Pride Cometh Before A Fall, But Then What?

Once upon a time there was a boy called Icarus and he had amazing gifts given to him, and as he exulted in them he fucked it all up and died. The end.

Only, what if it isn't the end? What if Icarus smashed his body on the surface of the sea, but instead of perishing utterly somehow floated, devastatingly injured, back to shore?

Perhaps he landed on a different continent, full of shade, the tides of his home country having shunned him, and he set about understanding his fall. At first in despair and anger, and then in recognition that of the two options - surrendering to death or surrendering to his Will - only one was acceptable, he has no choice but to rebuild himself.

First the inside; therapy, stalwart friends, removing the possibility of being confronted with the howls of those who contributed to, relished, or unwittingly participated in his fall. A daily practice and an understanding that to err is human, but to continue erring is bloody stupid. Slowly he comes back together in mind.

Second the outside; rebuilding the physical form, using the tiny lodgings he has found to improve his strength and every day work on becoming better in mind and body as one. Bringing the corporeal and mental into harmony in some small way.

Finally he is ready to limp back into the sunlight and see those now standing on precipices with their own timidly constructed wings, or looking up at these and wondering how to fly. He is stirred by memories of his own achievements and failings, and has knowledge to pass on. His Will drives him to offer this, despite the danger from those who would cast him down again as if they're lives and livelihoods depend upon his failure. Slowly, with support from new dear friends and those who made the journey across the sea to him, he forms a circle who will listen to his tales.

This group all have their own challenges, and understand the words Forgiveness and Reparations. This group have more or less all had to recover from their past misdeeds and work on being the best version of themselves. As much as he teaches them, they heal him in turn, and when he speaks of his terrible fall those closest understand and do not turn away despite his horrible injuries. These are the most valued conversations he will have.

The years pass, and as they do his school of Ascension continues to grow. There are those who become teachers, and those who pass on to other schools, and each cycle begets new learning and personal change for him. He finds love and friendship and despite his injuries becomes happy with his lot, even though an outcast he remains.

He still limps, and is still frightful when the sun catches him unawares, and receives the odd missive that his home country vilifies him for the immensity and spectacle of his fall. But among the rumours and notes, there are occasional moments of hope, glimmers that he might eventually find a path back to his home.

One day, a ship lands on the shore, beautiful in golden and pomegranate hues and reflecting the light of the sun that cast him down ten thousand-fold. It burns his eyes and drives terror into his soul, but as it calls to him he steps forward even though sure it will be his Doom. Haltingly at first, and then with sobs of relief, he hears the invitation back to his homeland. 

A Great Pilgrimage must take place first, and he makes his way to a castle on a mountain, willing his broken body onwards and upwards until eventually he can make an Oath of devotion. When he returns, the ship is ready to set sail for his homeland and departs with his new companions. It is crewed by others from his home of course, and he is given an oracle to keep his return to himself whilst aboard until passage is complete.

The journey takes months, and during this time he devotes himself and finds happiness and joy in the act of travel once again, soaring with the wind on the prow of the ship. His relief at returning home and the rediscovered flight make him giddy and he falls over himself to profess his joy, eventually speaking in haste and causing a mutiny just as the ship reaches shore. Ablaze and derelict, it makes port and he escapes relatively unscathed with his compatriots, but there is a great loss and he cannot repair the damage despite all his efforts. A new and terrible grief grips him, for in the process of undoing one great wrong against him, he has seen another committed.

So, how now to act, the prodigal son or reformed character? Was he wronged and slandered, or did he bring it upon himself anyway by flying so bloody high in hubris?

There is no pride in his return, and the bitter taste of shipwreck smoke turns every morsel of hospitality to ash in his mouth. He still flinches at sudden daylight, such as walking into a town square and being mobbed by well wishers who drive him from the shadows even with the best of intentions. 

There are those who are pleased to see his return, and those who apologise, and those who cannot bring themselves to speak to it yet. All of these interactions are difficult and exhausting, he is still broken inside, but it heals his wings in part. He must continue his work and keep sight of that, and being back in the sunlight must not dissuade him from his Oath even though at every turn it reminds him of disasters old and new. He is invited to fly again and give a demonstration, first to give proof he still can, and then to soar and turn and show his new skills which he has honed in exile.

The danger now is, once again, the lure of the sun and flying too high. The ground beneath him is hungry and even on his best days he can feel it waiting for him. The pit of his stomach bears a great, heavy pomegranate seed. Perhaps this feeling, of waiting to plummet, will never leave. But perhaps it will also remind him: 

The Abyss is crossed only in service, not in pride.