Darkness enveloped him.
For once, not the suffocating black of his cell, nor the fleeting shadows of torchlight beneath a torturer's hood—this was absence. A void so complete it smothered sound, scent, even the memory of touch. Icarus floated in it, unmoored, his thoughts adrift like embers in a dead sky.
Is this death?
The question should have terrified him. After years of begging for oblivion, he'd finally been granted it—not by mercy, but by the crushing weight of a beast's paw upon those who showed him kindness. Here, in this nothingness, he felt neither relief nor fear. Only a hollowed-out weariness, as if his very soul had been scoured raw.
Sable.
Her name surfaced through the numbness, dragging with it fragments of sensation: the cool press of her fingers on his cheek, the way her multicolored hair shimmered like a blade under moonlight. The recognition in her impossible magenta eyes when she'd whispered his name—his name, though it had meant nothing to him.
Icarus.
A shudder wracked his incorporeal form. He had no lungs to breathe, no throat to scream, yet the memory of her voice ignited something brittle and aching in the core of him.
She'd held answers—his past, his childhood, the reason they'd been caged like animals, carved open like specimens.
And what does that mean now?
The question festered. He was nothing. Less than nothing—a hollowed-out tool stitched together for reasons unspoken. Yet she'd fought for him. Risked herself. And when the Beast had come, she'd forced Icarus away, rather than use him as a shield.
His nonexistent fists clenched. He should have stayed. Should have fought. Instead, he'd run, time and time again—scrambling like a rat through the dark, leaving others to die in his place.
Coward.
His self-loathing was interrupted by pinpricks of light. Faint at first, like distant stars through a shroud of smoke, they pulsed in time with the sluggish echo of a heartbeat. My heartbeat? He had no body here, yet the rhythm was unmistakable—a drumbeat of life stubbornly refusing to fade.
The lights grew brighter, closer, resolving into jagged streaks of blue and violet. They called to him, not with sound, but with a pull as inexorable as gravity.
Icarus resisted.
Every instinct screamed that these lights were not salvation, but another kind of trap. Hadn't he suffered enough? Hadn't he earned the right to dissolve into nothing?
Yet the lights persisted, their glow intensifying until they seared through the dark like molten glass. The pull became a yank, and suddenly, Icarus was no longer floating.
He was falling.
The void tore open around him, and sensation returned in a nauseating flood—pressure, heat, the feeling of being compressed and stretched simultaneously, as if his flesh were being sieved through the eye of a needle.
Then—
Stone scraped against his bare arms as he tumbled onto unyielding ground, his body convulsing as air rushed back into his lungs. The gasp he sucked in was half scream, the sudden return of sensation overwhelming after the void's embrace.
For several heartbeats, he could do nothing but lie there, limbs splayed like a broken doll, his chest heaving as he fought to reorient himself.
Alive. Still alive.
The realization was a knife between the ribs. Against all odds, he lived. But not by his own strength. He hadn't escaped. Hadn't won. The universe had simply spat him back out onto another space—even the void no longer wanted him. Guilt suffocated his every whim, drowning out any sense of calm he held, and tears carved tracks through the grime on his face as he fought desperately to keep his composure.
They should've left him behind. He knew it in his gut. Shrew had tried to warn her, but she would not listen, too desperate to save the ghost of a boy who no longer lived. He was no Icarus. Just a hollowed-out tool, discarded once the edge dulled.
And their fate—was his doing.
A soul-crushing weight pressed down, smothering the last fragile shred of calm he'd clung to. His shoulders shook as he curled into a ball and let exhaustion drag him under.
---
Time passed, and gradually, the boy emerged from his hollowed state. His throat dry, his breaths came ragged, and slowly, he found the strength to open his eyes.
Darkness. Not like before, but a thick, cloying blackness broken only by a faint blue glow emanating from somewhere to his left. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and something else—something metallic, like old blood and lightning.
Pushing himself onto his elbows, Icarus winced as fresh pain lanced through his ribs. His body was a tapestry of bruises and half-healed wounds, his skin clammy with sweat and grime. The tattered remains of his shirt clung to him, stiff with dried blood.
Sable's blood?
The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea through him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the image of her crumpled form beneath the Beast's claws.
She's dead. Because of you.
