The Flight of Icarus: From Freedom to Freefall

I. That First Town... After The Underworld

or

I. The Gardener and His Troubles

Far below a deep blue sky a miniscule town lined the Aegean Sea. If you'd entered this town through its main gate you would have seen a delicately painted sign naming the town: Sylius. Following the stone lined street to the center, obviously marked by a rather large and maybe even gaudy fountain and a four-way parting of ways, you would turn left in your trek. And here, at the end of a stone paved lane like all the rest, (save for an obscene number of potted plants at the last flat), you would find the resident gardener, soundly sleeping.

As of now, he was just waking. His ears finally hearing the sound of the persistent and lounging birds while his eyes stirred behind closed lids. Though he knew he needed to be getting ready for his long hours of caring for a serious array of plant life his lazy leaning mind couldn't conjure up a reason to care. If only the bright sun could take a hike and give him a few extra hours, or maybe he should replace these linen curtains? Begrudgingly, he did pull himself from the sheets, warm with sleep. The air was light and cool enough for a summer's day, and the sun warmed it enough not to chill. So, as he stepped from his bed to the wood floor he sighed. The contact was cold, not jump out of your skin, a comfortable coolness that settled over the gardener's feet, so warm they might've ached. He noted that he was slightly sticky with sweat.

'Another dream then', he concluded.

His mind was cloudy, he couldn't focus on anything. 'What had last night's dream been about?' Hard as he tried, he couldn't remember. For as long as the gardener had lived in Sylius he'd had strange dreams, maybe that's not even what they were, he could never tell. They made his mind as useful as a smoothie, and as soon as they came, they went, forgotten in the blur of another day's work and toil and business. It would get swept up in what Ms. Nefeli had said to him today about her neighbor Ms. Ellia and how she was still unmarried even though she was so kind or how the man carrying stock to the Agora marketplace had dropped another dozen eggs.

But then he would come home at night and be here again in his bed. And suddenly he would turn into a fearful child, the dream would return, the nightmare, and he would be alone. Always alone. Maybe that was what scared him, not the dreams but the loneliness... Dear Gods, he'd wished someone could silence his overactive mind.

'Gods?' The gardener stood from his bed and pulled off his dark night tunic and scoffed in disgust. It was damp. He took this and tossed it into a woven basket in the corner tucked beneath a waist height table. What did Gods have to do with anything? As far as he was concerned, or knew, deities were nothing but arrogant beings that made a mess of everything they were involved in because they thought of humanity as nothing but scum and filth that pillaged what the world had to offer for themselves. With this last thought the small man caught a glance of himself in the mirror above the table, where a bowl and pitcher full of fresh water reflected itself beside his image. Striding across the room to stop in front of it he gazed deeper. He was short, stocky, closer to the soft side than strong looking. His wide shoulders were an awful contrast to his thin neck and small face, his chest was large and his hips oddly round, he stuck out at all the wrong angles.

'Sort of like a painting', he thought.

'Like a painting... sure, one that was made by someone who'd practiced by drawing nothing but horses beforehand not knowing they were making a man at all.'

Inwardly at least he chuckled. No, they wouldn't have known they were painting a man at all. Simply enough he'd not always known he'd been one. The restricting strophium that bound his chest tirelessly day in and out was a testament enough to that. No matter the amount of work, or how hot it was, or how deep in the dirt he got, he wore it like a lifeline, because in mind it was. If anyone really knew what he was they wouldn't want him as the gardener anymore, would they? Many people already asked why he never visited the bath houses when invited, the suspicion was there, all they needed was one mistake and he would be ostracized.

He wouldn't let that happen. But it was already so hard to hide.

The Gardener shook his head fiercely. His eyebrows scrunched themselves together, eyes tight shut. That was no way to start a day. He pushed his hands into the bowl before him, tipped his head down and splashed the water over his sleep stressed face. When he wiped the water and sleep from his eyes and looked at himself again in the mirror, he let a little smile grace his rose-colored lips.

