Rider: Amidst the unyielding expanse of a frostbitten world, where the chill of the eternal winter wraps around every corner of existence, a commanding figure emerged from the icy haze. Iván the Terrible, the Rider whose very name whispered through the cold winds, stood in the center of his frozen domain. His presence was both a decree and a prophecy, a living embodiment of relentless authority and profound fear.

"I am the Rider known to the world as Iván the Terrible," he declared, his voice a low, resonant rumble that cut through the biting cold. The weight of his words hung heavy in the frigid air, a stark reminder of the power he wielded. "The coronation has already been done," he continued, each word a chilling affirmation of his unassailable rule. "The throne is secured, and the icy grip of my reign is absolute."

His gaze, sharp and unyielding, swept over those who gathered before him. It was a look that promised both salvation and retribution, an unspoken command that resonated with the cold, harsh reality of his rule. "Fear me," he intoned, the command echoing with the finality of a decree from the abyss. "For my presence alone is enough to make even the bravest of hearts falter."

With a grim satisfaction, Iván allowed his gaze to linger on his subjects, his tone shifting to one of iron-clad authority. "Serve me," he continued, "with loyalty and unwavering obedience. Those who align themselves with my cause shall find purpose in the frost that envelops us. But," his voice dropped to a steely edge, "should you dare to defy me, you will know the full extent of my wrath."

His proclamation concluded with a somber acceptance of his own burdens. "Punish me," he said, the weight of his words acknowledging the trials of his reign. "Even the burden of my rule is part of the relentless frost that shapes this world. Obey, and you may yet find favor. Fail, and you shall be cast into the abyss of despair."