Daedalus was the greatest craftsman of his age — builder of wonders, master of invention. His hands could shape stone and bronze into living forms, and his mind could solve riddles the gods themselves might set. Yet in the service of King Minos of Crete, his skill became a prison.

For Daedalus had made the Labyrinth, a twisting maze to hold the Minotaur. When Theseus slew the beast with Ariadne’s help, Minos’ wrath turned on Daedalus, fearing he might build for others what he had built for Crete. So the king locked Daedalus and his young son Icarus in a high tower, ringed by the sea.

But Daedalus would not be caged. He studied the gulls wheeling above the waves, and an idea took wing in his mind. From wax and feathers, he fashioned two great pairs of wings.

"Feathers light, and wax so fair,
Lift us through the summer air.
Over waves and over walls,
Where the gull’s white shadow falls."

When all was ready, Daedalus warned his son: “Fly the middle path, Icarus — not too low, lest the sea drench your wings, and not too high, lest the sun melt the wax.” Together they leapt into the bright sky, soaring free over the glittering water.

But Icarus, drunk on the joy of flight, climbed higher and higher, chasing the golden fire. The heat of Helios’ chariot softened the wax; the feathers tore loose. Crying out, he tumbled into the sea, swallowed by the deep.

Daedalus searched the waves until he found the still body of his boy, cradling it in grief. The sea where he fell was named the Icarian, so that all who passed would remember.

"O sun too bright, O sky too wide,
You took my son upon the tide.
Through all the winds my wings may bear,
I’ll find no joy — for he’s not there."

Thus the tale is told: skill may free the body, but heed must guard the soul.