The halls of the University of Leiden had witnessed many defenses, but never one like this.
For three hours, Faust answered questions. He spoke of the circulatory system with a precision that made the elderly Janus look at his own medical texts with suspicion, and he debated the ethics of surgery with a philosophical weight that silenced the room.
When the head of the commission finally stood, he didn't just offer a nod. He presented a heavy vellum scroll, sealed with thick red wax and the crest of the Republic.
"It is rare," the man said, his voice echoing in the court-like room, "to find a student whose understanding of the vital humors exceeds that of the masters. Doctor Faust, your license is valid, and your doctorate is recognized by the highest authorities of this land."
Faust took the scroll, the cool parchment feeling like a new set of shackles in his hand. He was legal again. For the next few decades, his presence in Europe would be unquestioned.
The departure from Hendrik and Marta's home was a quiet, heavy affair. The morning was damp, a typical Dutch mist clinging to the brickwork. A caravan stood waiting in the street, the horses huffing clouds of steam into the air.
Hendrik stood on the threshold, looking much older than he had just a week ago. The stress of the surgery and the shock of seeing his teacher unchanged had carved deeper lines into his face. As Faust stepped toward the carriage, Hendrik suddenly moved forward, throwing his arms around his teacher in a desperate, uncharacteristic hug.
"Professor," Hendrik whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I fear... I fear this is the last time I shall see you. I am a mortal man, and my time is drawing to its autumn. But you... you are eternal."
Faust felt the fragility of the man in his arms. He patted Hendrik's back, his "big dignity" softening for a brief, human moment.
"You were my best student, Hendrik. You have a legacy here. That is a different kind of eternity."
He pulled away and looked at Marta, who stood by the door with a sad, knowing smile.
"Take care of him, Marta. He's a good doctor, but a terrible patient."
"I will, Doctor," she promised.
Faust climbed into the carriage, and with a crack of a whip, the caravan began its slow crawl toward the German border.
The journey took weeks. Faust spent the time in silence, watching the landscape of the 17th century roll past the window. He practiced with the silver-encrusted Tarot cards in the evenings, his fingers growing faster, the "Cut" becoming more precise.
He thought of Lola, the black liquid, and the beams of light.
The world was far more complicated than he had allowed himself to believe.
As the caravan crossed into the familiar rolling hills of his German hometown, a deep, aching nostalgia took hold of him. The town had grown; new timbered houses lined the roads, and the cathedral's spire seemed taller, or perhaps the world around it had simply shrunk.
But as the carriage turned onto the long, private lane leading away from the town center, he saw it.
The estate stood exactly as he remembered. The grey stone walls, the ivy crawling up the west wing, and the heavy iron gates remained defiant against the passage of time. To the world, this was the seat of an ancient line.
To Faust, it was the house where he had buried his family.
As the carriage pulled up to the gate, the iron screeched open. A line of servants in crisp, dark livery stood waiting. They were the children and grandchildren of the servants he had known, yet they stood with the same practiced discipline.
A head butler, a man with a stiff collar and a silver-topped cane, stepped forward. He bowed deeply, his voice echoing with profound respect.
"Welcome back, Herzog," he said, using the German title for Duke. "We have kept the fires burning in the study, just as you requested."
Faust stepped out of the carriage, the familiar scent of pine and old stone filling his lungs. He looked up at the windows of the nursery where Wilhelm had once played, and then at the master study where his foster father had taught him the value of a name.
"Ich bin endlich zu Hause," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of a century.