcome here—only work." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2" data-color="green"> As I guided Thunder toward the stables, an older knight emerged, wiping his hands on a cloth. Despite the deep lines on his weathered face, his grey eyes held genuine warmth. "Frederick, I presume?" Sir Roland extended a calloused hand and clasped my forearm firmly. "I knew your father. He spoke of you often with great pride." He gestured toward an empty stall. "You've had a long journey. Take your time with your horse—there's hot stew waiting in the hall when you're ready. Tomorrow your training begins, but tonight, you're among friends." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3" data-color="blue"> The stables loomed ahead, their thatched roof dark against the twilight sky. Before I could dismount, a tall figure in tarnished armor emerged from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He studied me. "You ride well," Sir Roland observed quietly. "But riding won't save you where you're going." He stepped aside, revealing a dim interior flickering with lantern light. "The last squire who stood where you stand now was carried out in a wooden box. The dragons are waking, boy. And I'm the only one left who knows how to fight them." His gaze burned into mine. "The question is—do you have the courage to learn?" </nc-section>