Chapter 149: Chapter 149: Touchdown in Hamburg
"Julian. Julian."
A firm hand shook his shoulder.
Julian blinked awake, the soft hum of engines folding back into his ears.
Crest’s calm voice cut through the haze. "We’ve arrived. Be ready."
He rubbed his eyes, stifled a yawn, and sat up straighter. "Yeah... yeah, I’m up."
The cabin lights had shifted—dim golds now replaced by soft daylight spilling through the windows. Passengers stirred, stretching, gathering their things.
Julian unclipped his belt, grabbed his jacket, and stood. His body felt heavy but steady—rested.
"Go freshen up," Crest said simply.
He nodded and made his way down the narrow aisle to the lavatory. The air carried a faint mix of metal, sanitizer, and coffee—clean, sharp, familiar.
Inside, he splashed cool water over his face, feeling it chase away the remnants of sleep. The reflection in the mirror stared back at him—eyes steady, calm, a faint trace of excitement hidden beneath composure.
As he reached for a towel, a stray thought surfaced.
Why didn’t Crest use the private jet?
They’d used it before—for the New Year’s party, for business trips.
If they’d chosen a commercial flight this time, there must’ve been a reason.
Something... deliberate.
He exhaled, shaking off the thought, and stepped back into the cabin.
By the time he returned to his seat, the seatbelt sign blinked overhead.
Julian buckled in, glancing toward the window.
Outside, the sky stretched wide and pale, streaked with thin ribbons of cloud.
The engines’ pitch shifted—a subtle hum deepening into a low, steady vibration.
The plane began its descent.
He watched as the horizon tilted gently, the earth creeping closer—
fields, rivers, rooftops unfolding beneath them like a painted map.
Buildings grew larger with every passing second, the ground rising to meet them.
The engines whirred louder. Flaps extended.
The world blurred for a heartbeat—
then the wheels struck tarmac with a thunderous thud.
The cabin jolted, rattling as rubber screeched against the runway.
Julian gripped the armrest, eyes wide, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
So this is landing...
The vibration rolled through the floor, through his bones—
a raw, physical reminder that he was no longer above the clouds.
He’d arrived.
A new sky. A new battlefield.
Germany.
...
Julian followed Crest and David through the aisle, the cabin doors opening to a rush of cool air and soft murmurs.
"We’ll go through customs first," David said, glancing at his tablet.
Julian nodded, adjusting the strap of his bag.
The terminal greeted them with a different rhythm—foreign voices, crisp announcements echoing overhead, a symphony of rolling luggage and hurried footsteps.
The signs read Helmut Schmidt Airport—a maze of glass and steel, wide beams arching overhead like a cathedral of travel. Light poured in through tall windows, painting the polished floors in soft reflections.
Beyond the glass, planes stood like titans at rest, and somewhere beyond them—Hamburg, just eight kilometers away.
As they moved through the crowd, snippets of conversation reached Julian’s ears—sharp consonants, clipped vowels.
German.
The language rolled like clean strikes on stone—precise, deliberate.
He smiled faintly.
I know every word.
In truth, he’d mastered it long before this flight—grammar, tone, idioms, all tucked neatly in his mind. A prodigy’s memory never dulled.
But now wasn’t the time to flaunt it.
Right now, he just wanted to blend in—to observe, to learn.
They passed through the customs gate smoothly. A polite officer stamped his passport with a practiced smile.
Julian exhaled softly, stepping into the arrivals hall. The weight of travel peeled off his shoulders.
"Wait here," Crest instructed, scanning the bustling crowd beyond the sliding doors.
Julian nodded, setting his bag beside him.
While they paused, he pulled out his phone. The signal bars flickered, then steadied.
A quick selfie—airport behind him, eyes bright despite the fatigue.
He typed fast:
[Julian → Tress]: Landed safely.
A small ping confirmed the message.
Julian slipped the phone back into his pocket just as David stepped aside, murmuring rapidly into his phone in fluent German—steady, professional, the tone of a man arranging logistics.
A few minutes later, a sleek black car glided silently to a stop in front of them.
No driver inside.
Julian blinked.
Even David’s brows shot up. "Seriously? An autonomous model? Sometimes I forget how rich you Ashfords really are," he said, his voice carrying that familiar edge of jealousy.
Crest opened the door with practiced ease. "Come in."
Julian followed, sliding into the back seat beside David.
The interior hummed softly—leather cool to the touch, the faint scent of ozone and polish lingering.
"It’s fine," Crest said calmly, buckling herself in. "I have the international license logged into the system. Manual override’s active."
David gave a short nod, still half-impressed. "Good. We’ll head to the hotel first and rest up. Monday, we visit the HSV campus—it’s right across from Volksparkstadion, the main team stadium."
"Alright," Julian replied simply, gaze drifting to the window.
The car eased forward, merging onto the main road.
Outside, the city unfolded beneath a cold gray sky. A light drizzle had passed moments ago, leaving the streets slick and reflective.
The car hummed beneath them, tires whispering over wet asphalt.
Drops of rain clung to the glass, turning the world beyond into soft blurs—buildings melting into watercolor, light shimmering in the haze.
They slipped past the outskirts: low warehouses, open patches of green, and clusters of red-roofed homes tucked between rows of trees.
Gradually, the roads widened. Bicycles zipped by, fearless in the drizzle. The city thickened—streets narrowing, buildings rising, life quickening.
Through the windshield, Hamburg moved with quiet grace.
Red buses rumbled by, sleek trams gliding overhead, cyclists weaving through traffic in neon jackets that flashed against the muted sky.
At a stoplight, Julian’s eyes caught a canal running alongside the street—its waters dark and still, mirroring the curve of an old iron bridge.
What struck him most was the contrast.
To his left, a massive brick warehouse stood, aged and proud.
To his right, a gleaming glass tower stretched skyward, cutting into the clouds.
Old bones. New skin.
Hamburg carried both in the same breath.
As they turned deeper into the heart of the city, spires rose into view—sharp and elegant, church towers that reached toward the heavens. Their bells seemed to echo faintly, harmonizing with the car’s quiet hum.
And beyond them—
the shimmering outline of the Elbphilharmonie, its crest like frozen waves of glass, gleaming against the northern sky.
Julian’s eyes widened, a quiet awe stirring in his chest.
After a while, Crest slowed the car near a canal-side plaza, giving him time to take in the sights.
"Stretch your legs," she said softly. "You should see the city before the day ends."
They stepped out for a short walk. The air bit cool against his skin, carrying the scent of rain and stone.
Julian turned slowly, taking it all in—the bridges, the towers, the people bustling past in layers of scarves and coats.
"It’s... amazing," he murmured.
So many people. So much life.
And all of it—built without mana, without runes, without spirit power.
Just technology. Just will.
This world... it’s something else.
"Alright," Crest said at last, voice firm again. "Let’s get you settled."
They climbed back into the car.
Minutes later, the vehicle pulled up before an elegant facade of glass and stone—its banners fluttering softly in the breeze.
Fairmont Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten.
A five-star sanctuary.
One of Hamburg’s finest.
The doors swung open. Warm light spilled out, welcoming them in.
Julian took a quiet breath, gaze lifting to the grand architecture.
The journey begins here.