He leaned out of a window, letting the wind toy with his hair as he surveyed the sea of layered roofs before him. His kingdom. There was the urge to jump; to leap out of the window and to soar through the air, because he knew that now it was impossible, and it was maddening. So maddening, because it should not have been impossible.

The winter sky was grey and overcast, the clouds were uneasy, and the rain broke into snow, back into rain again, and then into something in-between. It was the kind of uneasiness that lingered in the air before a storm; just before the first clap of thunder could be heard.

He didn’t flinch as a fork of lightning split the sky, nor did he move when a deep, rumbling roar rent the still air.

He breathed in deeply as he felt everything move. The storm had begun.