There is a mountain.

It is tall, but not the tallest, wide, but not the widest, and beautiful, but not the most beautiful among its brothers in the range. Near any onlooker would think it to be just like the other mountains in the spectacular vista: harsh, angular ridges climbing toward a jagged peak, rivers of glimmering snow cradled in windswept gullies, sheer cliffs of cracked grey-black rock battered by the elements for millennia untold.

If scrutinized thoroughly enough however, one might notice the mountain is not quite the same as those around it, its rock a few shades too dark, its cracks, crevices, and rises a touch too sharp and pristine to really be just like the others as one might first assume.

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This is, of course, because it is not just any mountain. This mountain has seen the rise of all the other mountains around it, and it will eventually see them crumble to dust, as it has seen happen to many, many other mountains countless times before.

This mountain has not always been in a range, lately its steep faces have seen thick forests, dense jungles, barren tundra, sun-scorched deserts, and wide-open grassy plains. There were even times when it saw oceans as the land rose, fell, and shifted beneath it, its peak becoming an island, or even being completely submerged. Even more recently this mountain has seen forms of life that move of their own will, not like the fungi or the plants, but life that swims, scuttles, crawls, flies, and walks.

Though by this point the mountain has seen such a number of things that it would be entirely unfathomable to any mortal mind, the vast majority of what it has seen are lifeless wastes, liquid rock, and quiet seas.

And everything this mountain has seen, you have seen, for it is your mountain.