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Icarus cannot remember the last time he felt the warmth of the sun on his skin. He knows that when he was young, he and his father lived outside the prison-tower, but he is nearly a man now. He cannot remember the feeling of the sun on his skin, and he craves it desperately.
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There is only one window in the prison-tower. Daedalus has claimed that room for his workshop, and Icarus is banned from entering.
He claims it's to protect his inventions, but Icarus knows the truth. He remembers the day the sun was stolen from him better than the day he was locked away.
Daedalus had slept in, and the window was unlocked. If he leaned, leaned farther and farther, he could almost feel the sun's first rays -
His father grabs him back from where he nearly fell out the window. He is never allowed in that room again. Icarus tries not to resent his father's love and wishes he had been allowed to lean out the window just a few seconds more.
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His father has come up with yet another plan to escape. He should find a way to busy himself until it is time to attempt and fail once again. Perhaps he will try to write a poem. An ode to Apollo would be nice.
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There are no shrines in the prison-tower. Daedalus accepts no God but himself.
Icarus hums a half-remembered lullaby and prays to Apollo. All he wants is to see sunlight again.
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His father has built wings of wax. Icarus feels his mouth go dry. Daedalus has gone half-mad in his imprisonment, but surely he can see the obvious flaws here?
He does not. He builds wings of wax and says they will fly away in the morning.
Icarus dreams of warmth.
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His father builds prisons. A prison for the bull-beast, a prison for his son, a prison for himself. His genius is all he has left of himself, and he relies on it to the point of stupidity. They could have escaped years ago if Daedalus need not be so clever.
Does the Minotaur also dream of seeing a sunrise?
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The wings almost work. Gods bless his father's soul, the wings almost work.
The sunrise is as beautiful as he had always imagined it. The rays of light warm him where they fall and he nearly cries tears of joy. The glittering light on the ocean dances and Icarus wants to dance with it.
"Icarus, you're flying too low! Get back up here!"
He flies up again and cannot stop himself from singing, though his song has no words.
And then he sees the sun itself. Apollo riding across the sky.
To say that Apollo is beautiful is to state the obvious. But for Icarus, the sun has been his only desire, far outweighing freedom. He needs the sun more than he needs to breathe.
Icarus flies towards the sun.
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Apollo notices him when Icarus is halfway between the ocean and the chariot. It is so very far up, and Icarus grows weary quickly - muscles weak from years of doing nothing more strenuous than pace for hours on end.
But Apollo notices him. He does a double take, then breaks out into laughter, nearly swerving the chariot in his mirth. Icarus is invigorated, and flys ever faster.
Apollo, his dear Apollo, beckons him closer with a wide grin. Some of the feathers start to fall. He can hear a melodic voice, though he can't make out the words. The wings start creaking. Apollo looks him directly in the eyes and his heart sings. He can hear his father screaming.
The wings fail when he is less than an arm's length away from the chariot. Apollo's eyes widen, panicked. He lets go of the reins and lunges to catch Icarus' hand, but he's just a second too late. Icarus is falling, falling, falling towards the sea.
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Daedalus tries to catch him. His father did love him, after all. But Icarus got too close to the waves, and Daedalus - afraid - pulled back.
That's the difference between him and his father. His father wasn't willing to die for love.
Icarus dies on impact.