<nc-section data-title="Version 1: The Stern Welcome" data-color="red"> I dismounted in the courtyard, my legs trembling from the long ride. A heavy hand clamped onto my shoulder. "You're late, boy." I turned to find a towering figure in weathered chainmail. Sir Roland's face was a map of old battles—scarred, sun-weathered, and unsmiling. His dark eyes studied me. "Forgive me, Sir Roland. The roads—" "Excuses are for dead men," he interrupted. "Your horse needs tending. Then report to the armory. You'll sleep there tonight." He strode away without another word. I exhaled, realizing I'd been holding my breath the entire time. </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 2: The Unexpected Warmth" data-color="green"> Before I could even slide off Thunder's back, a booming laugh echoed through the stables. "Frederick of Millbrook! You made it!" A barrel-chested man with a magnificent grey beard approached, arms wide open. Sir Roland looked nothing like the terrifying warrior I'd imagined. His eyes crinkled with genuine warmth. "Welcome to Castle Blackthorn, lad," he said, clasping my forearm firmly. "The journey treats you well?" "Well enough, sir." "Good! You'll need your strength. Come—supper's waiting, and I've heard much about you from your father." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Version 3: The Ominous Beginning" data-color="blue"> The stable boy took my reins without a word. Then I noticed him—the knight standing motionless in the shadows. Sir Roland emerged slowly, his hand resting on his sword hilt. He said nothing at first, simply walking around me in a deliberate circle. His gaze penetrated. "Frederick," he finally spoke. "Do you know why you're here?" "To train as a squire, sir." "No." He stopped before me, his voice barely audible. "You're here because the last one died. And if you're not careful, you will too." He walked past me into the dying light. </nc-section>