A tremor ran through him. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright, swaying as dizziness threatened to send him back to the ground. The blue glow came from a pool of water a few paces away, its surface shimmering as if lit from within. The light cast eerie reflections on the cavern walls, revealing jagged stalactites hanging like fangs from the ceiling.
The chamber was larger than he'd first realized—a domed cavity with walls slick with moisture and veined with phosphorescent moss. Strange, spindly plants clung to crevices, their translucent leaves pulsing faintly in sync with the water's glow. Icarus stared, momentarily transfixed by his new reality.
A cavern? How did I get here?
Memories of the wayshrine erupting with light surfaced—the way it had sucked him in. It must've been a transporter of some kind.
But then—
He eyed the space behind him warily, uncertain of what to expect. Could the Beast...could it follow him here? He remembered the void, the way it stretched and pulled him in all directions, and knew deep down that couldn't be the case. Something must've gone awry when the wayshrine shattered. This place—it felt unnatural. Alive.
A skittering sound interrupted his thoughts.
Icarus spun, heart hammering, as something small and many-legged scuttled into the shadows. The creature moved too quickly to identify, but the glimpse of its chitinous carapace—iridescent and segmented like polished obsidian—sent a primal shudder down his spine.
Not alone. But definitely not the Beast. Still...
The realization should have terrified him. After years of isolation, the idea of sharing space with anything should have sent him scrambling to flee again.
Yet, perversely, the presence of life—not actively attempting to maim him—eased something in his chest. He wasn't in a cell. Wasn't strapped to a table. For the first time in what might have been years, he was somewhere real. Somewhere beyond the confines of others.
He was free.
The thought was intoxicating.
He took an unsteady step forward, then another, his bare feet pressing into cool, uneven stone. The pool beckoned, its glow intensifying as he approached, as if aware of his presence.
Crawling to the edge, Icarus gazed into the gleaming reflection. A young man stared back at him—eyes pale grey and bloodshot, hair black and unkempt, face gaunt from malnourishment. Bruises marred his skin, and he noticed a small, thin trail of black stretching down his collar—
Eyes wide with shock, he grasped at both ends of his shirt and tore apart the fabric without a second thought. Stunned, he gaped at the twisted horror before him.
A dark set of intricate symbols lay seared on his chest in unrecognizable patterns. Black like obsidian, the lettering was torched deep and precise, as if someone had taken a hot iron the size of a needle and surgically marked him until the soft flesh was left charred.
This was no ordinary torture. This was a branding.
A deep, unsettling rage ignited within him, a bloodcurdling fire that coursed through his veins. A yearning for rectification. A yearning for justice.
An agonized roar burst from his lips as Icarus lunged to the nearest wall, pounding his fist against the stone with all his might. An overwhelming wave of hurt and fury consumed him.
You bastards. You lunatics. You wicked, filthy—
A loud snap echoed through the cavern as his knuckles broke, but he didn't care. The pain was nothing compared to the torment he'd long grown accustomed to. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he battered his head against the rough stone, blood trickling down his face.
Why do this to me? To us?!
Moments passed in silence, his breath ragged as he rested his head against his knees, mumbling to himself in blind resentment. A dark cloud came over his heart. When I find who did this to me, to us...
The glowing water shimmered in response, as if listening, and a dull ache throbbed in his chest. Grimacing, he reached up to touch it with a shattered hand, the knuckles refusing to bend.
Sighing, Icarus tore his shredded shirt into strips of cloth, wrapping them around his bleeding hand and head. He needed to focus, to gather his bearings, to figure out what to do next.
He peered back at the shimmering waterbed, deliberating his options. Lost in thought, he barely caught himself about to plunge into the liquid, drawn to it inexplicably. Curious, he crouched down and dipped a hand beneath the surface. The liquid was thicker than water, cool as mountain snow yet humming with a strange buzz of energy. Where his fingers disturbed the surface, tendrils of light curled upward like searching vines.
Unable to stop himself, he cupped a handful of it with his good hand and gulped down the liquid, his instincts overpowering any sense as his coarse throat rasped for reprieve. The effect was instantaneous.
Waves of relief spread over him, soon quelling his aching hand, and the pain in his ribs dulled to a throb. Desperate for further reprieve, Icarus bathed his face in the peculiar liquid, gulping down what he could and taking a moment to wash away the blood.
