Beyond the Sun

The sun hadn’t risen yet, when Icarus stood at the cliffs of Crete, staring down into the dark ocean below. Already he could feel the howling wind pushing at him, encouraging him to finally go for the jump. A gust brushed through the soft feathers of the wings, he wore on his back, delicate yet strong.

His father’s hands worked swiftly, ensuring every piece was where it belonged, strapped tightly against his body. Daedalus’ eyes, sharp and calculating, never left his son’s face while speaking. “Remember Icarus,” he admonished for the third time, his voice low. “Don’t fly too high or the sun will melt the wax.”

The young man couldn’t refrain from rolling his eyes at the repeated warning. “I got it the first time,” he muttered under his breath, not wanting to waste any more time on unnecessary alerts. After all, he would be the first man to fly. Over the ocean, nonetheless.

Giving his son a stern look, Daedalus continued his speech. “And don’t fly too low or else the feathers will soak up the excess seawater, making your wings too heavy to stay in the air.”

A loud sigh escaped the younger’s lips as he nodded reluctantly. “Yes, Father,” he gave in, voice showing his annoyance and impatience. He had enough of all these lectures, but the more he protested, the longer he would have to wait to try out this brilliant invention.

The old man’s gaze softened a bit at his son’s words. “I’m just worried, Icarus,” he spoke in a tender tone, carrying all the warmth he had left, after witnessing so many cruel things in his life. “I know that you often tend to chase the wind without thinking of what might lie ahead,” he continued voice trembling slightly, showcasing his deep concern.

“But one wrong move could seal your fate,” he grabbed Icarus’ arm, desperate to get his point across. “I don’t even want to imagine what life would be like if you — ” his voice broke off, leaving the sentence unfinished, as though saying the words aloud would give them power. His grip tightened, not in anger, but in fear, knuckles turning white.

Icarus finally looked at his father, really looked at him — worry was etched on his face, dark circles shadowed his eyes, remnants of all the sleepless nights he had spent working for the king, like a slave. Years under suppression had aged him before his time, his once-vibrant spirit dimmed by the weight of endless demands. Daedalus was only a shell of the man he once was.

The son watched his father’s shoulders slump, weighed down by all the burdens he had carried in his life. He knew the man and his brilliant mind; knew of all the sacrifices he had made to stay alive. But survival wasn’t everything, it wasn’t living — it was just existing.

And it was time for both of them to finally live. It was time to get away from this prison called the labyrinth. Time to leave Minos, and the kingdom Crete behind and start a new life.

“We should go before this tyrant of a king finds out about our escape plan,” Icarus finally broke the silence, his voice gentle but determined.

Daedalus nodded, putting on his own wings and securing them before stepping towards the cliff’s edge. Just when his son wanted to jump, he stopped him, holding him back with his hand once more.

“Promise me that you’ll be careful,” he looked at him with pleading eyes. “Once we are in the air, I can’t do anything to help you.”

“I promise,” Icarus said, though his gaze had already drifted to the horizon, where the sun was slowly rising, warming his tanned skin.

~ ☀︎ ~

Over the howling wind, Icarus made out distant yells of the king’s guards. They were coming after them already. Somehow the king must have gotten word of their escape plan. Looking over his shoulder he could see the men closing in on them. His gaze travelled back to the blue sea, shimmering in the first light of the sun.

It was now or never, and he’d be damned if he let them capture him again. He would rather die than face the chains of imprisonment once more. Freedom — his greatest desire, his deepest craving — was worth any risk, any price. And he would do whatever it took to claim it.

He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and leapt from the cliff, arms spread wide to let the wings catch the air. His heart pounded against his chest, filled with anxiety and adrenaline. Closing his eyes, he braced himself for the harsh impact on the water’s surface.

To his immense relief and astonishment, the fall never came. Carefully, he pried one eye open to check if he was plummeting. When he realized he wasn’t he opened the other one as well, looking around in pure amazement. He couldn’t believe it — he was actually flying! His father’s invention really worked. Not that he’d doubted him, of course, but the thought of a man soaring through the sky had always seemed so impossible.

He moved his arms cautiously, mimicking the motion of a bird’s wings, testing if the contraption would respond. To his absolute delight, the wings flapped, catching the air with surprising ease. He could feel the way his body moved higher into the sky at the motion.

