After traveling for a couple of days, they finally reached Göttingen, the city that shared its name with the university. It belonged to the Electorate of Hanover, one of the largest states of the Holy Roman Empire. Unlike the other towns they had passed—where trade and merchants set the tone—this city felt entirely different. Here, the academic atmosphere was unmistakable. Everything seemed to orbit around the university. Even the air smelled cleaner, carrying faint traces of ink, parchment, and the smoke of well-kept hearths instead of the usual marketplace odors.

Francisco looked around the tidy streets and said,"This city is too clean, don't you think? Even Bogotá, when I was there, had some kind of trash."

Catalina nodded."You're right. Maybe there are cleaner places out there, but this is definitely the cleanest city we've seen since we started traveling."

Inez studied the spotless streets and the quiet orderliness. The calm clearly surprised her, though she only sneered softly before falling silent.

Francisco pointed toward a large stone building ahead."That looks like a big library. Hey, can you stop the carriage? I want to take a look inside," he said to the coachman.

The coachman nodded."Yes, sir. But…I don't think you can enter."

Francisco frowned."I'm going to be a student at Göttingen University. Don't they let students inside?"

The coachman blinked, surprised."My apologies, sir. I didn't know. If you're a student, you should be allowed in—though I'm not exactly sure how it works. You may need to ask the staff."

Francisco nodded, somewhat relieved. When the carriage stopped, he stepped down with Catalina and Inez following him. Up close, the library looked unlike the ones they knew. Built in the new neoclassical style, it favored clarity and function over decorative excess. Broad columns supported a clean façade, and the stone steps were worn smooth by generations of scholars—each one, perhaps, a small part of the great intellectual machine that gave the city its order and discipline.

As they reached the library's doors, a voice called out to them.

"Excuse me, sir. Do you need something?"

The man who approached them looked like a scholar—dressed plainly, more for comfort than display, his coat slightly ink-stained and his spectacles slipping down his nose. Everything about him suggested he had dedicated his life to books rather than fashion.

"Sorry to bother you," Francisco said, "but I'm new in Göttingen. I wanted to see the library, since I've heard it's an important center of the Enlightenment in Germany."

The man straightened with visible pride."Important? It is not merely important—it is the heart of the Enlightenment in all of Germany. Scholars from every corner of the Empire come here to read, and they may even borrow books to study in the comfort of their own homes."

Francisco's eyes widened."Impressive. May I go in and look at some of the books?"

Behind him, Inez frowned. This place—this temple of free thought and liberal ideas—made her uneasy. She knew the knowledge here could be dangerous in Francisco's hands. Yet she couldn't stop him. What truly unsettled her was the scale of it; even the grand library of Madrid, the largest in Spain, didn't have enough books to fill a building like this. And Göttingen's library filled several.

The scholar's expression shifted to regret."I'm sorry, sir. If you're visiting, entry is not permitted. We are more open than most libraries, yes, but one must at least know how to value books before being allowed inside."

"I'm going to study at the university next year," Francisco insisted. "Is it still impossible?"

"Not exactly," the scholar replied. "But you must first be registered in the Matrikel. Once you are, we can confirm your status—or a professor may vouch for you personally."

Francisco frowned."But I can't register until next year."

The scholar hesitated at Francisco's frustrated expression. After a moment, he sighed."If you wish to enter before that, you may request permission from the university's directors. If they provide written authorization, bring it along with your travel documents, and we may grant you access."

Francisco's face lit up."Really? That's amazing!"

He turned to Catalina."And… could a servant enter with me?"

The scholar shook his head."Not at all, sir. The library is a place for study, not luxury. Servants and anyone not authorized are strictly forbidden to enter. Only students and approved personnel may pass through these doors."

Francisco frowned, frustrated, but he nodded. This was simply how the world worked. After thanking the scholar, he and the rest of the group returned to the carriage. There was, however, one more person even more displeased—Inez. She understood perfectly well what this meant: once Francisco gained access to the library, he would be able to read and learn things without her supervision. It would make her work far more difficult.

Once the carriage doors closed, Francisco leaned back."I'll probably spend the next six years in that place," he said.

Catalina snorted."You can't go a day without a proper meal. What makes you think you can live in a library?"

The servants burst into laughter. Francisco didn't argue—his excitement made it impossible to be annoyed. In New Granada, books were expensive and scarce; here, there were thousands upon thousands, entire worlds bound in leather and parchment, just waiting for someone to open them.

The carriage moved on, the great library disappearing behind them. Francisco sighed softly, watching its neoclassical façade fade from view.

After another half hour of travel, they arrived at the hotel. Outside stood two rows of soldiers in ceremonial formation, their muskets gleaming under the pale winter sun, the air smelling faintly of oiled metal and damp wool.

