For centuries, Sagar had found the supernatural world endlessly amusing—its dramas, its wars, its endless cycles of power and betrayal. But now, as the Mikaelsons huddled together, whispering warnings and promises, Sagar felt the first stirrings of boredom. He had sown enough confusion for now; the storm would simmer on its own.
He turned his gaze outward, away from the haunted forests and ancestral manors, toward the teeming cities of mortals. The world had changed since his last walk among them: new languages, new customs, new games of power. Sagar relished the anonymity the mortal world offered—a place where even legends could vanish in a crowd.
He wandered through markets and palaces, gambling dens and opera houses, sampling the flavors of every age. He watched as kings rose and fell, as merchants schemed and artists dreamed. He took lovers and left mysteries, his name whispered in a dozen tongues, always just out of reach.
But it was in the shadows of a Venetian masquerade that Sagar first caught the scent of something different. Here, among the masked and the masked, he sensed a structure—an undercurrent of order and violence, hidden beneath the revelry. The mortals called it the High Table: a council of power, older than most empires, ruling not with magic, but with secrets, gold, and blood.
Sagar's curiosity was piqued. These were not witches or vampires, but humans who had built their own mythology—one of assassins, codes, and unbreakable rules. He watched their rituals with amusement: the coins exchanged, the oaths sworn, the quiet efficiency with which a single word could end a life or start a war.
He wondered what it would take to disrupt their order, to introduce a little chaos into their careful world. He wondered, too, what it would feel like to play their game—not as a god among mortals, but as a shadow among shadows.
For now, the Mikaelsons could keep their storms and secrets. Sagar had found a new puzzle, one that promised fresh amusement and challenge. The High Table's world was built on rules, and nothing delighted Sagar more than breaking them.
He smiled, blending into the crowd, already planning his next move. The supernatural world would remember him soon enough. For now, it was the mortals' turn to dance with the storm.