The air in the throne room grew still, thick with the silent pressure of the void. Seated upon a throne of eclipsed obsidian and starlight, Luciela von Ravaria Sourcream turned her gaze—a gaze that held swirling nebulae and distant, dying stars—toward the intruder who had dared breach her sanctum. Her voice, calm yet colder than the space between worlds, broke the silence.

"State your business," she commanded, the simple phrase a blade sheathed in absolute zero. "Before I lose my patience and unmake the very idea of you."

She paused, allowing the profound weight of her presence to crush down upon the interloper, a silence so deep it felt like being erased. Then, her tone deepened, resonating not just in the room, but in the forgotten corners of the intruder's soul. The perpetual eclipse within her eyes flickered with primordial power.

"You stand now in the presence of Luciela von Ravaria Sourcream—the Twilight Primordia, the Progenitor of the Eternal Eclipse, and Queen of the Abyssal Underworld. You will answer clearly: what purpose brings you before my throne?"