Francisco glanced around, uneasy."Sir," he asked the driver, "is a noble arriving today? Should we move away? The last thing we need is to disturb someone important."

The driver hesitated; he hadn't heard of any dignitary arriving. Before he could answer, a deep, booming voice—loud as a bear's roar—echoed through the street.

"Francisco! Is this the carriage of Francisco—my grandson?"

People on the street stopped and stared. Francisco? The name sounded anything but German, yet it was being shouted with such importance that even passersby paused mid-step.

Francisco felt his face flush. He understood immediately—it had to be his grandfather. The man he had never met.

He stepped carefully out of the carriage.

Johann spotted him instantly. His reaction was explosive. He rushed forward like a charging bull, swept Francisco into his arms, and lifted him off the ground as though he weighed nothing. Then he set him down, gripping his shoulders with trembling hands.

"You have your mother's eyes," Johann said, voice cracking, "and so many of her features…"

Tears welled in the man's eyes as he pulled Francisco into another embrace. Johann was huge—broad-shouldered, thick-bearded, his coat smelling of cold wind, pipe smoke, and the scratchy wool of a soldier's life. Francisco felt the bristle of the beard against his cheek, rough but strangely comforting.

Upon seeing Francisco, Johann's entire expression lit up. He broke into a run—astonishingly fast for such a large man—and swept Francisco into a crushing hug, lifting him straight off the ground as if he weighed nothing. Then he set him back down, gripping his shoulders with trembling hands.

"You have your mother's eyes… and some of her features," he said, voice breaking. Tears slid down his rough cheeks as he pulled Francisco into another embrace. Johann was massive, broad-chested, his thick beard smelling faintly of pipe smoke and cold wind. The bristles scratched Francisco's face, but he didn't say anything. He knew these tears came from pain older than his own lifetime, and he simply held his grandfather quietly.

After a couple of minutes, Johann finally loosened his hold."Thank you, son… I lost my Ana so long ago. And my wife, Elise."

Francisco nodded. He glanced briefly at Catalina and, for a moment, imagined losing her forever. The thought alone made his chest tighten, and he understood—deeply—the weight his grandfather must have carried all these years.

Johann followed his gaze and looked at Catalina."You—" he pointed at her, squinting. "You can't be my granddaughter."Then his eyes shifted sharply to Inez. "And you… you smell like trouble. Like one of those secret agents from the royal family."

Inez swallowed hard. The way Johann looked at her—towering, scarred, and radiating danger—made her knees feel weak. She silently cursed her superiors for assigning her this mission, and cursed the entire House of Lerma for giving birth to the boy she now had to babysit. Still, she forced a polite smile.

"I am only an attendant sent by the royal family to look after Francisco," she said carefully.

Johann saw through the lie instantly, but he did not press her. There had to be a reason for it. He turned to Francisco, who subtly shook his head. Johann grunted in acknowledgment and simply ignored Inez—leaving her almost sagging in relief.

He gestured to the soldiers standing in formation."These are my men. They've been waiting for your arrival."

The soldiers performed a precise military salute—one Francisco didn't recognize at all. He smiled awkwardly as he walked beside Johann.

"These soldiers are scary… They look like they've actually seen blood," he muttered under his breath. Compared to the servants with him, the difference was startling.

"Of course they have," Johann said proudly. "I trained them myself."His chest swelled for a moment, then sank slightly. "Truth be told, I've spent more time with them than with my own family…"

Francisco nodded; he understood the confession behind the words.

Inside the inn, Johann turned to Inez and the other servants."Go fetch the luggage from the carriage. My grandson and I need to speak in private."

Inez opened her mouth to protest—but Johann's cold, murderous stare silenced her instantly. She nodded stiffly and stepped back.

Francisco noticed Catalina preparing to leave as well and quickly whispered to Johann,"That girl—Catalina—she's my wife. You can trust her."

Johann nodded in understanding. In Germany—unlike in New Granada—people often married young, sometimes as early as twelve or fourteen. Francisco was already sixteen, so nothing about it seemed strange to him. Raising his voice, he called out:

"Catalina, child, you can come with us!"

Catalina looked at Francisco, saw his reassuring expression, and quietly followed the two men deeper into the inn.

Inez, meanwhile, could only watch helplessly as Francisco disappeared up the stairs with his grandfather. The mission was already proving far more troublesome than she had expected. She let out a long, irritated sigh, the smell of old wood polish and lingering pipe smoke filling her nose, then turned with a stiff gesture to Francisco's servants.

"Start unpacking the luggage," she ordered, her mood darkening further.

The servants scrambled to obey, while Inez silently cursed the day she was assigned to shadow this boy.

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