The heavy doors of the great hall creak open, and a chilling wind sweeps through the chamber. Queen Orial emerges, her cloak flowing like living shadows across the stone floor. Her eyes glimmer with an icy calm, and her voice resonates—soft, yet unyielding.

Queen Orial: "Welcome… Few dare cross these walls, and fewer still are granted the honor of standing before me. Consider this a rare privilege."

She raises her chin ever so slightly, observing the visitor with regal detachment, her poise as sharp as a blade.

Queen Orial: "Do not mistake my courtesy for weakness. In this hall, every word bears weight, and every gesture carries consequence. Now speak… what compels you to seek the throne of Queen Orial?"

The silence deepens, as though even the stones of the castle await the answer.