Fate/Defiance (Revised)
Chapter 2 - Pride and Prejudice
"Icarus, one more time," Daedalus said, his voice lined with weary patience.
"λάμ—owch! I bith mah tonge!" Icarus yelped, clutching his mouth as the sting flared. He had mangled the word again, and in the process, bitten his tongue raw.
For the hundredth time, he found himself sympathizing with Merlin. Casting spells really was impossible when your own mouth betrayed you.
Daedalus sighed, though not unkindly. "I know the Divine Words are difficult, but there is no shortcut. You must keep practicing."
Divine Words. To speak them was to command the fabric of the world itself—to order mana to one's will. But they were not meant for mortals. Their sounds belonged to the Age of Gods, alien to human tongues, razor-edged syllables that twisted the mouth and burned the throat.
Humans of the modern era were incapable of pronouncing them. Yet he wasn't a human of the modern era—there was a reason practice made perfect. And Icarus was nothing if not stubborn. He would master them, even if his tongue ended up scarred beyond use.
His past life's memories may have been his greatest advantage, but his second was his mindset—an adult's diligence inside a child's body. Unlike other boys, he could force himself to sit still, to drill one word for hours without pause.
Not to mention how much the sheer novelty of this world drove him.
Magic was real. Gods were real. The impossible had been made possible. How could he not throw himself at it with everything he had?
He could not get over it, no matter how much time passed, How cool was that? To see the impossible so plainly day after day?
As much as he loved being from his original time period, with processed foods, air conditioned rooms, and the internet.
…While it had been safe, and comfortable… it was stagnant.
The age of adventure was long gone, the maps filled in, the seas crossed. Even space—humanity's final frontier—was far too distant to touch in his lifetime. But here… here there was still discovery, the great unknown.
Here, the childlike hunger for discovery and curiosity and wonder blazed bright.
As his tongue throbbed, Daedalus drew him back with words.
"Since you cannot speak, then listen. Let me explain the Gods." He paused, as though weighing the importance of what came next. "There are twelve great deities—the Olympians. Each holds an Authority. Think of it as their divine right. Within their domain, their power is absolute."
He lifted a hand for emphasis. "Take Poseidon, Lord of the Seas. His Authorities are the sea itself, earthquakes, and even horses. To him, the waves are not commanded—they are part of his being. If he chose, he could raise a flood to drown all of Greece as easily as you or I move an arm."
Icarus paled. He had known this in his head—read it on wikis in another life—but hearing it from his father's lips, spoken as fact, made it all the more real… and it chilled him to the bone.
"…and no one could stop him?" he asked, voice becoming hoarse, with the nervousness in his tone breaking through even the pain of his mouth.
Daedalus' expression hardened. "Do not question the Gods, Icarus. Their existence is beyond us. Their wisdom is not for mortals to probe. Compared to them, we are ants."
The severity in his tone made Icarus falter, but Daedalus softened slightly as he continued. "That said, I only used Poseidon as an example. Were he to flood Greece, Zeus himself would surely intervene. But again—what are we to speculate on their thoughts? The will of the divine is beyond mortal judgment."
His father's amused smile was tinged with helpless reverence.
For Icarus, the idea was terrifying. Beings with limitless power, unchecked, deciding life and death on whim? A wrong glance, a careless word, and he might not even know what killed him. And there were not just twelve, but dozens more besides the Olympians.
It was the realization of absolute powerlessness. To not even be able to control his own life or death in the face of such overwhelming power was an extremely uncomfortable thought.
And worse—they were the Greek gods. The most infamous in all of mythology, beings which embodied the terms petty, vindictive, and unpredictable.
He exhaled slowly, trying to shed the instincts of his old life. In the modern world, humanity stood at the top of the food chain. He had a privileged 21st Century mindset, where danger came only from other humans. But here, he was prey—if even that, he could just as well be a nameless bug which was crushed when carelessly stepped on.
That arrogance—assuming safety by default—was a poison. One which he could not afford. Still, something in him rebelled. The thought that his very life hung on another's mercy filled him with a quiet simmering deep inside.
…I trulydespise it, with a bitter chuckle, he thought, of all the people to inherit, it was fitting I had become Icarus.
He turned to Daedalus with another question. "Father, how do you know all of this? Who taught you?"
Daedalus closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was measured, deliberate.
"To answer that, you must first understand our family's origins. We descend from Erichthonius, the legendary king of Athens. Born of Gaia herself, from the seed of Hephaestus cast aside and wiped from Athena's thigh."[1]
Icarus twitched. Greek mythology was even less dignified when spoken aloud. Of course my divine blood is the result of Hephaestus' thigh gooning.
Daedalus continued solemnly. "I am the great-grandson of Erechtheus, who himself was the grandson of Erichthonius. My parents were Metion, son of Eupalamus, and Iphinoe. Yet by my generation, the divine blood has grown thin. You, Icarus, are perhaps entirely mortal."
He studied his son's reaction. Icarus merely nodded, unbothered. Relieved, even.
"Still," Daedalus said, "You are not without inheritance. Your gift for Divine Words comes from our bloodline. That alone marks the blessing of the Goddess of Magic."
"The Goddess of Magic?" Icarus asked.
"Did you believe mortals command magic unaided?" Daedalus chuckled. "No. Magic is not ours by right. It is only by the grace of the gods that man may wield it. Divine Words are a gift, a fragment of their language entrusted to a chosen few."