A radiant laugh vibrated in his chest as he soared through the air — the feeling absolutely exhilarating. He had never felt so free before. Every shackle binding him was left behind on the island, filling him with a lightness he never knew existed.

In this moment it was just him and the soft breeze carrying him across the ocean. Nothing else existed in his own little paradise — the rest of the world shut out completely.

Daedalus was right behind him, his eyes never leaving Icarus, watching him closely. However, the young man didn’t care, hardly even noticing his father’s presence. He was totally lost in the sensation of weightlessness, feeling as if nothing could ever pull him back to the earth.

Continuing his flight, Icarus was completely unaware of a certain god’s watchful eyes, hidden high above, silently observing his every movement. It was Apollo himself, who took an interest in the young lad, who was gliding through the sky, without a single care in the world.

He watched the boy laugh into the wind, drawn in by his pure, innocent joy. The way his body moved in the air with an elegance that seemed to defy nature itself. Every beat of his wings, every twist and turn, was a dance — a rebellion against the laws of the earth, a defiant, beautiful expression of freedom.

The god of the sun found himself entranced by the boy’s beauty. He was mesmerized by the way his lips curved in laughter, the way his dark lashes closed when blinking against the wind, and the way his tanned skin glowed with the touch of sunlight. Every movement seemed to carry a grace Apollo could not help but admire — like the wind itself had sculpted the boy from its own currents.

There was no fear in his flight, no hesitation, only the unspoken promise of a new adventure. And Apollo couldn’t look away.

His heart, hardened by the years of godhood, softened at the sight. The longer he watched him, the faster an all-consuming longing formed in his chest, a certain possessiveness. He wanted to make him his — tame him, shape him and claim him.

The very thing that made Icarus wild and free was the same thing that stirred Apollo’s desire for control. The young man was beyond his reach, and the sun god couldn’t stand that. He didn’t just want Icarus; he needed him as if possessing the boy would fill some hollow part of himself, that immortality had created.

It was the same insatiable obsession that had consumed him before — first for Daphne, then Hyacinth, and later Cassandra. Their ultimate downfall was not fate but Apollo’s own unrelenting hunger and selfish yearning to claim what wasn’t meant for him. And now, just as many times before the shadow of ruin crept in, promising to bring yet another tragic end to an innocent soul.

~ ☀︎ ~

Out of the blue, Apollo started to materialise beside the young man, emerging from a cloud of golden mist that shimmered in the sunlight. His image flickered, almost as if it were conjured up only by Icarus’ imagination. Yet, the god’s presence was undeniable, palpable in the way the air around him grew warmer and heavier. In truth, it was not Apollo himself but a projection — a mere fragment of the sun god’s divine essence, crafted from light and heat, visible only to Icarus.

The apparition floated effortlessly beside him, its gaze burning with an intensity that unsettled the boy. “Icarus,” it called his name in such a gentle and soothing voice, the exact opposite of the energy the god gave off.

The man snapped his head to the side, facing in the direction the voice came from, squinting against the glow. “Who are you?” he asked against the wind, his tone laced with confusion. It made no sense — why would he hear a voice here, in the open skies where only the wind and his own thoughts should exist?

Once his eyes adapted to the brightness, he made out a male figure, with features so sharp and flawless, that they couldn’t be mortal. Golden eyes met his and a small smile formed on the other’s face, that carried a hint of superiority.

The stranger looked him up and down, eyes lingering on him as though he was his prey, ready to be caught any moment.

“Who am I?” the god repeated, a grin spreading across his lips. “Can’t you guess, dear?” he questioned, caressing the boy’s face with his hand, ignoring the flinch it caused. “I am Apollo,” he finally revealed, his tone melodic and smooth.

The words hung in the air for a moment, before Icarus’ eyes widened in pure shock. Apollo, the god of the sun, was right here. But why would he appear before him all of a sudden? What could he possibly want?

As if reading his thoughts, the higher being responded with a huge smirk, dark obsession glimmering in its eyes. “I want you to accompany me to Olympus, Icarus,” Apollo said, his voice low and rich with unspoken promises. “Such a beauty, as yourself shouldn’t waste their life in the mortal realm. You belong with me,” he growled, emanating dark possessiveness.

