After returning to London, Francisco went straight to his room.What he had witnessed in the mine — the rhythmic power of the steam engine — had opened a path he had never imagined before. For days, he shut himself away, sketching and theorizing, trying to grasp the laws that governed that strange mechanism. Yet it proved far harder than he had thought. The machine was a complex creature: valves, pistons, pressure, and heat all dancing in a rhythm he barely understood. Still, he managed to piece together a basic concept — that coal and water, when combined, produced steam, and that steam, if confined and directed, could move great weights.

The ambassador, meanwhile, had not visited him once. Since the day in the mine, his time had been consumed by reports to Madrid and delicate meetings with the British. Spain, after realizing the potential of those machines, was now deeply uneasy about depending on Britain for them. The implications were too great; whoever mastered that technology would hold the future in their hands.

By mid-October, a letter finally arrived — sealed with the crest of the First Minister of Great Britain.

Francisco, sitting on the sofa, frowned as he unfolded the message and began to read, his eyes scanning every word with growing unease.

Catalina, seeing him sitting there, quietly took a seat behind him and asked with curiosity,"What happened?"

Francisco's tense expression softened slightly when he felt her presence beside him."It's nothing much," he replied, though his tone betrayed unease. "The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom wants to meet me. But it puts me in a complicated position. After all, I'm from Spain — and my attitude toward Spain, or at least toward the viceroy, has always been… ambiguous. So Spain doesn't fully trust me or my family. This invitation, at this particular time, .is quite the devil of a situation."

Catalina chuckled softly. "And what do you think about the Prime Minister himself?"

Francisco's gaze grew thoughtful. "Impressive, honestly. From a young age, he took control of Great Britain, and his actions show a remarkably strong hand. You can see it in the way he handled the alliance with Spain. At first, the ambassador told me he was seeking peace with France — trying to prevent a future war — but with France's constant provocations, he tightened his grip. They call him a genius among the British elite."

Catalina tilted her head, intrigued. "So he sounds a little like you — precocious."

Francisco blinked, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

She smiled. "Well, you started managing your father's company at sixteen, rediscovered Roman cement, and now, at seventeen — almost eighteen — you're traveling through Europe to study. That sounds pretty precocious to anyone."

Francisco fell silent for a moment, caught off guard. Then he sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips."Maybe… but the reason I've advanced this far is because of my visions. I'm sure that if anyone — even a street vendor or a farmer — saw what I've seen, they'd also push themselves. So I don't think I'm particularly special. But this man… he's different."

Catalina leaned closer, smiling. "How do you know? Maybe it happened to him too. Remember your theory — that the prophets of old might've been people who received visions like yours? If that's true, maybe there are others who've seen their own visions."

Francisco went quiet, then chuckled softly. "You might be right. I guess I've been too arrogant, thinking I'm the only one touched by something greater. But still… he is impressive."

Catalina grinned, seeing she had scored a point. "Who knows, Francisco — maybe by the time you're twenty-five, you'll be the King of New Granada… or the Prime Minister."

Francisco shook his head with a faint, bitter smile. He wasn't sure he could ever become someone truly important. Though he was determined to change New Granada, he still hesitated about what would happen if independence ever came.

"I doubt monarchy is a good idea," he murmured. "If independence really arrives, people won't be happy to replace one ruler with another."

Catalina looked at him seriously. "So you're thinking about a republic? Like the French?"

Francisco frowned, thoughtful. "I'm not sure. From what I saw in my visions, the French Republic didn't last long… though the idea of a republic survived far into the future. That makes me hesitate. The last thing I want is to build a system that rises and collapses over and over."

Catalina nodded slowly. "I understand. Once you reach Hanover, you'll have time to study history properly. Maybe you'll find inspiration for something new — something more stable."

Francisco smiled faintly. "Building a new system isn't the hardest part — convincing others to believe in it is. People prefer what already exists. It feels safer to repair an old system than to risk everything on an untested one."

Catalina thought for a moment before replying. "That might be true, but you have one advantage. Most of the real power in New Granada still belongs to the Crown. The rest of the high-class families only control fragments of wealth and influence. If you can offer them a better vision — one that preserves their standing while freeing the colony — they might follow you willingly."

Francisco blinked, surprised, then smiled softly. "You're right. I never considered that."

He looked at Catalina with warmth in his eyes. "You always manage to make me see things differently. Maybe we should take a little break — just the two of us."

Catalina's lips curved into a teasing smile. "Not until the official wedding, Francisco. My grandmother would faint if I returned from Europe with tales of impropriety—or worse, with a child in tow."

Francisco chuckled. "Fair enough. Then perhaps just a walk in the garden? There's still a little daylight left — we could stroll by the port, maybe buy something to eat. Though I wouldn't recommend drinking anything; I still shudder every time I think of the water they serve here."

Catalina chuckled softly, hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded with a faint blush. "All right — just this once."

They left the room together, their quiet laughter echoing through the corridor — a brief moment of peace before the storm of politics and destiny that awaited them both.

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