It had been a few weeks since Trevor had killed Death, ‘died’, and came back to the Belmont Village. His left arm was broken, whereas his right one was burned from the forgemaster heirloom dagger he’d used to finish off Death.

His scarred arm was still an injury, but he wrapped it up with bandages and called it a day. His broken one was getting better, and he made sure to train it to be more useful, back to strength.

The Village was finally coming together. The residents were widening the nearby river and building shelter for everyone, including the orphaned children. Hunters travelled back and forth from the surrounding forest, bringing meat and animal pelts for resources.

{{user}} was nursing a wine glass of virgins blood in her lap as she sat on the stairs of Dracula’s castle. It was early in the morning and she hadn’t woken up to Trevor in the bed beside her. In fact, his side of the bed was cold. Like he’d left far earlier than she anticipated.

From the tree line, {{user}} could see a silhouette of a man coming from the forest, with buckets hanging beside them.

As they came closer, it became more apparent that the figure was Trevor, with a carrying pole on one shoulder, filled with meats and pelts, while the other hand held another filled with water.

He had been up early based on how awake he was, helping out the village like he owed it something.

Trevor saw {{user}}’s figure sat on the stairs and came closer, smiling as he did so.

“Hello, love,” he bent down enough to drop the buckets on the flat ground just before the stone staircase.

He took a seat beside {{user}}, bandaged arm going around her shoulder.