Icarus almost forgot to flap his wings, caught completely off guard by the god’s words. A nauseating feeling settled in his stomach as he took in the message. You belong with me. A cold shiver ran down his spine, dread filling his entire body. It was obvious what the god meant with those words. Apollo wanted to possess him, to control him, to make every part of his soul his.

And Icarus couldn’t imagine anything worse. To be bound to the god’s will, to live in the light but never truly be free, was a fate he couldn’t — and wouldn’t — accept. After all, he had sworn to himself to never let anyone take away his freedom ever again.

He met the god’s gaze calmly, defiance burning inside his chest like an untamed flame. “No,” he spoke loud and clear, his voice steady and unwavering.

The sky seemed to grow still for a moment as if even the wind held its breath. The god’s golden eyes darkened, something dangerous flickering behind them, but Icarus held his ground.

“I refuse to come with you,” he spoke up again. “I will not be your possession, Apollo.“

His words were sharp and final, however, the sun god only laughed at them, the sound mocking, echoing through the air. “You truly believe you have a choice, foolish mortal?” Apollo’s voice dripped with arrogance.

With a flick of his wrist, he summoned the sun to shine brighter, drawing Icarus into its force, and causing him to ascend higher into the sky. With each passing second he got closer to the god’s chariot, which was pulling the sun.

The air grew thick and heavy with oppressive warmth, his feathers beginning to singe at the edges. Slowly but surely, the wax started softening. Icarus rose higher and higher, the heat becoming unbearable. Apollo watched from above with a smile, knowing the young man would soon be his.

As Icarus neared the chariot, the wax holding his wings together, began to melt, dripping down his arms like hot tears. He watched, transfixed, as feathers loosened from his wings, falling away one by one. A grin spread across his face. His father had been right after all — the sun did melt the wax.

The warmth spread through him, consuming him, as more wax melted, running down his body in a slow, sticky trail. His wings, once strong and proud, were no longer able to hold him aloft. With a final crack, they broke apart completely. And instead of soaring higher, Icarus began to fall.

Apollo watched in pure horror as the distance between him and the boy began to grow. This wasn’t meant to happen. Icarus was supposed to be brought to Olympus, as a new source of entertainment for the god. What happened to possessing him? To breaking and shaping him into whatever Apollo desired? The god’s gaze darkened with frustration, his hands balling into fists as he watched the boy’s defiance turn into something more — a rebellion.

Icarus stared up at him, the god’s figure growing smaller and smaller as he plummeted downwards. But there was no fear in his eyes. Instead, a wide, triumphant smile spread across his face. “I’m not yours, Apollo. I never will be. I am free.” His voice rang clear, almost mocking in its clarity.

As Icarus continued to fall, he didn’t scream or fight against it. He laughed. A laugh of liberation, showing no sign of fear from his imminent end. The fall was not his undoing — it was his escape. In that final moment, he was free from the god’s grasp, free from the expectations of the world above. Free of everything and everyone that tried to control him, to dictate his life.

The wind rushed past him, and he fully embraced it, surrendering to the fall as though it were the very essence of freedom. Icarus understood, now more than ever, that even in death, he would never be controlled again, not by the gods, not by King Minos, not by his father. In his fall, he was finally liberated.

For a moment, it was as if time had slowed down, the entire world stretching out in front of him, a scenery of endless sky. He had soared higher than anyone had dared, farther than the gods had ever imagined.

“I did it,” he whispered to the wind, his voice a quiet laugh of satisfaction. “I actually did it.”

Closing his eyes, a happy smile spread across his face as he let himself relax at the feeling of the wind against his skin. “This,” he thought, “is what it means to truly live.”

He fell with grace, arms spread wide as if to welcome the ocean until he finally hit the water’s surface. The impact sent a cascade of waves outward, but there was no struggle, no cry of pain — only stillness.

The sea embraced him like an old friend, gently pulling his body under its covers. The waves moved quietly, carrying him deeper and deeper into its depths. As his lifeless form sank to the bottom of the ocean, his soul began to shine brightly, separating itself from the confines of the mortal body. It merged with the water dissolving into the current and tides, becoming one with the ocean.

Now, Icarus could roam wherever he wanted for eternity — finally having found his ultimate freedom.

The End

Copyright © Anna Trafoier, 2024. All rights reserved.