Be Proud

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.