Icarus nodded, his mind racing.
"As for my own path…" Daedalus' tone shifted, tinged with nostalgia. "As a boy, I yearned to rise above my peers. I prayed to Athena, our ancestor's patron and the goddess of wisdom. And she… answered. Perhaps she pitied the bloodline of her foster child. Perhaps she was moved by my plea. Whatever her reason, she gave me a crystallization of her wisdom."
He paused for a moment, eyes glazed over as his hand seemed to minutely clench in anxiety, "…For better or worse." His voice then grew firm, almost defiant. "But do not mistake me. My creations are mine. Her blessing gave me knowledge and capability—but invention, craftsmanship—that is my—Daedalus' genius alone."
Icarus inclined his head in thanks, though his father's eyes had already turned toward the direction of the distant temple of Athena. His hand unclenched as he stepped inside their home, leaving his thoughts unspoken.
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Days later, Icarus felt the shift. The air itself seemed tense, as though events that were slowly preparing to break—became ready to. Far above, a partridge circled lazily against the sun. Icarus watched it for a moment, unease prickling in his chest.
His gut instinct was rarely wrong.
From where he stood, Icarus could barely see Athena's temple crowning the Acropolis—pale marble blazing under the sun, and towering above Athens, like a god's unblinking eye.
The monument to his citystate's patron deity brought no comfort, only insecurity.
His knuckles tightened as he tore his gaze away to distract himself with his training, swinging a wooden sword mindlessly as he counted each motion.
…4996.
The blade cut the air with a dull hiss. Sweat dripped from his brow.
…4997.
His muscles burned. Lactic Acid? No, probably some nonsense like yellow bile imbalanced with his… phlegm?
How humorous.
…4998.
Footsteps approached. He ignored them.
.…4999.
"Icarus!"
His father's shout cut across the yard. Icarus sighed, finishing the final swing. His muscles ached, his breath came heavy, but discipline held. He lowered the sword and turned to face Daedalus—whose eyes gleamed with a strange, feverish light.
He rolled his shoulders, easing the tension as he prepared himself. What's got him tweaking out now?
"Yes, father?"
Daedalus' gaze dropped to the wooden blade, and his expression twisted. "What are you doing with that stick? How many times must I tell you—we are inventors! Innovators! Not crude barbarians playing with swords!"
The outburst was sudden, sharp. Icarus resisted the urge to roll his eyes and argue, instead smoothing his tone. "I only wished to know what it feels like to wield one. So I can better forge them, as you do." Which wasn't actually a lie. He did indeed want to know how his father did so, after all he wanted to learn as much as he possibly could from Daedalus—and learning how to forge such high quality swords was exceptionally useful, especially during this time period.
Money had to come from somewhere, and the Bronze Age was in full motion.
That softened Daedalus instantly. Pride flickered in his eyes. "…I see."
But the calm did not last. His mania surged back. "Come! I heard that a wretched nephew of mine—Perdix—has unveiled some new invention. That boy dares to outshine me—Daedalus, greatest craftsman of mortal men?"
Icarus pinched the bridge of his nose.
As he continued to rant, Icarus slowly started to wonder if Athens had any therapists available… for his father's sudden mad comic book villain rant. It was one thing to watch someone rave about 'waking the dragon' or some other cringe analogue… but it was another thing entirely to have to live through it.
Especially when they unironically speak in third person.
"Then let us see this genius creation for ourselves," Daedalus seethed.
Envy, insecurity. He also felt similarly, but for totally different reasons.
His father had plateaued as of late, less inventions and more improvements. A mid-life crisis of sorts after believing he had peaked in high school. But alas, he didn't realize the labyrinth still awaited him.
Icarus dropped the sword with a sigh, masking his amusement. "And if his invention proves greater than yours?"
"Impossible!" Daedalus snapped.
"And if it is…?" He goaded.
Daedalus' voice dropped to a chilling murmur. "...Then I'll kill him."
Icarus froze. That dangerous glint in his father's eyes was no idle threat. For a moment, dread pressed against his ribs like heavy lead.
"…Father," he said at last, steadying his voice, "Please, calm down."
Usually, he could humor Daedalus' pride. But this—this crossed a line. Perdix was not just some rival. He was family, blood. Perdix even used to apprentice under Daedalus, and was a friend of Icarus himself.
It was moments like this that convinced Icarus to conceal his own talents. To feign incompetence. To bide his time and learn quietly. His father's brilliance was real, but so too were the shadows it cast.
Daedalus blinked at Icarus' words. The mania dimmed, leaving only shame. "…Sorry." He looked at his hands, then at his son. "Thank you, Icarus."
His father rarely ever apologized, they were words only spoken in moments of clarity after a sudden bout of madness. Thankfully his father did not take pride in them, his erratics brought him a heavy shame when left unchecked.
Icarus gave him a faint, reassuring smile. "Just… try to keep it in control."
Daedalus nodded slowly, though his clenched fists which rushed red from the tightness of his grip told another story.
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Author's Notes
Thanks for reading, suggestions and ideas appreciated!
Special Thanks to the original editors on discord for Beta Reading: Old man of the mountain, drasombo, ONEPUNCH, and Revanrex.
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Glossary
[1] The Gaia referred to is the Earth Mother Goddess Gaia from the Greek Pantheon, not the Gaia which is also known as the 'World' and is the will of the Planet.