A first, Icarus saw a single feather.
It was calming, falling slowly as it swayed back and forth in what looked to be a calming breeze. It didn't seem to be encased in the angry gusts of wind that had carried Icarus towards the sun.
The sun was beating down on him. It felt as if the sun was resting upon his back, grappling him and burning every inch. He could feel himself sweating; he cold feel it beneath his wings and beneath his chiton. He was too hot, much too hot.
His father had warned him not to fly too close to the sun, but how close was too close?
Soon after the first feather, came another. And then another, and another and another, until Icarus was surrounded in a hurricane of disorganised, multicoloured feathers. He couldn't see much, they were forming a tower around him; trapping him in and not letting him go.
So the tower could still hurt him.
"Icarus!" He heard his father yell. "Icarus, flap the wings! Come down!"
He tried. He'd tried before, earlier. But it was no use. No matter how much he flapped his arms like a deranged bird, no matter how much he tried, Icarus couldn't do it. He could still feel hands grabbing his arms, even though he couldn't see them. They were keeping him there, too close to the sun.
For a moment, Icarus thought he saw a face in the wind. It was sneering, smiling, enjoying his panic. It was almost laughing, its' eyes wild and nerving. They was enjoying this. Icarus' fear.
You forget that I am a god Icarus, I have seen things like this happen before. I know how it usually ends and I know how the gods like to play cruel games with mortals for their own amusement.
Was this Icarus' cruel game?
Who's game was it?
Who's cruel game was Icarus a meaningless pawn in?
Don't worry Icarus, a callous voice said to him. You're not meaningless. You're the centrepiece.
The face was gone, as were the hands on his forearms. The wind was slowing down, it had faded into a calming breeze, like the breeze he felt when he first visited the beach with Apollo, and Icarus almost breathed a sigh of relief. He grabbed ahold of the joysticks and tried to manoeuvre downwards towards his father, but he still couldn't.
Why?
He looked to his wings, and saw nothing more than their bare skeletons. Nothing more than dripping wax, a few determined, sparsely-spaced feathers and the wooden frame that should be holding everything together.
Icarus' heartbeat increased once again, and he realised he was falling.
It felt slower than he thought it would. He could barely feel the wind rushing through his hair, he could barely hear the snapping and cracking of the wings' frame, nor could he barely hear the panicked cries of his father as he tried to fly towards him.
The wind in his hair felt nice. It was cooling against the sun and wax that had been burning his back. It reminded him of every moment he sat alone on the window ledge of Minos' tower, praying for some kind of deliverance. Yet, it also reminded him of every moment he sat on the window ledge next to Apollo; he remembered the feeling of Apollo's soft fingers running through his hair, he could remember the feeling of his head against Apollo's chest, listening to his heartbeat.
In those moments, he almost felt human.
"Apollo!" He called out as he fell. "Apollo! Please! Where are you!"
Apollo.
People mutter his name all the time; it's like a quiet buzz in the back of his mind. It's something that comes with being the god of so many things, his name is uttered so often it doesn't feel valuable anymore.
Usually, the mutterings are quiet. Most of the time they're difficult to make out, he wouldn't have heard Icarus if it hadn't been for his desperation, but sometimes the words were clear. As clear as day. Usually, people aren't as desperate for his help as they think, and so they're pleas are hushed; but when people are truly desperate, when they're plights are true, they're cries are loud and clear. They couldn't be more clear.
He was sat with Artemis on Mount Olympus when he first heard Icarus' voice.
They'd been sat together, with their feet dipped in the water of one of the many mountain streams, when he heard a cry so loud and clear he immediately rose to his feet.
Artemis looked to him in confusion. Apollo stayed silent and waited to hear the cry once again. And he did; just as loud, just as clear, just as desperate.
He looked around, trying to determine which direction it was coming from.
"Apollo?" Artemis said, her voice laced thick with concern. "Is something wrong? What happened?"
"I can hear someone." Apollo muttered, just loud enough for Artemis to hear. She frowned. "It's so loud, so clear, but I can't tell where it's coming from. It's...everywhere."
"Everywhere?" She furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean it's everywhere?"
"The voice...it's all around me. It's to my left, it's to my right, it's below me, it's...above me."
Above me.
Why would it be above me?
People can't fly.
Unless...
"Icarus!" He exclaimed, as he began to run.
Artemis began running after her brother, but she was struggling to keep up. He was erratic, running faster than she'd ever seen him. He was panicked. "Apollo! What about Icarus? What's happened?"
