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Icarus didn’t just fail to get into the academy once—he failed three times, back to back, over three years. It wasn’t some accident. He just wasn’t good enough.
A long time ago, his mother had tried to offer him an out. "What if you try magic?"
But he had no aptitude for it. Not even a shred. He couldn’t cast the simplest spell, no matter how long he tried. Days, weeks, months—nothing. He was talentless, and deep down, he knew it. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that. He accepted it. So, he threw himself into his swordwork—5000 swings a day, until his arms felt like they were about to fall off. It was the only way to drown out the feeling of being useless. When he was younger, he could pretend he still had time. But now? The clock was ticking. The weight of getting older and doing nothing crushed him.
These days, Icarus worked as a side labourer for a wood crafter. He cut trees, delivered the wood, and earned enough silver to keep his family fed. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
“Icarus, why don’t you rest for a bit?” The wood crafter said as Icarus set down a bundle of logs. “You look like you haven’t slept in days. You look terrible. You should take care of yourself.”
“Rest? If you pay me a gold coin for these,” Icarus said, pointing a finger at the wood pile he just dropped off.
The wood was nothing special, but it was consistently high quality. That’s why the wood crafter liked him. Even if the pay sucked, Icarus still gave his all every single time.
The wood crafter gave him a look, smirking as he knew damn well that Icarus wasn’t getting a gold coin.
"Relax. I’m just kidding," Icarus said, dropping onto the logs and sitting.
Icarus decided to take a break as the wood crafter suggested. He had been pushing himself hard over the past few weeks; since his younger brother Damien was accepted into the academy at 18, studying magic and swordsmanship, the family needed more income. Icarus also had a younger sister, Margaux, who had made it into the academy to study magic as well. He was the only one of his siblings who didn’t get in when he turned 18. He tried—took the entrance exam, failed. I retook it the following year and failed again. Another year, another failure. Finally, he gave up. It wasn’t worth draining his family’s savings for a dream that wasn’t his. Both of his parents worked as farmers under a landlord, making just enough to scrape by. Now, at 23, Icarus was cutting wood for a living, looking for any side job he could pick up to keep the coins coming in.
"Icarus," the wood crafter’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. The man’s tone had a worried edge as he picked up his mug of tea.
"Yeah?" Icarus turned around, meeting his gaze.
The wood crafter set the mug down and began feeling the quality of the wood Icarus had been bringing in. His expression shifted, concerned, as he put his hands over the logs.
"To be honest with you, the sales of these woodcrafts have been dropping lately," the woodcrafter said. "And the quality’s been... off. Are you still cutting from the same forest?"
Icarus knew what he meant. The nearby forest, which he’d been cutting from for years, showed signs of decline. He’d noticed the quality of the trees dropping, too, and part of him wondered if it was the changing climate.
“That’s why I’m planning to go deeper into the forest this time,” Icarus said, standing tall and brushing the dirt off his hands with a determined look.
“What?!” The wood crafter shouted in surprise. “Are you out of your mind?” He stood up, too, his voice a mix of panic and disbelief.
The nearby forest was safe enough, but the deeper you went, the more dangerous it became. There were rumours of spirits lurking in the deep woods. The locals avoided it for a reason. Sure, no one ever explicitly forbade going more profound, but the risks were enough to clarify most people.
“Ju....Just stick to where you’ve been cutting. Don’t go any deeper. Are you not afraid of getting cursed or something?” The wood crafter’s worry was evident; his face creased with concern.
He had heard it all before. As the wood crafter shouted at him, Icarus just looked at him, his face calm. “Yeah, yeah. I won’t go deeper. But are you sure you good with these woods for the meantime?” Icarus asked, pointing to the logs he had brought.
“I’m fine with these, for now,” the wood crafter replied, sitting back down and calming himself. He took another sip from his mug. “Maybe we can wait a few more months before we start getting quality wood again.”
“Alright, I’m heading out then,” Icarus said, heading for the door.
"Good work." The wood crafter said as Icarus walked towards the door.
"Thanks," Icarus replied.
~
Creak.
After a quiet walk through the darkening streets, Icarus finally arrived at the house. It wasn’t much—just a simple, unassuming place—but inside, it was warm and cosy.
It didn’t always feel that way. When his younger brother was still home, the house was a mess. Books scattered across the table, clothes everywhere, and Damien’s room? It looked like a damn war zone. The walls were burned, scorched from countless magical experiments gone wrong, and the whole place always smelled like smoke.
But the thing that always stood out was the faces of his parents. Both were in their 50s; they didn’t look their age, though they were undoubtedly showing the wear of hard work. They sat in the living room, waiting for Icarus to come home. It didn’t matter how long he was gone or how late he came back—his parents always waited, always cared. They loved their kids, all of them, no matter what. Icarus had learned hard work and dedication from them, even if they hadn’t taught him how to succeed at anything else.
When they saw him walk through the door, they both got up, eager to hear about his day. Their excitement and curiosity made Icarus feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time—like he wasn’t completely alone. Their warmth gave him a strength he didn’t know he had left.
