Miraak stood alone on the summit, hands clasped behind his back as he waited. A sea of writhing, sickly green spread out before him in a weak mockery of his world—a world he would shortly conquer, without Hermaeus Mora. Behind the mask, his lips spread in a satisfied smile.
Ah, she comes swiftly, he thought with grim delight. Somewhere in the distance, Leila Iron-Bow, the last Dovahkiin, stole her way toward him like a thief in the night.
She must think herself so clever, to have gotten this far. The thought amused him to no end. Foolish child. I have spent millennia building my strength. Even the vanquisher of Alduin stands no chance against my might.
The voices of Apocrypha whispered all around him, shivering in delight. The last Dovahkiin is here, they sang in ecstasy. Feel her power, feel her strength! The knowledge of a hundred, the knowledge of a thousand! Hail, Leila Iron-Bow of the strong heart! Hail her with great praise! The very air seemed to pulse with the ripples of power that came from her soul and the remnants of Alduin contained there. Miraak scowled, irritated by the jubilation.
A doom-driven child, forced into destiny. I too could have slain the World-Eater, but my path led to a loftier destiny. His chin lifted arrogantly.
A powerful shiver disrupted the air, sending a thrill up the ancient Atmoran's spine. His hold on Sahrotaar shattered, replaced instantly by the Dovahkiin's Thu'um. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.
"She is here," he whispered reverently. The end has begun.
"Prepare for battle," he said to his remaining thralls, turning on his heel and walking to the middle of the platform. A single wave of his hand to a nearby island summoned a few Seekers and a Lurker. A distraction, toys for my little briinah, he thought with something like twisted fondness. Soon, the girl would be part of him. Soon, he would be free of Apocrypha—and she, too. In some ways, this was a mercy.
Miraak ran a gloved hand along the pommel of his sword, tracing the end thoughtfully. I will end her quickly, he decided. She will not suffer this place as I have. Poor, silly child. Did you really think you could defeat me?
"Beware, beware," he murmured, remembering the popular song that had appeared in Apocrypha's annals far after he had vanished. "...the Dragonborn comes."