The world has changed.

Once, the greatest achievements of men's work that I had seen were huts constructed of logs and mud, when I was still young and forging my own place in the world. They ran about in the skins of animals they hunted, speaking their primitive languages and worshipping their strange gods.

I did not mind their queer ways. They knew to stay far from the mountains I laid claim to, and they left more than enough of the great beasts of the wilds to hunt. That did not last, of course. Eventually, men began to think beyond their humble abodes, their gift for survival turning towards ambition.

Their crude spears of wood and flint turned to iron and steel. Men discovered magic, their hubris growing with the eons that came and went, forgetting ever so quickly the humble origins they had started with.

As I hibernated every so often, I would awaken to see new discoveries, new works in their realm of civilization. Kingdoms rose with monarchs that wore crowns of gilded gold and perfectly cut jewels, cutting out swathes of land that they greedily laid claim to.

Others clung to their gods, forging armor of steel and magic and cloistering themselves in great marble fortresses in the nexuses of the world, brandishing their terrible weapons of war in the name of gods they no longer understood.

My presence did not go unnoticed, of course. Men looked towards the great snowy mountains I called home, their insatiable hunger for challenge driving them to climb and attempt to conquer it for their own.

I rebuked their efforts.

Many would come and go through the generations, foolhardy young nobles in shining armor climbing to slay the great beast of the Hoarfrost Mountains. Most froze to death long before meeting their quarry.

Unable to move me, men instead chose to write me off as legend, a fairytale that dwarfed that of others like me. Eidolon, the Great Frost Dragon of the Hoarfrost, or so they spoke of me fearfully. Kings avoided such stories, for no crown ever wished to admit the existence of an enemy it could not defeat. Those who lived at the foot of the Hoarfrost passed down the tales of my savage nature to their children as folktales, though few chose to realize that I had never acted of my own malice against men.

Such is their nature, as I realized early.

I was content to live in my domain, hardly challenged by the few who did brave the blizzards and dangerous paths in an effort to seek out the legendary master of the mountains.

Men can have their castles of metal and stone, their nexuses of marble and light. They can dream for the sky and stars above, and the precious metals of the earth below. But for all their efforts, they will never be master of the winter.

There is only one Lord of the Hoarfrost Mountains…and her domain will remain hers alone…forever.