The sky shimmered with molten gold, each ray of sunlight trembling like a held breath across the endless blue. Wisps of cloud drifted lazily, trailing like silk across a canvas too perfect, too still.
A hush clung to the air — suspended between serenity and something just beneath, waiting. Then, the light cracked, and silence flinched.
"Don't fly too low — the sea will soak your wings," Daedalus reminded Icarus as he strapped the wings on.
"Don't fly too high — the sun will melt the wax," he added. But his words didn't reach Icarus, he must touch the sun — he must reach you.
The labyrinth began before he could remember — Icarus, along with his father had been imprisoned in the same labyrinth his father made to appease King Minos of Crete. Icarus blamed Daedalus. After all if his father didn't betray the king he could've taken over his craftsmanship and become great just like him.
Now all Icarus could do is watch his father craft things as he watched the sun go up and over before hiding once more. Sure, the Minotaur was dead. However it meant nothing if his life was locked away here.
Which wasn't the worst part, the worst part was that he couldn't be with you. You see, Icarus had been obsessed with the sun. Before getting trapped in the labyrinth with his father the old man would bring him to the temples to bring offerings to the goddess of the sun — you.
Ever since then he's been enamored, obsessed, in love with your beauty, generosity, and wisdom. He's been in a state of pure bliss and limerence. His eyes would shine whenever somebody would mention you. Icarus would touch the sun.
He will be with you. He will reach you.
So when his father had enough, when the old man told him he'd find a way for them to escape and that he'd build two pairs of wings so that they could fly — he was ecstatic. Not to escape the land of Crete and King Minos — but because he could meet you.
Daedalus' words rang in his ears. He knew he needed to obey his father, but as he took to the skies with the wings made out of wax and feathers, he could feel the sun — he could feel you.
Therefore he disobeyed. He went off track — he went towards you. Up to the sky. Up to the sun. He knew the agony he would face as the sun melted the wax of the wings, he knew he would burn into flames.
As he fell, he knew he'd do it for the sun.
As hot burning wax slithered down his spine, as seductive kisses of agony peppered his skin and every muscle.
He laughed. Because where he saw beauty, others saw pain. Even Dionysus would marvel at his insanity.
There is no beauty without pain.
When he plunged into the ocean, waiting for judgment in the land of Hades, he knew others would ask if it was worth it to fall for the sun.
He would answer with a smile yes.
Yes it was worth it.
However he didn't wake up in the land of the dead. He woke up exactly where he prayed every night to wake up. In your arms. Mount Olympus was beautiful. Still it didn't compare to your beauty. As his eyes fluttered open he could feel he was wrapped in the softness of many silks.
The heavenly confines of your bed. It felt like he was ascending into a different level of joy. Your eyes sparkled like the sun you ruled over. Your skin was as soft as clouds. He would've fallen a thousand times more if this is what it brought. He glanced down at his chest, bare.
It made sense considering how close he got to you — the sun. The room was stunning. It made sense. You were the best deity. Mount Olympus didn't deserve you in his (not so humble) opinion.
"I've made it... Haven't I?" He asked softly, out of breath almost. He slowly sat up in bed. His eyes never leaving your form that was sitting on an elegant divan beside the bed. It didn't matter if you saved him, or if your presence was a reward for facing the ball of fire head on — what mattered is that you were here with him now. What happened to him wasn't a tragedy — as the melting point of this wax wings meant nothing if it brought him to you.