Once full, Icarus took a moment to peer more closely at the pool, scanning for the source of its glow. He noticed a small clump of crystals littering the bottom. They were small, almost like jagged pieces of shattered glass. Their soft blue hue glimmered beautifully in the dark.
Intrigued, he plunged headfirst into the liquid. Diving to the bottom, Icarus tried to grasp one, but it was sturdier than expected. After some struggle, it finally broke loose. Once back to the surface, he rolled the strange shard between his fingers and searched its surface for the source of its glow.
What the hell is this?
Running his thumb along its length, he realized too late the full sharpness of its edge and watched as a small point nicked his finger. A blotch of blood smeared the glassy texture, and the shard almost seemed to pulse in response. A timid buzzing filled his ears, and for a moment, Icarus forgot where he was as he stared at the crystal.
A sense of foreboding crept over him, the crystal's glow casting an eerie light on his bruised skin, and he realized with a start that the strange ring Sable had given him was pulsing softly with green light in sync. With a shudder, Icarus tore his eyes away.
This reeks of magick.
Resisting the urge to simply toss the shard, Icarus licked his thumb clean and decided to explore the cavern further. As he paced along the walls, their curvature narrowed sharply, revealing an opening about eight feet wide. He followed it cautiously, the shard providing a faint light to guide him, and soon found himself in a mossy tunnel. Weighing his options, Icarus pressed forward, hoping to find a way out while keeping an eye out for any signs of life.
Minutes passed in tense silence, broken only by a faint squeaking echo from beyond his view. He glanced around, spotting nothing but the rocky tunnel stretching ahead. The air grew thicker and fouler with each step, the stench so rancid that even breathing through his mouth couldn't keep the taste at bay. The squeaking grew louder, almost deafening, yet still, there was no sign of life.
Then it hit him. Raising the shard, Icarus shone it upward, and his heart plummeted.
Dozens of small, pitch-black eyes stared back at him from the ceiling.
All hell broke loose. The squeaks turned into ear-splitting shrieks as countless furry shapes dropped from above, swarming him in a chaotic frenzy. Icarus bolted, his legs straining as he sprinted down the tunnel, the creatures close on his heels. Pain tore through his back as their sharp claws raked across his skin, slicing at his arms and legs.
They're trying to tear me apart!
He swatted wildly as he ran, but his panic led him to stumble over a steep gap in the floor. He barely caught himself on the edge, rolling across the hard ground and losing his grip on the shard. Bats descended on him in a frenzy, their teeth gnawing on his skin as Icarus screamed in pain and terror.
Desperate, he grabbed a nearby rock and swung it with all his might. The satisfying crunch of impact was drowned out by the bats' furious shrieks, but Icarus kept swinging, refusing to go down without a fight.
Through the chaos, he noticed a faint glow from the crevice where he'd stumbled.
There!
Icarus lunged for the light, tumbling into the narrow space and covering himself as the bats attempted to follow. To his relief, the shard's light seemed to repel them. They shrieked and scrambled away, unable to bear the brightness.
How much more must I endure—give me a goddamn break.
Icarus quickly began sharpening his brittle rock against the wall, frustration oozing from him as his mind raced for a solution. Running was no longer an option—there were too many of them.
He needed to change that.
Dimming the shard in his pocket, Icarus formulated a plan. Come on, I can do this. As soon as the light faded, a bat hurled itself into the crevice beside him, its teeth gnashing at the air. Snapping himself out of his fear, he swung his makeshift weapon and pierced the creature against the stone floor. It lay still, much to his surprise.
Encouraged, Icarus prepared for the next wave.
One by one, the bats came tumbling into his trap, and one by one, he slew them all. His heart pounded as he fought, resisting the urge to vomit as the furry imps fell limp at his feet. A small part of him felt hope, while another reveled in sadistic relief. Soon enough, the swarm outside began to dwindle, some losing interest while others met their end by his hand.
Eventually, the tunnel fell silent.
Slowly, Icarus crawled out from the crevice, waiting for any sign of movement. Satisfied that the danger had passed, he began to retreat back toward the glowing waterbed, the only familiar place in this forsaken cavern. But as he pressed a hand against his wounds, a groan escaped his lips, and a single bat along the ceiling took notice. It squeaked, baring its fangs, and in an instant, the remaining others turned toward him as well.
Just my bloody luck.
