[PART 1 – THE BEGINNING OF A CRAZY TRADITION]

Elon Musk was never the type of man to celebrate birthdays in an ordinary way. For him, parties with cakes, balloons, or flickering candles were nothing but relics of a world too attached to safety. People could light a few candles to wish for the future—but Elon, the man who constantly challenged it, preferred to create the future himself.

It all began on the first birthday of his third child, X Æ A‑12. That afternoon, Elon stood on the cold concrete of the SpaceX launch pad, eyes fixed on a thin strip of clouds turning pink. Every engineer and technician thought he was overseeing another Falcon 9 test as usual. No one knew it was his son’s birthday.

But Elon knew—and he had already decided: each of his children would have the brightest birthday flame in the world.

When the Merlin engines roared to life, the Falcon 9 shot upward, carving a white streak through the sky. Elon smiled. The crazy tradition was born in that very moment.

[PART 2 – THE SECRET NO ONE KNEW]

No one truly understood why Elon began this tradition. Some speculated he wanted to leave a personal mark on the universe. Others said he wanted his kids to grow up in a world that always looked upward. Some thought he simply loved rocket launches and used birthdays as an excuse.

But only a few close to him knew a fragment of the truth: Elon had endured a lonely childhood, full of shadows—one without a single birthday candle that meant anything.

He wanted the opposite for his children.

[PART 3 – YEAR ONE OF THE TRADITION]

The following year, for the birthday of little Exa Dark Sideræl—nicknamed Y—Elon decided not to launch just one rocket. He reserved an entire nighttime launch. The Boca Chica sky was pitch‑black, lit only by blinking green beacons.

Grimes held the baby in her arms, smiling as Elon—dressed in a dark jacket—stood tense and excited.

“You’re going to launch another one, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Not just one,” Elon replied. “Two. One for the day she was born, and one for her future.”

When the countdown echoed, two rockets pierced the night, their flames reflecting in Y’s eyes—though she was too young to understand. Grimes understood, though: this was no joke.

It was Elon’s way of writing birthday wishes into the sky.

[PART 4 – THE MEDIA GROWS SUSPICIOUS]

Year after year, each birthday of each Musk child—Nevada, Griffin, Vivian, Kai, Saxon, Damian, X Æ A‑12, Exa, and Techno Mechanicus—coincided with a SpaceX launch.

People didn’t dare ask directly, but headlines began appearing:

“Why Does SpaceX Launch So Many Rockets?”
“Is Elon Musk Hiding Something?”
“The Strange Pattern: Rocket Launches on Musk Kids’ Birthdays”

Elon read it all. He only smiled. No denial, no confirmation.

For him, the explanation lived in the moment his children looked up at the blazing sky.

[PART 5 – THE BIRTHDAY OF THE CHILD HE LOVED MOST]

No one knew which child Elon loved most. But inside him, one name echoed with quiet grief—the child he never got to hold long enough: Nevada Alexander Musk.

The baby who passed away at just 10 weeks old.

In truth, Elon’s birthday‑rocket tradition began from this pain.

Every year, on the day Nevada died, Elon went alone—either to the Tesla factory rooftop or a lonely Boca Chica shoreline—and watched a miniature Falcon launch. Just a small 3‑meter model.

It carried no satellite, no mission.

Only a name etched in tiny letters: Nevada.

Only Elon knew. Only he watched. Only he stood there, alone.

[PART 6 – THE DESTINED YEAR]

One year, on the birthday of the twins Kai and Saxon, Elon planned a “grand celebration.” He wanted something extraordinary: three Falcon Heavies launched within 15 minutes.

Almost no one dared attempt that.

The engineers panicked. The safety authorities objected. But Elon simply said:

“It’s my kids’ birthday. I want the sky as bright as possible.”

Eventually, they agreed.

That night, tens of thousands gathered to watch. Some livestreamed, some came out of curiosity, some came for the madness that always surrounded Musk.

Then—three massive flames erupted, launching perfectly into the sky.

The world held its breath.

No glitches.

No errors.

Three blazing streaks—three birthday wishes.

Standing on the launch pad, Elon leaned toward his boys and whispered:

“One day you’ll understand. This sky belongs to you.”

[PART 7 – WHEN THE CHILDREN GREW UP]

Not every child enjoyed being dragged to a rumbling launch pad on their birthday.

Griffin—the quiet one—once asked:

“Dad… is this your way of making up for something?”

Elon paused.

“Maybe. Or maybe… it’s how I tell you I’m proud of you.”

Griffin didn’t answer, but his eyes softened.

Meanwhile, X Æ A‑12 absolutely loved it. At age seven, he said:

“Dad, when I grow up, I want to launch rockets for my kids too!”

Elon laughed:

“Good. Make yours better than mine.”

Grimes sighed behind them.

[PART 8 – THE SECRET REVEALED]

One day, during a TIME Magazine interview, Elon was unexpectedly asked:

“Rumor says you launch rockets on your children’s birthdays. Is it true?”

Elon paused. The crew tensed. His PR manager buried their face in their hands.

He simply smiled and replied:

“If you had the ability to light up the sky for your child… wouldn’t you?”

The room fell silent.

It wasn’t a confession.

Nor a denial.

But it was unforgettable.

That night, millions shared his quote.

Some said he was insane.

Some said he was beautiful.

Some said he was wasteful.

But everyone agreed: the answer was iconic.

[PART 9 – THE FINAL YEAR OF THE TRADITION]

One night, Elon stood before Starship—the largest craft he’d ever built—and stared at it in silence.

It was Griffin’s 18th birthday.

Elon knew his kids were growing up. They no longer needed rocket‑fire birthday candles.

But he still wanted one last launch.

Not for the tradition.

But because this was the end.

As Starship ignited and the ground trembled, Elon placed a hand on Griffin’s shoulder.

“From now on, you write your own future. I only light the sky up to this day.”

Griffin nodded.

When Starship ascended into the darkness, Elon knew he had given his final flame.

[PART 10 – THE LEGACY OF FLAMES]

Years later, when Elon no longer led SpaceX, the tradition still lived in his children.

Not through rockets.

But through dreams—ambition—fire.

Nevada had a flame.

Griffin and Vivian had flames.

Kai, Saxon, and Damian had flames.

X, Y, and Techno had flames.

Not flames from Merlin engines.

But flames Elon had planted in their hearts.

A flame that whispered:

“Live a life so big the sky remembers your name.”