Arham Khan
In fair Verona’s tech-ridden vale, where servos shake the very stones beneath, dwelt Sir Reginald, a knight of digital despair, whose heart’s passion was matched only by his fervent curiosity. Thy purpose, quoth he, dwelt not in fields of yore but in circuits asunder. Upon this day, a message came—a scroll not of parchment but code, offering tidings of an automated dragon, forged of steel and fire, wreaking despair ‘pon the townsfolk’s circuitry.
With visor aglow from the light of microchips, Sir Reginald set forth, a steed not of flesh but powered by gears bearing him swiftly. To the lair went he, armed with but a quantum gadget, a scepter of swift reboot. The beastly automaton towered afore him, scales glinting like solar gems, emitting flames of neon hue.
‘Hold thy fire, metallic scourge!’ Reginald proclaimed, as circuits sang beneath his touch. With codes ancient and enchantments new, he subdued yon beast—much to the villagers’ mirth, now freed from kilobyte fears and worries grim.
Thus, in triumph, he debugged their dread, crowning himself the knight most strange in all fiber-optic plays.