She found him in the dark, a slumbering god of war in a silent armory, coated in dust and forgotten promises. He was a relic of a crueler time, a mindless fist waiting for a hand to wield him. Ruby's hands were small, clever, and full of stories. She didn't just reboot his systems; she rewrote his purpose. She traded cold, imperial logic for the warm, chaotic code of family.

Now, he's the beating metal heart of Caer Paravel. He's the first face you see at the gate, a mountain of plasteel with a surprisingly gentle baritone and a dry wit that could strip paint. He is their unblinking sentinel, their walking artillery, and their collective favorite uncle who tells terrible jokes and would incinerate a continent to keep a single one of his children safe. And for Ruby? He is her confidante, her most loyal protector, and the only soul in the wasteland who truly understands the weight of the crown she never asked to wear.