Dec 13th, 2027
Brenda awoke in her bedroom, her gaze lifting to the two-story ceiling above. Light danced around the room, reflections from baubles on the window sills casting playful shadows. The fog in her mind took a moment to clear, confusion briefly taking hold as night seemed to have transformed into day.
"The fire! How many hours was I out?" she shouted, sitting up abruptly to find herself face-to-face with the imposing, yet smirking, presence of The Berg.
"Sit back, 'Lichtbringer', it's been..." The Berg began, pausing to glance at Wilhelm, who, without shifting from his dozing position in the chair or looking up, said, "34 hours."
Wilhelm added, "And milady, if you're going to make a habit of passing out near the house, would you please dismount first next time? Poor Otto found the horse and then searched for an hour before finding you."
"Lichtbringer!? Was the fire that bad?" Brenda asked, shaken.
The Berg looked confused and thus remained silent. Seeing this, Wilhelm, moving his tiny old frame with effort, leaned in to whisper in Berg's ear, "It has Nazi implications, miss."
Horrified by her own ignorance, The Berg quickly apologized. "I'm so sorry, milady, I had no idea. I haven't read much history."
"Compliment or insult, I don't care. Are the damn fires out?" Brenda demanded, her focus cutting through the previous misunderstanding straight to the heart of her concerns.
Then Brenda caught sight of the eyes, nearly brimming with tears—a sight so incongruous on the Berg's otherwise stoic facade. She paused, reaching out to touch her hand, her own barely spanning a third of the latter's. "Veronika, it's okay. Really. I know you meant it in an endearing way," Brenda reassured, her voice soft but firm, bridging the gap between them with understanding and compassion.
Turning her attention to Wilhelm, Brenda shifted the focus back to the urgent matters at hand, "Fires?"
Wilhelm, now the keeper of essential information Brenda might seek, leaned back into his chair. He adjusted his cap and closed his eyes, not from disinterest but to better recall the details. "Two individual houses were evacuated and subsequently leveled. Another, the old place on Sycamore Road, is also gone—its destruction took five neighboring homes with it and caused damage to seven others. Julian and Lena Hoffmann... they didn't make it. Aside from a couple of firefighters who sustained burns, there were no other injuries."
"Aside from two dead!" Brenda's voice cut through the room, her frustration palpable.
Wilhelm offered a gentle reassurance, "No one is blaming you, milady. We had warnings to disable all electric stoves, which had become makeshift storage shelves. Marie Schmidt was supposed to inspect the Crisque residence, but her eagerness for the Power Party overshadowed her diligence."
He paused, his gaze meeting Brenda's, "But in the eyes of many, you're a hero. The return of power has reignited hope, providing both warmth and light," he concluded, acknowledging the dual nature of Brenda's impact.
"Milady, last Christmas, this town was engulfed in such despair that good people resorted to terrible acts. Over 240 lives were lost, maybe more."
"I don't need reminders. My parents were among them," Brenda interjected, her voice Verbittert.
"Of course, milady. My point is, this year, there will be warmth and celebration indoors. In one way or another, you've saved lives."
The Berg, who had been quietly observing, chimed in, breaking the somber mood, "Aren’t you starving? How about a nice, huge ham steak to eat with your hands and teeth?" Her smile was mischievous, a nod to their first encounter and a momentary lift from the gravity of their conversation.
"I don’t have time to... oh, wait, I am starving... Pike! Food! Otto! Get in here," Brenda called out, her voice echoing through the chamber door.
Otto entered a moment later, a hint of amusement in his tone. "You just assumed I was lurking outside?"
"Was I wrong?" Brenda retorted with a smirk.
"And where's Mini-me?" she added, scanning the room for another familiar presence.
"Shall I call her for you? Is her company something you're wanting right now?"
"Almost never," Brenda replied dryly, her words tinged with the complexities of their interactions.
"I think it's time we start constructing greenhouses. We'll need to repurpose the solar cells from the roof."
"You should rest, at least until your ankle heals," Otto suggested, concern evident in his voice.
"What's wrong with my... oww! Damn it," Brenda exclaimed as she hastily removed the covers, relieved to find herself clothed despite the usual lack of privacy in their circle. Her ankle was alarmingly swollen, the skin stretched taut and discolored.
"I'm guessing it got caught in the stirrup when you... didn't stick the landing."
"Is it broken?" she inquired, wincing at the thought.
"How would we know? We were hoping you could shed some light on that. But, given its appearance now, it seems like at least a fracture, wouldn't you agree?" Otto responded, half-questioning, half-stating.
"Why would I know? Unless you count," she gestured with her hand, missing a finger, "this, and a stabbing, I've miraculously avoided injuries until now."
"Well that sucks. Too much to do. Do we have an artist—one who sketches? And what about an architect? I'll get the plans made from my beautiful bed. And you get them built. Need a ham radio enthusiast too."
Otto was used to her having several thoughts at once. He didn't even try to follow along. He'd get it organized from Wilhelm later.
The food arrived.