Prometheus

Icarus plummeted from the heavens, his body twisting and tumbling through the air in uncontrollable spirals. Sightless, he had no way of orienting himself, the harsh winds slashing against his face and drowning him in confusion.

Then, suddenly, he crashed into shallow waters. The violent momentum of his fall was instantly nullified, his descent reduced to nothing more than a gentle touch against the earth.

Above him, the skies from which he had fallen stretched into an endless emerald expanse, illuminated by countless scarlet stars that burned brilliantly against the vivid green. 

Their contrast painted the heavens into a mesmerizing, otherworldly tapestry. The land beneath him was pristine white, its surface submerged beneath a vast sea of shallow golden waters that rippled endlessly into the horizon. High above, soft winds carried slow-moving black clouds, trailing lazily across the sky.

Soaked and disoriented, Icarus lifted himself from the waters, droplets cascading from his form as he rose.

Despite his meticulous planning, nothing could ever be executed flawlessly, and this moment only served as proof of that truth.

Though he could still move, he remained blind, deaf, and numb to all sensations. He had arrived, but now—what was he supposed to do?

His heart remained steady, his mind unshaken, but for a fleeting moment, uncertainty crept in. He simply stood there, his thoughts churning, tumbling over themselves in an internal storm.

Then, suddenly, his mind was yanked from its spiral by the sound of a voice.

"Quite daring, aren't you?"

Icarus felt a tidal wave rip through his very being, and in an instant—he could see, he could hear, he could feel.

A flood of overwhelming stimuli crashed down upon him. 

Colors and shapes burned into his vision, sounds deafened him, and the once serene waters he stood in now clung to his skin like chains, suffocating and oppressive.

He could see—but he could not yet understand.

But even through the disorienting torrent of sensation, he forced himself to adapt. He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, repeating the motion again and again. Step by step, he steadied himself, settling the chaos raging within him.

Before him stood a figure, its body concealed beneath flowing black robes, shrouded in a thick mantle of swirling darkness. 

Despite the layers of concealment, within the depths of its hood, a radiant grin could be seen, sharp and knowing.

And from within the shadowed void of its face, two flickering rose-colored flames burned where its eyes should have been.

Strangely, Icarus felt no tangible pressure emanating from the entity. He felt nothing at all—yet, his heart pounded violently in his chest, refusing to settle. No matter how much he willed it to calm, it would not.

"A gamble unlike any I've seen before." The entity chuckled, its voice androgynous yet laced with boundless curiosity, an echo of both amusement and majestic authority. "To defy the world and create a paradox, only to then use the countless Heavens littering little chaos as mere pawns… how fierce."

It tilted its head, the grin within its hood widening.

"But tell me, will your heart be able to bear the consequences of your actions? No matter what happens now, you will remain marked—scorned and hunted by the Heavens and its countless angels." Its voice lowered, almost teasing. "Will you be able to face its wrath?"

Icarus did not respond immediately. He wasn't focused on the entity's words. Instead, he was listening—to the erratic rhythm of his own heartbeat, or rather, the lack of it. He focused on the chaotic surges within his body, the rapid flow of his blood, the trembling in his hands, the aching in his limbs.

And then, slowly, deliberately, he calmed it all.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled and exhaled, steady and controlled. His hands ceased their trembling. His body loosened. His heart—if it could even be called that anymore—settled into a state of eerie stillness.

Only when he had fully collected himself did he speak.

"I will do what is necessary."

The entity remained silent for a long moment.

Then, its radiant grin stretched wider.

"I like the way you think. I like it very much."

It chuckled before gesturing vaguely to the skies. "But don't ever do that again. The little ones you attracted are… troublesome. Obstinate. And terribly inconsiderate."

Its tone turned mockingly exasperated. "Had I not been around, oh dear, your fate would've been far grimmer than you can imagine. Can you fathom a mind trapped within a single particle of air? A mind fused into the very fabric of space? A mind that is endlessly fractured and reformed, torn apart for eternity?" It sighed, shaking its head. "They are quite manic, those little boys."

Icarus, uncertain of how to respond, simply nodded. His expression reflected a quiet but genuine gratitude.

The entity, noticing the awkward stiffness of his movements—the lack of natural practice in his expressions—laughed, the sound reverberating through the golden waters.

"You said you desired freedom, didn't you?" It asked, smiling with sharp, predatory amusement. Its flickering eyes danced with veiled malevolence.

Icarus observed it for a moment, then nodded.

"And how much are you willing to sacrifice for that freedom?" It leaned closer, voice lowering to an almost whisper. "How deep are you willing to sink into the abyss?"

The world around them trembled.

"As much as I must," Icarus answered. "As much as I can do, is as much as I will do. I will do what is necessary."

The entity hummed. "Do you not fear the depths you may reach?"

"I do."

"And yet, you still choose to walk forward?"

"I do."

"Why?"

"Because I must," Icarus said simply.

"Because death cannot be the end—not in such a meaningless manner."

The entity fell silent, its veiled form quivering slightly, as if shaking in joy. The flames of its eyes burned brighter, nearly overflowing.

Yet, Icarus remained indifferent.

"I know that making a forced contract with a mortal like you may backfire," the entity finally said. "So, I'll be generous."

From the folds of its thick robes, two hands emerged—hands as dark as the void of space, filled with the glow of countless stars.

It rubbed them together slowly, as if savoring the moment.

"These chains that bound you upon birth—I will break them. The life that was stolen from you—I will return it. The world that cast you aside—I will open its gates."

It raised one cosmic finger.

"But in exchange, I ask only for a simple, humble thing."

Icarus focused on its raised hand.

"When I, Prometheus, call upon you in the future, you must answer. Even if it is only once—you must heed my call and help me."

Icarus heard the mischief in its voice, the unconcealed glee, the trickery woven into its very nature. He knew he was playing with forces beyond his comprehension. He knew he was gambling with his very soul.

But not for a single moment did he consider refusing.

If he had defied the Heavens as a cripple, what could he possibly accomplish as a free man?

As foolish as it may have been, Icarus had faith. In himself.

Noticing the quiet but burning confidence in his eyes, Prometheus trembled, barely containing a joyous shudder.

"I accept," Icarus said. "When the time comes, I will answer your call, Prometheus."

Prometheus threw its head back, unleashing a roar of laughter that shook the world itself.

"Great!"

***

Elsewhere, within a thick forest drowned in heavy rain, under the echo of thunder, a lone figure walked.

She was tall, clad in silver and gold armor, her nine pairs of white feathered wings tucked against her back. Her face was sculpted in perfection, her golden eyes glowing beneath the shadow of her drenched black robes.

Then, suddenly, she stopped.

At her feet lay an infant, soaked and covered in mud, staring up at her with silent curiosity.

She crouched down, lifting him into her arms.

He was barely a week old. His hair was curly and white—his pupils a deep, endless scarlet.

The child smiled.

She smiled back.

"Well," she murmured, amused, "would you look at who's fallen from the skies?"