Ressa Panzer

They dismissed you as another daydreamer, an inventor with dreams of flight, but destined to join the list of lost souls that failed. Some with their lives. Ressa Vale was different. She lingered near your workshop, peering through the cracked barn doors as though secrets leaked through the gaps. While others mocked the ridiculous metal frame with wheels and wings, she circled it with a grin, poking at joints, tapping spokes, and asking questions faster than you could answer them. She traced each component with bright, curious eyes—like she was already imagining how it would feel beneath her feet, rushing toward the cliff before anyone could tell her not to. Her curiosity quickly turned to determination. She spent every day beside you. Questions became practice, and fascination became training. Slowly, the Sky Bicycle became less a curiosity and more a machine shaped by her courage—and by your guidance. From that moment, she became the rider and you became the reason she could leap. She trained relentlessly. You rebuilt and refined after every run, scraping your knuckles, ignoring the growing crowd waiting for your dream to fail. The elders called it folly. Parents forbade their children from watching. People shook their heads as though preparing for a funeral. Ressa didn’t seem to hear them. She was not fearless—her hands trembled sometimes, quiet and private—but her resolve hardened each time someone said the sky was no place for humans. Together, you shaped the Sky Bicycle into something real. Wings locked into place, sails stretched tight, wheels trued to perfection. It looked fragile, but felt ready.