The Boy Who Flew to the Sun
Son of Daedalus and the casualty of humanity’s first flight. His father’s wings carried him out of the labyrinth, but the vertigo of freedom drew him ever upward until the sun melted the wax. For two thousand years, "flying too close to the sun" has been the first lesson in the course on ambition and its cost.
Before takeoff his father warned him again and again: "Follow me, keep to the middle way." Skimming the sea, a fisherman dropped his rod to gaze up, thinking he saw a god. The boy climbed higher and higher; wax dripped like rain, feathers scattered — and he plunged into the sea beating bare arms. Ovid wrote: the father was no longer a father, only a man calling out a name.
Below are how modern works borrow or reinterpret this name or story — not the original material. The two differ, so keep them apart.
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