He Rode Through Fire & Ice — Then Landed Right Back Home

He doesn't ride roads. He rides the sky itself. The engine screams. The front wheel lifts — and the ground disappears. Electric blue cracks the clouds open, and he punches through, white jacket snapping at the chest, layered necklaces catching light that was never meant to touch a man this high. Fire on his left. Ice on his right. His right hand thrusts forward, cold blue energy tearing outward, crystal fragments shattering into the void — fire and ice, one body, one impossible ride. He leans harder. Clouds shred against his shoulders. The beaded chain swings free. He is rooted even here, rooted in who he is, even in the middle of nothing. Then he tilts downward. The blur shifts. Familiar rooftops. Warm light. Home. Wheels touch ground. The energy fades. He steps off, necklaces settling back against his chest, and the world holds its breath. The sky was never the destination. It was just the road home.