He dressed speedily, distracted from his mind in favor of pulling the soft fabric over his head. The young man's mood brightened quickly enough, he'd all but forgotten that there was plenty work to be done today and he would have it all to himself. There would be no dealing with nosy neighbors or awkwardly making conversation with others in the street. The Gardener had failed to notice that he'd grabbed one of his nicest chitons in his hurried dressing. It was sky blue, a light color. A color that reminded him of the summers here in Sylius. His expression darkened at the sight of the fabric; he'd not worn it in a very long time. It'd been during the time when he'd prayed to the Goddess Palutena, if he was correct. And just as he was always right about Ms. Abernathy constantly overwatering her fig trees, he too was right about this.

The man sneered at the thought of the Goddess. Yes, as far as the Gardener was concerned gods and goddesses were all alike, wastes of space and time.

"Perhaps if the Lady is so displeased with me she ought to have made it clear. I would not have wasted my time begging for her aid. Gaah! It's only proper to answer when you've been called! Maybe if someone who cared would've answered back then I wouldn't be in this situation now, no I'd be far from Sylius, far from nonsense, FAR FAR away from any ridiculous temple and people who think Gods care for them." The Gardener wheels himself into a flurry of rambling as he thinks too long on the matter.

Just as fast as his fury came it is gone, and he grew quiet. A deep tired sigh pulls from his chest, and an expression that makes him look ten years older ghosts over his face for only a brief moment. He turns back to face the mirror, he notes the absurd length of the chiton, draping over his shoulders and dragging near the floor. The Gardener pulls his green leather belt around his midsection, tucking the extra fabric to billow over it. Lastly bunching the extra fabric over his shoulders, he fastens this with a decorative pin, taking care not to stab himself in the shoulder.

Instead of focusing on his rather... disgruntled feelings toward the Goddess of Light, The Gardener takes strides across the room, gathering odds and ends he assumes he'll need and stuffing them in a shabby courier bag.

'Out into the day we go then.'

The Gardener was rather pleased with the beauty of his little town. Yes, he was tired and his hands were covered in dirt but he felt there was a certain charm to working hard. Being able to make something and take a long look and feel satisfied with yourself was his favorite thing about it. It helped that while it was bright, the sun did not burn him. And a gentle breeze glided through every now and then. Maybe that was summer talking though, it was his favorite time of year. The young man rose from his spot knee deep in the dirt of Ms. Abernathy's flower bed, and somewhere distantly he heard a sound. It starts as a itching in his ear, something he could've sworn was in his imagination, then the sound contorted into a clamor. The Gardener began to notice townspeople rushing past on foot towards the square. He still couldn't decipher what exactly it was just yet.

'Wait... was that a voice? Is there some kind of meeting happening now?'

Noticing another man running past from the corner of his eye he grabs them by the arm, "What's happening?", he asks, his face pinched in confusion. The man pulls himself out of The Gardener's light grip, taking a step back he replies. "You don't know?! An ambassador from Lady Palutena herself appeared in the center of town. He's going to make an announcement this afternoon! Hopefully some good news." And with the question answered and somewhere to be, the man rushes off toward the town fountain.

The Gardener stares after him with a frown. 'When will the Gods' interference in the affairs of man finally end? Didn't the people of this town deserve to live in some semblance of normalcy? Especially after what they'd been through?!

Oh well. With his work completed there was nothing to do but follow the growing crowd. If there was going to be another heavenly body in town, he wasn't going to be the only one unaware, hopefully they'd decide that this town was not worth their time and go home. The Gardener could only hope. Throwing assorted tools into his bag he threw this over his shoulder and rushed off down the cobbled street, following both a mass of bodies and the rising noises.

As he grew nearer, he began to hear more clearly.

"Please! Don't push, I'll tell you all the same news!" A voice called over the mob.

He became swarmed by the people attempting to get closer. 'Well, there's no way to avoid this now.' He pushed his way through the crowd in hopes to see the origin of the voice. It sounded rather young, and it confused him. 'Wouldn't someone causing all this commotion have more experienced sounding presence?' The chatter of the crowd rose for a moment, this 'ambassador' wasn't doing to well in calming their nerves.

