"What the hell are these houses?" Uriel growled, his voice echoing like an avalanche about to crash down, heavy with disbelief and irritation. His eye — a single blue orb like the heart of a storm — widened at what he saw. The scene before him was almost an insult to his intelligence.
After leaving the fortress and trudging through the snow to the spot where the new village was supposedly being built, Uriel came across a series of ridiculous structures. Houses made only of crudely stacked logs, as if they were poorly assembled toys made by a giant child. There were holes instead of doors, cracks that let the icy wind cut through the interiors, and roofs so crooked they looked ready to collapse with the next strong gust.
Uriel blinked slowly, as if his brain were trying to process that architectural abomination. Then, he turned his head heavily toward Eskandor, his expression a blend of frustration, disappointment, and a pure, burning desire to freeze everything to dust.
Eskandor felt the piercing gaze like Uriel's own ice sliding down his spine. He tried to maintain composure, but his tense body betrayed the fear growing inside him. Still, with an effort bordering on desperation, he decided to respond:
"I... I don't understand, Your Majesty... What seems to be the problem? The houses are here... as ordered..." he said, trying to sound confident, but his voice faltered at the end, wavering like a torch in the wind.
He knew. He could feel Uriel's rising fury, even without a single direct word. It was the kind of threatening silence that came just before destruction.
The truth, however, was that Eskandor and the other frost giants weren't to blame. They were warriors — built to fight, crush, hunt — not to build. The ability to construct something with logic, comfort, or safety was completely beyond them. That was something the ancient builder giants once knew how to do, but... those had been devoured many winters ago, during a dark age of hunger and despair. Now, only warriors remained, with rough hands and minds made for battle.
Eskandor looked at Uriel again, feeling his skin sting from the cold radiating off the dragon. He swallowed hard, hoping his honesty would be enough to keep him from being buried under a mountain of ice.
"Forget it... I'll draw it for you. Try to copy this," Uriel muttered, his deep voice sounding like grinding ice shards. He exhaled powerfully through his nostrils — a cold, damp breath that froze the very air for a moment. The already low temperature dropped further. Even the frost giants shivered involuntarily, feeling the chill pierce their skins like invisible blades.
Without haste, Uriel crouched down. His claws, long and sharp like crystal blades, began to carve into the snow that covered the frozen ground. With calculated movements, he drew a simple but functional structure: straight walls, a slanted roof, openings for doors and windows — not sophisticated by any means, but compared to those poorly stacked logs, it was practically a divine feat of architecture.
He had no technical knowledge or training as a builder, but at least he had common sense. And his memory — he remembered well enough.
Eskandor stepped closer, examining the drawing in the snow. His eyes narrowed for a moment, then widened as if he had just had a sudden revelation.
"Ahhh... so Your Majesty wants us to build them like the houses of Midgard and Asgard?" he said with a tone of surprise and excitement, thumping a fist against his chest in a quick salute. "Now I understand! Don't worry, Majesty, I will do my best!"
Without waiting for further instruction, Eskandor turned and ran toward the other frost giants, shouting orders and explaining the new plans with unusual enthusiasm.
But even as he spoke, a flicker of confusion throbbed in his mind. Midgard? Asgard? He had never heard Uriel mention the Nine Realms before. In fact... he didn't even know if Uriel was part of them. Something about him — his power, his presence, his command of the language of the realms — felt like it came from somewhere else. Eskandor shook his head. Thinking too much only caused pain. And in the end, all that mattered was obeying the king of the frost giants.
Meanwhile, Uriel returned to his fortress. The entrance broke further as he passed through, his wings scraping the already cracked walls. But he didn't care. His eye turned to the frozen ground of his nest, and an idea began to form.
Using his claws, he began to dig. The soil, thanks to his [climate change] ability, was already deeply frozen and covered by a thick layer of hardened snow, making it easier for him to carve and clear a path. Hour after hour, Uriel dug with precision and force. Claws sliced, his tail shoved debris aside, and his icy breath hardened the edges to keep the structure solid.
At the end of a long stretch of work, the result emerged: a vast underground chamber, like a crypt carved into the very heart of the ice. The space was large enough to comfortably house his twelve-meter-long body, and still left room to grow. Because he knew — the next time he evolved, his body would become even larger, heavier... and more powerful.
There, in that underground shelter, Uriel lay down. The silence was absolute, broken only by the distant sound of wind outside and the occasional drip of water freezing again. He closed his single eye, feeling the security of the ice around him. That chamber would be his true nest. And when he woke up... everything would already be different.
Night had fallen over Jotunheim like a silent, frozen cloak. The wind howled through the fortress walls, carrying fine snow that danced in the air like ashes from an extinguished flame. Darkness reigned supreme, broken only by a sudden, intense glow from within the earth.
In the frozen heart of the underground nest, among shadows and silence, a blue eye — like moonlight itself — opened. Luminous, serene, and imposing. Uriel had awakened.
The ground beneath him was covered in a thick layer of soft, cold snow, molded by his [climate change] ability. Everything around him had been transformed — ice coated the walls, the ceiling, and the floor, as if the very environment recognized his authority and bowed before his existence. He stretched lightly, feeling the soft texture of snow under his draconic body. It was comfortable... incredibly comfortable. He remembered, for a moment, the time when he lived on Earth — the hot water running over his skin in long, silent baths. The contrast was curious: here, surrounded by ice, he felt more at home than ever.
Uriel lifted his head slightly, his horns scraping against the icy cave ceiling. He took a deep breath and, with a voice as deep and sharp as thunder, called out:
"Eskandor, descend!"
The order reverberated through the underground walls like an ancient roar. Even if he didn't know whether Eskandor was nearby, Uriel didn't care — one who serves must always be ready to hear and obey.
And indeed, not even a second passed. Uriel could already hear the hurried thud of heavy steps coming down the carved passage, followed by a large body that slipped, landed with a muffled thud, and then quickly straightened itself.
"Y-your Majesty, I'm coming!" said Eskandor, trying to sound majestic even with his knees buried in the snow. His eyes shone with fawning fervor. "What a beautiful voice Your Majesty has! A melody so sublime not even all the gods of the Nine Realms together could match it!"
As he spoke, Eskandor straightened up, brushing snow from his shoulders and adjusting his posture. He could not, under any circumstance, present himself disgracefully before Uriel. Even if he was confused about why he'd been summoned, he kept his face impassive — trained by repetition in the art of flattery.
Uriel watched him with that single, glowing eye — calm as a frozen lake. A brief silence settled, heavy with weight and expectation.
"I have a gift," Uriel said at last, his voice now lower, but still laced with power. "We'll see... if you deserve it."