Agents of the Multiverse

A soft wind blew through the pomegranate grove, whispering through dark leaves silvered by the pale coin of the moon above. They sat in neat rows, and were more ambitious bush than tree in appearance, not yet heavy with the ruby red fruit they would bear in the summertime.

A lone figure drifted in and out among the trees, his pace languid, a tall, lean shadow against the other shadows, and the red of his eyes glinted in the darkness, as bright as pomegranate seeds. There was a metal bucket in one of the man’s hands, and more buckets, both empty and full, just beyond his particular row of trees. There was a copper-sharp smell in the air and a dark, thick liquid in the buckets. Both the liquid and the man's boots caught the moonlight and shone wetly.

Ven hummed to himself as he worked, bending by each tree carefully and pouring just a little blood out onto the soil at the base of each trunk. Most people tended to water their plants by day, but in the winter, when the trees could benefit from a little extra nutrients to give them a boost come spring, Ven found moonlight a better companion.

It cut down on the flies significantly.

He also found the quiet that came at night peaceful. Though he was undoubtedly a creature of the sun, Ven was not unappreciative of the thoughtfulness that darkness brought.

Ven did his best thinking when he was not distracted by the busyness of the daylight's world. The Grove was far from empty at night-- daywalking vampires, including his own number, were few and far between-- but Ven had long found that those who worked in the shadows were more of a quiet, contemplative lot, and much easier to get along with when one wanted a little bit of peace to one's self.

And certainly there was much to thinking to be done these days.

There was trouble coming. As much as Ven celebrated the awakening of the dragon and the return of his power at her nearness, she brought challenges with her that he was not yet sure they were ready to face. Not yet, at least. Krepta was not like the others who had come before her, he sensed, and no doubt there would be a reckoning at her hands when she discovered the truth of things.

And with that reckoning, Ven feared, would come war.

Ven had not expressed his concerns to the Suntouched yet, not even his drakor-ka. Some of them were only just now reawakening, learning with painful slowness how to adjust to the new world they had been so suddenly thrust into. To pile yet another concern upon his people in such a delicate moment seemed too cruel. The time for finding one's feet was growing precariously short, Ven knew, but for now, there was time. For now, he would shoulder the burden alone, for their sakes.