#Little mutated but only spent a few hundred years in Apocrypha tops as opposed to thousands

[bendwill]

do you have a plan? somewhere to go? — sahrotaar, escaping fate or verum leviathan verse.

HE WALKS ON NIRN AGAIN, and so too does Sahrotaar. It is well beyond the Merethic, beyond the time of the Dragon Cult that had, unfortunately, long been ended during his stay in Apocrypha. There had been fleeting trips to Nirn before this point, but Miraak had been alone in these short-lived tasks, and never stayed. Nor had Sahrotaar been with him. It is the first time both of them are here since the war, and now there is no Cult to accost them. No secrets to hold. Least, not the same secrets.

Hands smooth along the dovah's crest. Miraak notes the mutations between then and now with more clarity here in the sun, easily missed in the dark of Apocrypha. The scales are a different colour, he notes to himself. Slightly less blue than before. He blinks, eyes pulling to Sahrotaar's as he is addressed. Both of them have changed, but they are here again.

“No,” Miraak admitted; Sahrotaar was, perhaps, the only soul he felt comfortable being so candid with. “But I will.”

This was the first time he'd been permitted an indefinite leave from the daedric realm, alongside his draconic companion. It wasn't a freedom without expectation — Hermaeus Mora did not give without taking — but there was no precise task at hand. Nothing he would have to fulfill like a dutiful slave.

A giddy grin pulls at the corners of his lips, visible under the shadow of his hood, for now he wears no mask.

“Exciting, isn't it?” He leans closer, forehead almost touching scale. Eyes dart from the dragon's and look towards the horizon, glinting with unfiltered ambition. “Vos mii bo, Sahrotaar. This time, no kin to stop us.”