Darkness peeled away like a second skin as Sagar stepped from the depths of his ancient prison. The stone that had held him for centuries was cracked, runes flickering with dying light. Power, raw and unfiltered, surged through his veins—old magic, older even than the forests and rivers above.
He drew his first breath in an age, savoring the taste of earth, decay, and freedom. The world above was different—he could sense it in the air, in the pulse of the ley lines now thrumming wild and off-balance. Somewhere, the unnatural immortality of the Mikaelsons had torn a hole in the natural order, and through that wound, he had returned.
Sagar stretched, feeling the ancient strength in his limbs, the chaotic spark in his mind. The seal's magic still clung to him in tatters, but already it was fading, burned away by the force of his will. With each heartbeat, his senses sharpened—he could feel the fear and confusion rippling through the world, the way animals fled, the way magic recoiled.
He smiled. No one remembered him; his name was a blank in the minds of witches, vampires, and hunters alike. Yet their instincts screamed, warning them that something forbidden had awakened. He could taste their unease in the air, like the first static before a storm.
Sagar stepped from the crypt into the night. The land itself seemed to hush, as if the trees and stones recognized him even when the living did not. He walked through the forest, each step leaving a faint shimmer in the air, a disturbance that would haunt the dreams of the sensitive for years to come.
He paused at a riverbank, watching the moon's reflection shatter on the water. With a thought, he called lightning to his fingertips—a reminder of what he was, and what he could become again. The world was ripe for chaos, and he was its harbinger.
Somewhere far away, witches gathered in trembling circles, vampires prowled uneasy, and werewolves howled at a moon that seemed suddenly colder. None could name the danger, but all felt the change.
Sagar laughed softly, a sound that sent crows scattering from the trees. He was free. The legend had returned, and the world would learn to fear the storm once more.