"Palutena wishes me to help you, I'm here for rebuilding and the fixing of any damage she caused."

Uh oh, that did it. The noisy crowd didn't really like that. As much as the town loved the Goddess, they were extremely proud of their own handiness and self reliance, these people were hard to sway away from a certain line of thinking, and they took that as a slight against their talents. The Gardener heard several shouts from the crowd.

"What do you mean rebuild it's been three years! Where were ya when the town was in flames, angel boy?!"

"Tell Lady Palutena that if she really wanted to help, she should've banished the underworld when she had the chance!"

And although The Gardener didn't much care for Palutena either he couldn't help but feel a flush of shame rise to his face at the way his fellow neighbors were acting. Here was someone sent by her specifically to help them, and they were too full of pride to accept it. He could understand, but there was something to be said in the way of humility when being addressed by an immortal being (at least to the immortal's face). He guessed the term 'too little too late' applied very well here.

With a great desire to help this poor embarrassed fool escape the crowd around him The Gardener pushed forward once again, lightly shoving a few people aside in making a path. He stumbled up the stone steps around the fountain, catching glimpses of white and strapped sandals as he ducked under several arms of those around him. And with as quickly as he rushed up the steps, he did see the image of the ambassador. A boy, seemingly no older than himself with a regretfully elegant visage. Particularly the laurel crown tucked around his ears and the shining red fibula pinned to his shoulder stood out, screaming to The Gardener's brain that although he looked to be a boy this was indeed an angel, as if his wings weren't enough of a dead giveaway.

Catching his breath he clutched a hand over his heart, then shouted deeply. "Friends, you act quite disgracefully. I would expect the town of Sylius to have much better hospitality in a situation like this. And while I don't doubt your talents, I would at least gather that you're kind enough to let this boy..." He says this with a wayward glance toward the angel, not meaning disrespect while speaking. "...prove that he's here to do what he claims. I say we give him a chance to regain our favor."

The angel sends you a rather piqued look. Who said he needed your favor?

"And who's to say the moment we do he won't just leave, or even worse stick around and watch us work away just to report back without helping at all." A man yelled, hidden in the mass of townspeople.

The Gardener huffed.

"I'll take it upon myself then. He comes with me, I keep track of the angel ambassador, and none of you run any risk. We'll give him three weeks to prove he's here to assist, and he'll stay at my home as my guest. Sound fair?"

The angelic boy looked stunned and confused, he'd not yet said a word to him and yet this man was willing or just stubborn enough to let him waltz right into his life. Angels weren't exactly accustomed to human life but, if we were taking chances then there was a first time for everything. The crowd grumbled in what sounded like begrudging agreement, and slowly began to disperse, having had enough nonsense and diverse from the norm for one day. Once they had finally gone The Gardener sighed and turned back to the angel to his right.

He was shorter than himself, The Gardener noted. This he was surprised at not only because he was considered short but because it gave the angel a very non-threatening appearance.

Actually... not very much about him was threatening.

The boy had curly brown hair, sweeping over and partially hiding the gold laurel crown he had noticed earlier. This and his large blue eyes lent to his overall, 'Putto-like' appearance. Getting a much better and prolonged look at him allows him to see that his chiton is decorated with a red and gold hemming and fastened to his shoulder by a golden fibula with a deep red gem in the center. He wears this with a brown belt lined with silver and a gold, triangular belt buckle on his waist. The strangest part of his ensemble though were a pair of bronze and gold cuffs around his forearms, a single gold armlet and a second gold ring around his left thigh.

The only "scary" thing about him might have been the wings protruding from his back. Though, they seem to press quite close to his back, resting comfortably against his spine. He smiled, stuck out a hand and piped up. "I'm Pit, servant of the Goddess of light. I'm pleased to be able to help you and to meet you!"

The Gardener felt the smile rise to his own face and took the angel's hand and shook it heartily. Although he was skeptical about Palutena's motivations to return to the small town of Sylius he was immediately charmed by "Pit" and his chipper personality.

"You can call me Kallisto, pleased to have been met, Sir Pit."