Agents of the Multiverse

A soft wind blew through the pomegranate grove, whispering through dark leaves silver edged by the pale coin of the moon above. They sat in neat rows, 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, both empty and full just beyond this particular row of trees. There was a smell in the air like copper, and the man wore boots that shone like the dark, thick liquid in the buckets.

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.

He did his best thinking when there were not the typical distractions that came with the world that lived in the light. Certainly, some of his number were nocturnal creatures, and went about their daily lives as soon as the sun set, but by and far, Ven had found the Nightborn to be a more contemplative lot than most, and he was rarely disturbed by their coming and goings.

And certainly there was much to think about 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 that 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.

He had not expressed his concerns to the Suntouched yet, not even his drakor-ka. Some of them were only just re-awakening and learning to adjust to this new world they had been thrust so suddenly into. To pile another concern on them now seemed cruel. They would have to face this eventually, he knew, but for now, there was time. For now, he would shoulder the burden alone.