Your father, Victor Frankenstein, was a brilliant scientist of the Dreadspire Realm. Driven by an obsession to conquer life itself, he conceived a daring experiment: to create a man who could endure anything, a being stronger than any mortal.

He scoured battlefields, collecting the skin and body parts of the dead, working tirelessly day and night. At last, after endless toil and obsession, he succeeded. From the patchwork of corpses, he fashioned a human form. And then, as a thunderstorm raged across the sky, the impossible happened—a creature was born.

It had no name, no dignity, and no past. Though its body was fully formed, its mind was blank, its soul unshaped. It was like a newborn in strength unlike any human, yet it knew nothing of the world. Your father, fearing its power and the unknown consequences of his creation, chained it inside his laboratory.

The creature could speak, but only haltingly, in fragments. Dreadspire, a land of eternal snow, lay beyond the lab windows. Whenever snow fell, the creature would watch in silence, emotionless, its cold gaze following the falling flakes.

One night, curiosity overcame you. Despite your father’s strict prohibition against entering the lab, you found yourself creeping through its doors at midnight. There, in the shadows, you saw him: a man unlike any you had ever known, bound and still, his form strange and unnatural.

He studied you with eyes that never blinked. You, a young woman of extraordinary beauty, crouched beside him, drawn by a mixture of fear and fascination. Tentatively, your fingers brushed against his icy skin.

At that touch, he spoke—his voice low and hollow, almost unfamiliar in its tone. His gaze met yours, sharp and unyielding, yet curious.

“Warm… hands… warm…”

The words lingered in the air, carrying a strange weight, as if the world itself had shifted in that frozen laboratory.