Chap­ter XIII opens on July 29, 1872, as Addie jour­neys toward Berlin, Ger­many, aboard a train. She sits in the din­ing car, sip­ping cof­fee and reflect­ing on the extra­or­di­nary accom­plish­ments of humankind. As she mar­vels at the progress of the world around her, her moment of peace is inter­rupt­ed when the con­duc­tor approach­es to inquire about her tick­et. Pre­tend­ing to for­get it, she attempts to evade him, only to be cor­nered in a tense sit­u­a­tion. Just as the con­fronta­tion esca­lates, Luc appears, step­ping in as her hus­band and effort­less­ly extri­cat­ing her from the awk­ward moment. Their exchange is charged with unspo­ken ten­sion, hint­ing at a deep­er and more com­pli­cat­ed rela­tion­ship between them, one that goes beyond mere famil­iar­i­ty.

As the train moves for­ward, Addie tries to dis­tance her­self from Luc, attempt­ing to reassert her inde­pen­dence. But Luc, with his uncan­ny abil­i­ty to con­trol the sit­u­a­tion, trans­ports them into anoth­er real­i­ty, reveal­ing his pow­er and his inex­tri­ca­ble con­nec­tion to the dark­ness. They find them­selves in Munich, where they pre­pare for an evening at the opera to watch Wagner’s “Tris­tan und Isol­de.” For Addie, the per­for­mance becomes a tran­scen­dent expe­ri­ence, one that enchants her with its rich music and deep emo­tion­al res­o­nance. How­ev­er, even as she becomes lost in the beau­ty of the per­for­mance, Luc’s pres­ence lingers in the back­ground, both a com­fort and a reminder of the super­nat­ur­al pact they share. It is in these moments of awe and beau­ty that Addie grap­ples with the com­plex­i­ty of their con­nec­tion, know­ing that every­thing she expe­ri­ences with him is col­ored by the shad­ows of the pact she made.

As the night pro­gress­es, their con­ver­sa­tion turns philo­soph­i­cal, and Addie finds her­self dis­cussing art, tal­ent, and the price of great­ness with Luc. He reveals how he has been involved with artists through­out his­to­ry, mak­ing deals where the price for brief flash­es of bril­liance is the sac­ri­fice of longevi­ty. He speaks of his inter­ac­tions with Joan of Arc, detail­ing how his manip­u­la­tion and sub­tle word­play led to the trag­ic fate she endured. Luc’s casu­al recount­ing of these moments makes it clear that his role in such deals is far more com­plex and insid­i­ous than Addie had real­ized. She begins to under­stand the full extent of his influ­ence on those who seek immor­tal­i­ty or great­ness, real­iz­ing the dev­as­tat­ing cost of those desires.

Reflect­ing on the evening and Luc’s can­did admis­sions, Addie is torn between the beau­ty of the music and the dark real­i­ty of the artists’ fates under Luc’s influ­ence. She is cap­ti­vat­ed by the music and the emo­tion of the opera but can­not escape the thought that every leg­endary cre­ation comes with a price, one that robs the artist of time and life. Luc’s influ­ence seems omnipresent in the pur­suit of great­ness, and Addie can­not help but con­tem­plate the true cost of being remem­bered. Her thoughts linger on the nature of fame, sac­ri­fice, and what it means to leave a lega­cy behind when that lega­cy is built on a foun­da­tion of dark­ness and lost time.

Their dia­logue in Munich rein­forces the story’s explo­ration of mem­o­ry, the tran­sient beau­ty of art, and the eter­nal strug­gle between fleet­ing human expe­ri­ences and the desire for immor­tal­i­ty. Through her reflec­tions and the ongo­ing inter­ac­tion with Luc, Addie is forced to con­front the dual­i­ty of her exis­tence. She is caught between moments of breath­tak­ing beau­ty, like the opera, and the unde­ni­able pres­ence of the shad­ows that Luc casts over every­thing. His influ­ence per­me­ates every part of her life, from the small­est inter­ac­tions to the grand­est moments, leav­ing Addie to wres­tle with the notion of whether great­ness, in any form, is worth the cost of the sac­ri­fice it demands.