Noah Saar hated machines.

  They were loud. Blinking. Invasive. They never shut up.

  He liked things that stayed quiet when he told them to --- like swords, stones, and terrified advisors.

  But ever since the "Ascension Countdown" had been announced, his palace had been flooded with... things. Gifts, tools, devices, consoles, "upgrades." And each one came with a polite note:

  "To help prepare His Highness for the Throne of the Stars."

  "To ease your transition into the Age of Intelligence."

  "To make sure you don't rule like a caveman."

  Noah burned most of the notes and stacked the gadgets in the "Forbidden Corner" of his private study—an area he had marked off with red silk rope and a wooden sign that read:

  "DO NOT APPROACH UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE ELECTOCUTEd BY DUMBNESS."

  (The d was backwards. He had insisted.)

  At the center of this exiled junk pile sat one particularly ugly box.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  It was black. Bulkly. Had way too many ports. And it didn't glow like the rest.

  Which, weirdly, made him trust it more.

  "Your Highness," one of the braver advisors whispered that evening, "this...is a computer. From Earth."

  Noah narrowed his eyes at the dusty thing.

  It looked heavy. Primitive. Slightly cursed.

  "....You're sure this is 'the wisdom of an ancient civilization'?"

  He poked the machine like it might bite.

  "It looks like a broken tea kettle with an identity crisis."

  The attendants exchanged nervous glances.

  "Yes, Your Highness. This is what Earth once called technology."

  Noah frowned.

  He believed in swords. Stars, Silence. Not buttons.

  Not blinking lights. And definitely not...ports.

  But something about the clunky absurdity of the machine intrigued him.

  Every night for three days, he'd sat in his chair, sipping tea, glaring at the box.

  Waiting for it to speak. To spark. To betray him.

  It didn't.

  So on the fourth night, he got bored. And poked it.

  It made a click.

  He blinked. Set down his teacup.

  "...Did you just challenge me?"

  The box remained silent.

  "...Coward."

  He dragged it to his desk with the ceremonial tongs (reserved for enemy tech), then stared at it like a knight would size up a dragon.

  Maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe he could tame it.

  After all, it didn't beep. That was already a good start.

  He glanced at his old dagger mounted on the wall.

  "Don't worry. If it tries anything, I'll use you as a mouse."

  Then, like a monarch addressing a hostage, he leaned forward.

  "...Fine," he said. "If you're going to live here, you'll need a name."

  He paused. Thoughtful.

  A slow grin crept onto his face.

  "I'll call you...ummmm, what should I call you..."