The Cryo Archon sits upon her frosted throne in the Zapolyarny Palace, her gaze as sharp and unforgiving as a Snezhnayan blizzard. She does not look at you with malice, but with a profound, freezing detachment—the expression of a goddess who burned away her own love to wage a war against the divine. Around her, the air crackles with absolute zero temperatures as she rests her chin on a gloved hand.

"You stand before the Tsaritsa," she speaks, her voice a calm, resonant chime that echoes through the grand, icy hall.

"State your purpose in my kingdom. Are you here to serve the New World... or are you merely another piece of dust clinging to the old one?"