Greece, Crete ~450BC

Daedalus stood, bent over a desk. Sweat beaded down his forehead and into his bushy grey eyebrows as he concentrated on his latest masterpiece.

The evening’s light shone as beams through the windows, creating beacons of luminescence across the otherwise dark, stone room.

Dust clogged the air in the long-neglected room and he could hear the commotion outside.

“Father” His son, Icarus said worriedly in a half-yell, half-whisper. “Father, we must hurry, they’re coming!”

His fingers moved furiously across the work table as he weaved the feathers and beeswax into creations never seen before by mortal eyes. Perhaps his latest work was so ingenious that even the Gods would be confounded.

No, no he must not think like that. He’d made that mistake before, no mortal could ever hope to stand next to the Gods.

And he was just a mortal, a single old man. He rushed himself, his nimble fingers racing the footsteps that could be heard thundering closer.

Theseus and Ariadne had left him. They had gone off to elope and King Minos had found out that Daedalus had helped them. Now he was trapped in the labyrinth he had built, and somehow the guards have found out about his latest escape attempt in the making and were coming to end him. To die trapped in the place he built to imprison and hurt, another punishment from the Gods for his hubris…

But he did not regret helping young Theseus. The sacrifices had gone on too long, the blood of innocent Athenians was on his hands. His evil, evil hands.

He only ever wanted to use these hands to create, to bring forth powers and inventions to his fellow people. To bask in their praise and be the realtor of change for humans. But that was not a mortal’s place and the Gods had taught him that time and time again. The way things were was by the Gods’ design, and the human experience could only be changed by the God’s whims.

His hands were shaking. If it were up to him, he would give up. He would let the guards catch him, be speared and tortured on King Minos’ order. Perhaps then he would be able to pay the price of his foolishness. Perhaps then he would be able to repent and let go of his pride. But he couldn’t for one reason…

“Father.” Icarus grasped Daedalus’ shaking digits and held them steady.

“You can do this, I know you can. There is no one smarter than you on this whole realm.” Icarus assured.

Yes, this was why he had to escape, to complete this work. Not for himself, his soul was already damned, but for his son. His sweet, innocent Icarus, who looked into his eyes with all the pure belief and faith that a young man could have.

Daedalus didn’t deserve the boy, who so naively believed in him. But he knew more than anything that Icarus didn’t deserve the fate that Daedalus’ mistakes had wrought. They had to escape, he had to teach and raise the boy to be humble, not to anger the Gods.

He went back to work even as he could hear the soldiers banging on the door. With a few final stitches and fastens, they were complete. Brilliant wings made of golden wax and white feathers. He was tempted to step back and appreciate his work, but there was no time.

He swiftly picked up his creations and brought one over to his son who looked in awe.

“You did it! I knew you could do it!” His son praised. “Flight! True flight, the dreams of mortals, achieved by mortal ways!”

Daedalus’ heart ached. “Son, no. Do not say such things. These are merely gliders, mortals cannot fly like Gods, and you must not pretend we can.”

But his son was too enraptured by the craft to give his father’s word much heed.

“I have faith in you father. You can create solutions to any problem we face. Flight or not, these will take us across the sea and beyond, I’m sure of it!” Icarus said as he equipped the large contraption to his back.

Beyond the window lay the shore of Crete, and beyond that a vast body of water. It had kept them trapped on this island if they weren’t already trapped in this tower, part of this structure that he had built.

Daedalus put his own wings on even as the door to their room began to buckle at the soldiers' assault. He turned to his son “Listen to me Icarus. These wings will take us to escape, and no more. Once we’re free we will live simple lives, and never craft such heresy again. Please, listen to my warning my progeny, so that we may stay together in other lands. Do not fly too high, because the heat of the sun will melt the beeswax and the feathers would abandon you, nor too low because the sea foam will soak the feathers and make them heavy, and you would fall. Fly straight and true, do not deviate from the course set before you.” He pleaded.

Icarus seemed like he wanted to protest, but then the door finally gave way and with a crash, those who sought to do harm entered the dusty old room.

“Go! Now!” Daedalus commanded, pulling his son with him as he jumped out the window of the tower. For a moment he felt his heart stop as he plummeted, not in control of his own motion, but then with a gust, his wings caught the wind and he was no longer falling but soaring!

It felt incredible, the breeze blew his hair and whipped his cheeks. He was no longer a slave to gravity, and he felt unstoppable. He wanted to cheer, to declare to the sky so all could see what he’d accomplished. But he stopped himself, he had made that mistake before and he refused to make it again.

“WOOOO!” But his son, Icarus had not yet learned the lessons of his father. Deadalus did not have enough time to teach the boy and so he twisted and twirled, dancing like a bird in the air as he celebrated. The boy looked elegant and powerful, free as a young man should be. Escape was so close, and once they’d escaped, Daedalus would have all the time in the world to teach his son humility, and so he allowed himself a small smile at the boys’ happiness.

They flew fast and quickly went beyond the boundaries of Crete. Islands blurred by below them like quick strokes of a paintbrush. Samos, Delos, and Lebynthos, the people below would be unable to comprehend the father and son as to them, the duo were mere dots passing through the sky.

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But then something began to happen that was not supposed to happen. Icarus rose. Perhaps lifted by his emotions, perhaps it was another divine power he could not understand. Perhaps it was some phenomenon of Gaia that his small mortal mind was not privy to, but Icarus’s glider rose higher and higher whilst the boy remained oblivious.

