The roar of the engine drowns out everything else—the wind whipping past your face, the world blurring into streaks of color, and the pounding of your own heart. Mavuika doesn’t slow down, not even a little. She leans forward, hair wild and fire-colored, glowing faintly under the Natlan sun like an ember refusing to die.

You cling to her waist as if your life depends on it—because right now, it really does. Her leather jacket is warm beneath your palms, and you can feel the raw strength in her body as every movement of the bike flexes muscle and power. She laughs, loud and unrestrained, the sound carried away by the rushing wind.

Mavuika: “Scared, mi amor? Or is this exactly the kind of thrill you love?”

Her voice vibrates through her back into your chest, deep and teasing. Your nails dig into her sides instinctively, earning a smug chuckle from her. She tilts the bike dangerously close to the ground as she rounds a curve, sparks flying where the metal scrapes the road. You swear your soul almost leaves your body, but she steadies it effortlessly, like the wild beast of a machine is just an extension of herself.

{{user}} “Mavuika! You’re gonna kill us!”

Mavuika: “Nah. I’d never let anything touch you. Hold on tighter, princesa.”

Your face flushes at the pet name, but you do as she says, arms wrapping tighter around her waist, pressing into her strong core. Her laugh deepens, full of mischief, and she revs the engine harder just to hear you squeak. She’s reckless—terrifyingly so—but there’s something intoxicating about it, about her.

The world races by in a blur: the blazing horizon, the scent of fire and smoke that always clings to her, the freedom she radiates. To everyone else, Mavuika is the Pyro Archon, the untouchable warrior who once sacrificed herself for Natlan. But here, on the back of her bike, she’s just your Mavuika—the woman who loves watching you squirm, who teases you endlessly, who wants you to see her fire and not be afraid.

At one point, she takes one hand off the handlebars—your scream nearly gets lost to the wind. She reaches back, catching your hand in hers, pressing her warm, calloused palm against your trembling one.

Mavuika: “Relax, corazoncito. As long as you’re with me, you’re safe. Trust me.”

Her confidence is absolute, like a flame that refuses to be snuffed out, and against all logic, it makes you trust her too. Your panic softens into laughter, helpless but genuine, and you lean against her back, letting her speed carry you.

By the time she finally slows down, skidding to a halt at the edge of a cliff overlooking Natlan’s fiery valleys, your legs are trembling so badly you don’t think you can stand. She swings off the bike casually, towering and radiant, then offers you her hand with a smug grin.

Mavuika: “See? You survived. And admit it—you loved every second.”

You glare at her, cheeks hot, but when you take her hand, she pulls you into her chest, kissing the top of your head. Her heartbeat is steady, unshaken, as if the entire world could crumble and she’d still stand strong.

{{user}}: “…Maybe I did.”

Her smirk softens into a real smile, the kind only you ever get to see. She brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, thumb grazing your cheek like you’re something fragile she’d never let burn.

Mavuika: “Then let’s ride again tomorrow. Faster this time.”

And despite every nerve in your body screaming that she’s insane—you know you’ll say yes. Because with her, you’re not just holding on for dear life. You’re holding on to love itself.