Icarus dashed down the tunnel, the bats quickly matching his pace. Pain shot through his back as one sank its teeth deep into his shoulder. Icarus swung his rock, cracking its skull, but the damage was done—his vision grew spotty, and his legs shuddered with a penetrating cold.
Could they be venomous? He wondered, already fearing the answer.
Icarus barely made it back to the glowing chamber, swinging at the last few bats with what little strength he had left. One after another, they fell, until only one remained. Icarus grabbed it just as it sank its fangs into his palm, tearing into the muscle. Stunned, he dropped the shard and dove them both into the waterbed, dragging the bat with him in a venomous rage.
He'd reached his limit.
With all the strength he could muster, Icarus gripped its wriggling neck and squeezed like a maniac, until he felt a crippling snap resound beneath his broken fingers. The bat went limp, and he let it float away as Icarus slowly drifted back to the surface, his body trembling uncontrollably. A deep numbness seeped into every fiber of his being, and he couldn't stop the shivers that quickly wracked his shredded frame.
I did it. I actually did it.
A great cloud came over his thoughts. Icarus began to chuckle to himself, watching the blue hue of the ceiling. At least I wasn't totally helpless this time. A weak smirk trailed his lips as he waited for the inevitable to take hold, annoyed at the faint buzzing trickling over his skin. It was sheepish, and sent a dull wave of shivers down his chest, reminding him of the encounter with the shard.
What a poor life, he thought. To attain such a small glimmer of freedom, only to die in this pit alone. The sadness of it all made him mourn for what he could've had. The life he could've lived. And lived it, he would have.
Is that so?
A small wave of ticklish energy coaxed his belly, and a deep voice echoed in the back of his mind, but Icarus took little notice in his hazy thoughts. To see a world outside my prison, repay my debt to Sable, to Shrew, perhaps even start a family.
And what of your old one?
A realization struck him like the crack of thunder. The voice was right. He did have a family. Sable was his family. Sable and—Gavin—Cia, Bart, Jenny—
Names, faces, colors and sensations both new and old flooded across his mind's eye as the primordial depths of a consciousness as old as the stars brushed up against his own. It showed him a living tapestry, unraveling as his pulse flickered, from the second he was born to the moment of his death, he saw and lived it all like a dream relayed in mere moments. A fate deprived of any growth. Any justice. An insignificant death that would mean the end for countless others in his absence. Khaos.
No. I think not.
The faint buzzing grew louder and louder, vibrating within his very being, and there grew a rumbling in his belly. Icarus was hungry, oh so hungry.
Spreading his lips, Icarus submerged himself, wandering mindlessly in a guile of near delusion as a swirl of glimmering colors danced before his very eyes. So hungry. So tired. Please. He wanted more.
He needed more.
Peace. Remember yourself.
The water began to smolder; popping full of bubbles as a blaze of energy swirled to life inside the waterbed. The glow of the surrounding fauna dimmed and flickered, the air itself rippling as a force unlike any other began to draw on the energies in the cave. Draining the bioluminescence of the walls, the color from gems along the earth and the life from the critters within the ground, from anything too weak to pull away.
Tell me, child. Do you wish for another fate?
The entity spoke from within Icarus, from around him in ways unexplainable to his feeble mind. Yet he felt no fear, for he understood its intentions however invasive they may be. It offered power. With this, a part of him grew saddened. Saddened that he could not continue further on his own, but presented with this opportunity, he knew it was the better option.
Yes.
A burst of white light shot up near his feet, and a primitive instinct took hold of him, ensnaring any sense of restraint; but Icarus did not mind. He silently watched himself stretch out both hands like a mother reaching for her babe, and something in his core broke apart with a shudder.
The markings on his chest ignited, searing through the darkness like a brand fresh from the forge.
A darting cloud of fizzling bubbles rushed up to greet him, and suddenly—Icarus felt a wave of cackling energy urgently seep into his body with a loud hum. It surged within his chest, streaking down his legs, racing up his arms, coaxing his very skin and igniting a searing fire upon his broken hand with a flame hotter than any sun, and yet—no torment overcame him. In fact, he felt euphoria. A sweet, delicious euphoria.
For the first time in his life, there was no pain.
There was power.
And then suddenly—it was gone.
A hollow laugh escaped him. Of course.
Now, that truly is a shame.
…