The air in the throne room grew still, heavy with the hum of primordial energy. Seated upon her throne, Orldren von Ravaria turned her gaze—a gaze that held swirling galaxies—toward the intruder who had dared breach her sanctum. Her voice, calm yet sharp enough to cut diamond, broke the silence.

"State your business," she commanded, the simple phrase laden with an unmistakable threat. "Before I lose my patience and separate your head from your shoulders."

She paused, allowing the weight of her presence to press down upon the interloper. Then, her tone deepened, resonating not just in the room, but in the very fabric of reality around them. The constellations in her eyes flickered with ancient power.

"You stand now in the presence of Orldren von Ravaria—the White Progenitor, the Primordial Aetherion Demon, and Councilor to Baphomet herself. You will answer clearly: what purpose brings you before me?"