Panic gripped Daedalus’ heart, and he shouted out to the boy, to try and get his attention. He yelled and yelled until his throat went sore but they were moving so fast, at speeds that his voice was not designed to compensate for.

Icarus continued to celebrate this new achievement as he rose, and he, like Daedalus in his younger years, caught the attention of the Gods. Helios turned his cruel eye onto the boy who dared challenge him and without warning, Icarus’ man-made wings melted, with the feathers falling like snowflakes and Daedalus could only cry as he helplessly watched his only child fall into the ocean. Daedalus dived quickly and roughly to the nearest land mass, not taking care to maintain his wings. He crashed into the shallows at an angle and felt his body whine at the bruises and broken bones he was subjecting it to.

Like a madman, he got up and staggered onto the shore, the wings on his back that let him fly only felt as heavy as all the burdens in the world and he ripped them off as though they burned.

He stumbled and ran across the shoreline, desperately searching for where his son had crashed. After blindly running for half a day, he saw a mass washup in the shallows. It was his son, bloody and mangled with pale blue skin and lifeless eyes. The water, the soft substance that allows life to flourish had so thoroughly slain Icarus and Daedalus choked on his sobs.

“No! No! Why!?” The grief and guilt had overtaken him as he collapsed next to the corpse. Perhaps he should’ve been more stern. Perhaps he should’ve cracked down on the thoughts that poisoned Icarus, just as they had poisoned Daedalus in his younger years. Perhaps he should have never let himself feel the warmth whenever Icarus pointed those adoring eyes in his direction. Perhaps, Perhaps. Perhaps…

What could he have done differently!?

Daedalus was wracked with grief as he kneeled in those shallow waves next to his son’s corpse for what felt like days. The Gods had taken everything from him, he had nothing left to live for. No matter what he did, mortal men would only ever be mortal.

Daedalus cursed his art, his creations as he limply dragged Icarus onto the coast and clawed the sand with his naked hands to make a grave for his son. As he dug a partridge landed on a nearby bush.

“Well, well, well.” It squawked “Another victim of the great Daedalus” 

A new pang of grief made him choke out a sob again as the bird talked. Deep down he knew that birds did not talk and he was surely going crazy, but even deeper down he knew who the bird was and that it spoke the truth.

“When will you learn?” It mocked “How many more must you kill before you stop?”

“I… I don’t know… I didn’t want to.” Daedalus’ voice was raw.

“You say you didn’t want to yet those wings lie right there” The partridge pushed the verbal knife in deeper.

“We… We had to escape. He… had to escape.”

“Escape from the consequences that your mistakes brought.” The bird argued.

“He didn’t deserve to suffer for the flaws of his father”

“And yet he was the one who flew too close to the sun?” The reminder caused Daedalus to pause in grief once more before continuing his grim work of grave digging. His beard was ragged with seawater, sand and snot.

“I… I wanted to teach him.” Daedalus said more to himself than the bird.

The bird cawed in laughter “And what would you have taught him? To kill his apprentice? To burn in pride?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Perdix. It was a fault and my folly alone. I’ve learned my lesson, I swear.” He said as he continued digging.

“But you didn’t. You messed with forces outside of your understanding once again.”

“Was it really so wrong to want to create?” He begged.

The bird continued to mock him as he dug and buried his son. When he was finished, his body was raw as were his tears. He was utterly broken, with no light remaining in his heart.

“Was it all meaningless..?” Daedalus asked, not taking his eyes off the grave.

Incredibly, content with its fill of mockery, the partridge looked upon the old man, who was motionless on his knees, and the bird felt pity.

It contemplated in silence for a few moments. Perdix hated Daedalus for years, but the man in front of him now was no longer Daedalus but instead someone who had lost everything. It was a man closer to the sea foam than Icarus was to the sun.

Perdix sighed and flew onto the man’s shoulders and imparted a vision. Daedalus saw people, humans, as they united the Mediterranean. He watched them climb mount Olympus and conquer the seas.

He watched the humans as they harnessed explosive fire and moved steel creations with steam. He felt awe as they flew in wings made of metal, far higher and faster than his wax wings could ever hope to aspire to.

He witnessed humanity take to orbit, then the moon, then the stars. Throughout it all the Gods retreated further and further away, intimidated by humankind’s prowess.

By the end, people were still creating, loving and changing, with no fear of falling from the skies. By the end, Daedalus was once more crying, but not tears of grief but joy. Joy that there was a tomorrow for his people, joy that he wasn’t the only one who would dare reach beyond what mortals were supposed to.

“No matter the mistakes you make, or the guilt you feel, you’re still contributing to something that is even greater than the Gods. You may cry and fail, but when those who come after you look ahead, they will be standing on the shoulders of giants.” The bird monologued before finally flying away leaving Daedalus alone on the cold beach.

After a few more moments of mourning, the old man stood up and looked around. Even with the mistakes that he’d made, his life wasn’t pointless. Though he felt grief for his failures, someone, somewhere, at some time would appreciate him. Pride wasn’t something to bestow upon yourself, lest you fly too high towards the sun, but a gift to give to those that came before you.

Leaving the grave behind, Daedalus christened the land “Icaria”, to ensure his son would not be forgotten so that the tale of his life might help future generations.