“Eat more, Icarus,” his father said, his voice light but serious. “You’re gonna need all this if you’re working from dawn till dusk.”
The food was nothing special—just rice and some vegetables—but sitting together, sharing a meal, was everything. That’s what made it necessary.
“Have more of this,” his mother added, scooping more vegetables onto his plate with a smile.
“It’s fine, Mom, Dad. I’ve got this,” Icarus said, his mouth full as he focused on his meal. “Thanks.”
Saying thank you wasn’t his thing. Not that he didn’t appreciate them—he did. It was just that, over the years, it had become more burdensome to say those words. Maybe because he didn’t feel like he deserved to say it to them. But still, he meant it. Every time. Even if it was hard to admit.
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"Oh! By the way, your sister's decided to spend her vacation week off here," his mother said, her face lighting up with excitement.
Margaux was in her third year at the academy, and the school gave students in years two to four a short vacation before the next term started. First-year students, however, didn’t get a break. But then, for the students, the “vacation” was more like extra study time, where they were expected to work on things like sword techniques, spells, or whatever they needed to pass their following exams. It was more like boot camp than a holiday.
“I bet Damien’s already wishing for a vacation too. Probably wants to skip the whole ‘first-year’ thing,” Icarus said with a grin.
“Haha, stop it. His classes just started,” his father chuckled, shaking his head.
"Gosh, It’ll be a relief not having Damien blow up the house with his latest magic experiment," his mother joked, making a playful smile.
Icarus and his father both burst out laughing when they heard that. They knew exactly what his mother meant—Damien had been working on some new magic spell, and they could always listen to him casting it from his room. It was like the house was his lab for blowing things up.
"That... that kid is really a magic maniac," his father said between chuckles, clapping his hands together.
"I bet he’s got the potential to unlock a second element, though," Icarus said, cutting through the laughter seriously.
His parents' eyes lit up with curiosity, eager to hear what Icarus thought about Damien’s potential. They leaned in, practically vibrating with excitement.
"What do you mean?" his mother asked simultaneously as his father, looking at each other and sharing a laugh before turning back to Icarus.
"Well, maybe... an explosion element," Icarus said, deadpan.
His mother blinked, confused for a second, and then they both cracked up, imagining Damien with the power to blow up anything that moved.
"Damn, if that kid heard us right now, he'd probably turn us into a pair of crispy chickens!" His father burst out laughing again, his face red from it. "We'd be extra charred, no doubt!"
Eventually, their laughter started to die down, but it brightened up their night. After a while, Icarus left his parents at the dining table and went to the living room to unwind before bed. His favourite thing to do was wood crafting.
Of course, he learned wood crafting from the wood crafter. There had been plenty of times when Icarus felt down, and carving wood was the only thing that helped him take his mind off everything. It took him a year and a half to get the hang of it, but now he was pretty damn good. He could carve figures cleanly now. Sometimes, he considered turning it into a business, but he wasn't stupid enough to make the wood crafter his competition. He’d never challenge the guy who made wood feel like art. That’d be like trying to sell knock-off swords next to a master blacksmith. He’d end up with a shop full of splinters and a reputation as "that guy who ruins wood."
As the night went on, Icarus carved away at his latest figure, but his focus was constantly interrupted by snippets of his parents' conversation. They talked about the growing tension between two kingdoms in the empire: Valkarion and Gorathia.
Valkarion was the kingdom they lived in, situated in the Rivermarsh Plains in Eldwyck. It was known for its strategic position, its powerful military, and its deep-rooted traditions. The kingdom was part of the empire, ruled under the monarchy. On the other hand, Gorathia was an independent kingdom—one that had managed to break free from the empire’s grasp due to its legendary defences and relentless warriors.
But now, the two kingdoms were on the brink of war. Gorathia was trying to seize some of Valkarion’s land, pushing tensions to the boiling point. Icarus couldn't help but think this was all happening because Gorathia had sensed weakness in the emperor. They probably knew he was too frail to hold his position for much longer.
Despite being busy with his work, Icarus kept up with everything happening around the empire. It seemed like the two kingdoms were preparing for war, while Eldrun—the third kingdom—just watched silently, as if waiting for the storm to hit.
After finishing his wood crafting, Icarus finally headed to his room to rest. Tomorrow, he'd be up before the sun to do it all over again, the same routine—just like today.
~
The following day, after a whole night’s rest, Icarus woke up to find his childhood friend, Giselle, waiting outside for him with a book in her hand. Like last week, he ended up letting her watch him practice again.
Swoosh!
"Woah, your swing's way better now!" A woman’s voice appeared full of surprise.
Icarus didn’t respond. His focus was entirely on the next swing as the woman watched him from a distance. She had dark green braided hair and black eyes, standing at about 5'4".
Giselle was 22 years old. Unlike Icarus, she wasn’t obsessed with swordsmanship or magic, though she knew the basics. She had attended the academy to study the Animal Companion Bonding Course, which allowed her to train or tame both magical and non-magical creatures. However, she dropped out in her third year due to some family issues.
"Thanks," Icarus muttered, wiping the sweat from his dark brown hair as he stopped swinging his sword.
