Sydney was still warm enough for swimsuits when the twins started preparing for Denmark. Shopping trips turned into wool coats, thermal layers, and the kind of clothes neither of them had needed in years. Elara handled the practical stuff—visas, schedules, accommodation—while Ethan contributed mostly by reminding her that Denmark was not, in fact, the entire continent. She also packed enough to suggest otherwise. Departure morning came with the usual Sydney Airport chaos: rolling suitcases, boarding announcements, and the smell of overpriced coffee. Julian handed Elara a small leather case containing her favorite restored pens. "Keep your words sharp. They'll take you further than you think."
Sarah hugged Ethan, then pulled Elara into her arms. "And look after each other. You don't have to have everything figured out the second you get there."
"I know, Mum." Elara grinned, hoisting her suspiciously heavy backpack. "But I do have a plan."
Ethan glanced at her luggage. "That sentence worries me."
"By the time we land, I'll have found a coffee place and made at least three friends."
"Try making the friends before collecting their addresses."
Elara gasped. "You have no faith in my social skills."
"I have plenty. It's the luggage I'm concerned about."
She looked down at her bags. "It's called curating a lifestyle, Ethan. Maybe if you packed more than hoodies and emotional damage, you'd understand."
Julian laughed under his breath as Ethan shook his head.
"Alright," he said, pulling them both into a final hug. "That's your gate."
Sarah brushed a loose strand of hair from Elara's face. "Don't try to conquer Denmark on the first day."
Elara placed a hand dramatically over her chest. "Mum, I'm a delight."
"You're a lot."
"A delightful lot." Sarah laughed and hugged her again.
With one final wave, the twins turned toward the jet bridge, leaving their parents behind as they followed the line of passengers boarding the plane. The familiar rush of airport noise faded behind them as they stepped onto the aircraft, greeted by the soft hum of the cabin and the shuffle of people stowing their bags overhead. Row 14, Seats A and B. Elara spotted the window seat and claimed it immediately, sliding into place before Ethan could even check his boarding pass.
"Seriously?" Ethan glanced at her.
"You were too slow." He rolled his eyes, dropping into the seat beside her.
As the plane leveled out over the ocean, the initial adrenaline faded into a comfortable hum. The cabin lights dimmed while flight attendants began the first meal service. Since they were on an international flight to Scandinavia, the tray felt strangely elegant compared to standard airport food. Braised beef short rib. Buttery mashed potatoes. Honey-glazed carrots. A small Nordic shrimp salad dusted with dill. And for dessert, a dense chocolate torte topped with lingonberry jam—their first real taste of Northern Europe.
Ethan poked suspiciously at a shrimp with his plastic fork. "So this is it. No parents, no rules, and apparently a deeply unhealthy relationship with dill."
Elara laughed, sipping her chocolate milk. "Get used to it. I read that Danes put dill on everything. It's part of the aesthetic."
"Right," Ethan muttered. "The same aesthetic that required four suitcases." She ignored him gracefully. He leaned back, glancing at the flight map glowing on the screen in front of them. "Still feels fake though. Like we're just going on some long holiday instead of actually moving."
Elara turned toward the endless silver clouds outside the window. "It'll feel real when we land and realize neither of us speaks Danish beyond tak."
"I know skål," Ethan corrected proudly, lifting his water cup. "That's the important one."
"Definitely." She tapped her cup lightly against his. "To the Stormbornes in Denmark," Elara declared dramatically. "Let's see if the Vikings are emotionally prepared for us."
Ethan immediately stole the lingonberry jam off her tray. "They survived the North Sea," he said calmly. "They'll survive one over-packed PR student."