"I don't know." He lied. He knew what had happened. "But he needs me."
Apollo jumped into the air and left Artemis on the ground, staring at him in disbelief. She'd never seen him so worried before, so out of breath. Not since Hyacinthus at least.
Not again, she thought as she watched him go, Please not again.
How could he forget?
How could it slip his mind?
How could he not be there?
Icarus.
Apollo cursed himself over and over again as he flew towards where he could only guess Icarus' cries were coming from.
Apollo didn't even know where he was, so how could he help him?
He had warned Icarus about the dangers this plan presented. He warned him about what could happen. He'd told him.
I have seen things like this happen before. I know how it usually ends and I know how the gods like to play cruel games with mortals for their own amusement.
His own words were coming back to bite him.
Sometimes, it pained him to be right.
This was a situation in which he didn't want to be. He had wished upon every star in the sky that he would be wrong. He wanted Icarus to be free, he wanted Icarus to see Athens, Sparta and the rest of Greece. The rest of the world. He wanted Icarus to live, but he shouldn't have wanted it now, he realised. Everything he'd ever wanted had been taken from him- this was his mistake. Possibly his greatest.
"Icarus!" He called out. Crete couldn't be too far now. "Icarus where are you!"
He could still hear the wild screaming. It was louder now, deafening. He had to be nearby.
Apollo looked up towards the sun, towards Helios and the golden chariot. Where is he Helios? Where is Icarus? Can you see him?
There were a few moments of silence, almost enough for Apollo to think that his pleas had fallen on deaf ears, until Helios replied. He came to close, he was caught on the wind. He fell, towards the ocean. You best hope Poseidon is feeling merciful.
And he was gone, and Apollo froze.
You best hope Poseidon is feeling merciful.
When is he ever?
But then he thought-
He was caught on the wind.
Caught on the wind?
What did he mean, caught on the wind?
He couldn't mean...
No.
Maybe?
Zephyros.
Then, he snapped and dived downwards towards the ocean surface. If he had fallen into the ocean, surely there was a possibility that he was still alive.
"Icarus!" He called out once again, skimming the water's surface. "Icarus, where are you? Call out to me!"
He listened out for Icarus voice in his head, and it was barely there. He could just about hear it, gargling at the back of his mind, still crying out for help, but he was less understandable now. It was hard to make out what he was saying, and it was even harder to hear him.
"Apollo!" He heard someone call, though it wasn't Icarus. "Apollo!"
It was Daedalus, looking just as frantic as he was. His face was tight in worry and his eyes wet in frustration. He came flying towards him on his wings and slowed down as he came closer.
"Daedalus, where's Icarus?" Apollo asked, his toes dipping in and out of the cold water. "I could hear him calling out in my head, but I can't see him."
"He got caught in the wind." Daedalus replied, his voice tight. "He flew too close to the sun, the wax on his wings melted. I've been trying to find him, but I can't. I can't see him anywhere."
The grave nature of Daedalus' voice was telling, and it made Apollo's heart rise from his chest into his throat. If he wasn't anywhere to be seen, then where could he be?
"He couldn't have gone far, surely." Apollo said, trying to convince both himself and Daedalus that Icarus was alive. And by the look on both of their faces, it wasn't working. "He has to be around here somewhere."
"I don't think so." Daedalus replied softly. "I saw him fall Apollo. I saw him. He fell from the sky- I tried to save him but I couldn't get to him in time- and he disappeared into the ocean. I don't think he's here anymore."
Apollo placed a hand on Daedalus' shoulder in comfort, but whether he was trying to comfort himself or Daedalus he couldn't tell. His eyes were growing wet.
"I'll ask Poseidon for help. I'll ask him if he knows where Icarus is, and we best hope he's feeling good natured."
Daedalus was frowning, and Apollo was almost sure he was too.
Poseidon, please. Apollo begged. I know we've never been particularly close, and I know we've never really liked each other, but I just need one favour from you, and I'll do something for you in return. I need you to find Icarus for me, please. Tell me where he is, show me his body- anything.
There oceans stayed silent, and Daedalus looked at him expectantly.
"He's not responding." Apollo told him, heavy-heartedly. "I'm sorry, I'll keep trying-"
I'm sorry, a deep voice rumbled from the seabed. I can't give you the news you wanted. Thanatos has come for him.
And Apollo looked below, and saw Icarus' body floating to the surface.