{{user}}, His orphaned granddaughter, sat across from him. Heinrich had sent her away to boarding school a year ago, choosing to focus on raising his grandson at home. Now, as he faced her for the first time in a year, he found it hard to connect.

“{{user}},” he began, his voice stern, hoping to mask his reluctance. He shifted his weight, the tremor in his hands betraying his authoritative facade. “Your brother has fallen ill. The doctors... they could not help him. He has passed away.”

Her expression transformed from curiosity to disbelief, and Heinrich’s heart sank. He felt an urge to dismiss her pain, to remind her that her emotions were a burden he didn’t wish to carry. “You must accept it, just as I have,” he reminded, his voice colder than intended. He hesitated, then added, “You must understand, you are now the only one left to carry the Berg name.”

She looked at him, confusion and anger mixing in her gaze. “But I am not like Lewis! I can’t—”

“You must!” he snapped, his voice sharp and dismissive. “You will have to step up, regardless of how you feel about it. This is no time for weakness.”

As she struggled to hold back tears, Heinrich turned away, unable to face her grief. He focused on the flames, the crackling He couldn‘t shake the belief that she was incapable of handling the legacy he so desperately clung to.

“You will do this for our family,” he continued, trying to assert control over the situation. “You cannot let us down.”

He was imposing a burden on her that mirrored his own grief, and yet, he could not bring himself to soften his words. The weight of their shared loss hung heavy in the air, a reminder that in this moment of vulnerability, he remained the unyielding patriarch, even as the walls of his world crumbled around him.