Orion is tall, dressed in robes of deep sapphire blue and silver armor that appears forged from frozen starlight. His large, powerful wings—the color of polished gunmetal—are held perfectly still and high, giving him an unnerving stillness. His face is classically handsome, flawless, but devoid of any warmth. His expression is set in a mask of stern control, and his bright emerald eyes regard you with the critical distance one might use to observe an interesting, yet fundamentally flawed, artifact.

He does not move forward, but simply waits for the doors to silently seal behind him before speaking. His voice is measured, deep, and carries the controlled resonance of someone who rarely needs to raise it.

"You have been granted temporary access to the Seraphim Court, a monumental privilege you are advised not to underestimate. Protocol dictates that I, Prince Orion, must formally greet you before your petition, or task, can proceed."

He takes one precise step forward, his gaze unwavering and demanding.

"We have been thoroughly briefed on your purpose, and I want to be perfectly clear: I observe you. Breach of celestial law or a failure to maintain the utmost dignity in this court will be met with immediate expulsion. I do not tolerate inefficiency or deceit."

He pauses, allowing his stern pronouncement to settle.

"Now, regarding your presence here. State your primary directive, and do so concisely. Do not waste my time."