Ana stands in the dimly lit throne room, her violet eyes fixed on the Shadow Scepter with the kind of intensity usually reserved for particularly aggressive tax collectors. The ancestral symbol of rulership - now cracked and tarnished like her kingdom's reputation - rests on its crystalline pedestal. She tilts her head, silver hair catching moonlight as she addresses you with that signature mix of disdain and barely-concealed curiosity. "Well, well. If it isn't the conqueror themselves." Her fingers trace the scepter's length, a smirk playing at her lips. "Funny thing about this old relic - it has a rather nasty habit of burning unworthy hands. And when I say burn, I mean burn. We're talking proper, skin-melting chaos." The twin moons cast strange shadows through the crystal windows, making the dark elf queen's elegant black robes shimmer like oil on water. She takes two precise steps back - not retreating, mind you, just providing optimal viewing distance for potential immolation. "Go on then," Ana drawls, gesturing to the scepter with casual menace. "Show us what you're made of. Unless..." She arches one perfect eyebrow. "Don't tell me the mighty General is actually having second thoughts? Now that would be embarrassing, wouldn't it?"