"Are you going to the woods later?" she asked.
"Yeah. Why?" Icarus replied, taking a moment to catch his breath.
"Well, I just decided I’m going with you!" she said, putting her books beside her to clap her hands together like a kid about to go on an adventure.
"Why? What are you going to do while I’m cutting? Start a forest petting zoo?" Icarus teased with a grin, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
"Nah, I’m just gonna take the chance to bury you in a pile of wood finally," she said, and she followed it with sudden laughter.
"Alright. Just 2,000 more," Icarus muttered, gripping the sword tighter.
Giselle didn’t say a word. She never did when it came to his relentless training. She had known Icarus since they were kids, and she understood how stubborn he could be when he set his mind to something. It wasn’t just determination; it was the raw, unyielding kind that either broke or shaped you into something unshakable. She admired that. Watching him push himself every day, little by little, gave her hope that he’d rise higher than anyone expected. And when he did, she’d be there to say she saw it all—his lows, struggles, and rise.
"Take your time, Woodchop Wonder," she teased from her spot in the corner, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
Icarus didn’t bother responding. His focus was on the blade, on the rhythm of his swings. The sharp sound of steel slicing through the air filled the space. Giselle, unbothered by the lack of conversation, leaned back and opened her book. Its worn cover read The Beast Within the Cage—a story about a man tasked with taming a legendary beast to save his family from execution. She was halfway through, but it had already hooked her with its blend of danger and desperation.
By the time Icarus finished his 5,000 swings, his arms trembled, sweat dripping down his face. Without a word, he grabbed his axe, and they headed for the woods. It wasn’t far—just a short walk, barely fifty paces—but the air changed as they approached.
The sound of wood splitting echoed as Icarus swung the axe into a thin tree.
"Why are you cutting here? There’s barely anything left," Giselle asked, her arms crossed as she watched him work.
"This is where the wood crafter told me to cut. Doesn’t leave me much choice," Icarus replied, his tone flat as the axe slammed into another tree.
"Huh?" Giselle frowned.
Icarus pointed more profound into the forest, where the trees grew more prominent and thicker. "The good ones are in there."
"So? Let’s go get the bigger ones."
He paused for a moment, resting the axe on his shoulder. "They say it’s cursed."
"Do you believe that?"
"I don’t. But the wood crafter says this area is fine, so I’m sticking to it."
Giselle rolled her eyes. "That’s just dumb. If neither of us believes it’s cursed, why not test it? Worst case, we find out the hard way. Best case, we get better wood."
"Stop talking nonsense and go home," Icarus shot back, his voice sharper than usual as he resumed chopping.
She didn’t leave, though. She never did. Hours passed, and by the time they were done, the haul was pitiful—small, skinny logs that weren’t worth much. Icarus sighed but loaded them up anyway. The two of them carried the bundle back to the wood crafter’s place.
When they arrived, a group of men loaded freshly crafted planks onto a carriage. The sight made Icarus stop for a moment before breaking into a run toward the old wood crafter. Something wasn’t right.
"What’s going on here?" Icarus asked, dropping the pile of wood he just gathered.
The wood crafter sighed deeply. "I’m afraid I’m gonna have to close down the business for a while."
"Huh?" Icarus raised an eyebrow, confused.
"I’m in a ton of debt with this guy, but I don’t have the money to pay him. So, I gave him all the woodcrafts I made as payment and even put the house up to cover the rest." The wood crafter's voice trembled with emotion.
Giselle stood by, watching as Icarus gave the old man a reassuring tap on the shoulder. They both felt helpless. The wood crafter was in debt, so it wasn’t like he could avoid paying it off. But Icarus kept thinking about how the drop in wood quality was a significant factor in the sales tanking.
"Hey, old man, I’m coming back. I’m going to find a way out of this for you," Icarus said, looking the wood crafter square in the eye.
The wood crafter didn’t respond right away. He just nodded slightly, like he was telling Icarus not to worry about him. "Nah, kid. I’ll figure it out on my own. You just keep working hard like you always do." He handed Icarus the last of his silver coins, which he had kept hidden from the guy he owed.
"Here, I know you wanted gold, but this is all I’ve got for now to pay you back for your hard work," the wood crafter said with a wry smile. "Now, go on."
Icarus didn’t take the coins. He just tapped the old man’s shoulder again, silently promising he’d be back to help before turning to leave with Giselle.
"Icarus, where are you going?" Giselle asked, noticing the quick pace he set.
"I’m gonna walk you home," he replied, glancing over at her.
"What? Hahaha, don't worry, I can handle myself. Go do what you need to and help that old man," she said, shaking her head.
Icarus, stunned in his position, conflicted. He wanted to help the man who had given him a place to stay when he had nowhere to go, but he couldn’t think of a way. Only one word slipped from his mouth.
"Thanks."
Giselle smiled. "Don’t mention it. I’ll see you tomorrow."
Icarus gave a nod and a faint smile as Giselle walked toward the main town. But as he stood there, trying to think of something—anything—he could do to help the wood crafter, his mind kept circling back to one idea. The only thing he could think of was what had been tempting him all along.
The forest.
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