Icarus's Wings (8)

Najin's stage painted over the sky.

The landscape of the subterranean city of Atman unfurled around him. Built in the lowest depths, a city that had never known the sight of stars now spread outward with Najin at its heart. In its true form it would have been a place of absolute dark, never touched by so much as a handful of starlight—yet now it glittered.

Stars shone over Atman. A constellation of seven, the Dawn Star. This was the place where Najin could be most completely himself: the origin of his story, the point from which every tale had begun. There, he raised his sword.

Excalibur blazed. The stars carved into the blade of starlight flared with violent brilliance.

Above the painted sky of underground Atman stretched Helios, the nation that had once drawn nearest the heavens. Toward the star that burned in that sky, Icarus reached. The star that had forgotten itself and become one of the dead roared.

The cry of a Transcendent shook the world.

In the next instant every element that composed Helios surged upward. Buildings came apart. The great and small pillars that had supported them became arrows and were loosed. The network of canals that webbed Helios like a spider's silk became a net. The broad avenues, wide enough for carriages to travel abreast, became whips.

A colossal wave crashed toward Najin. The name of that wave was Helios.

And of course a nation has its people. The corpses that had died and been taxidermied throughout Helios began to race along the roads and waterways that stretched skyward. What moved them was neither their own will nor any signal from their ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠brains. They were already dead, their souls long departed. What drove them now was Icarus's telekinesis.

He clad the bodies of his people in force fields, forced weapons of the same power into their hands, and moved their limbs with his will. They were Icarus's army, apostles of the Wandering Star in all but name.

Bwoooooooom!

Blowing horns as though announcing war, they charged at Najin. As an entire nation declared war upon him, Najin smiled.

His Free Knight's coat snapped in the wind. The war banner bound to the Cross-Star Spear fluttered; the emblems of the many knightly orders tied to his pauldron streamed in the rushing air. In his hand now rested the symbol of the Horn Star.

The horn that signaled the opening of battle. The captain of the Golden Horn Knights sounded his trumpet. The chorus of horns raised by Helios's countless people was drowned and vanished beneath the single note that one man produced.

"I am the captain of the Golden Horn Knights."

Najin cried out before the flooding tide.

"A Free Knight—"

He spun the Cross-Star Spear into a new grip and leveled it at the nation called Helios, smiling.

"—and the Dawn Horn."

This war, he accepted.

Ramming.

A storm erupted from the spear's tip and punched a vast hole through the army that had crashed upon him like a wave. The gap filled almost at once; the soldiers and pillars that had been flung aside found their places again. But Najin would never miss the opening that moment created.

Step by measured step he advanced—

—then slammed his foot against the ground and began to run.

From ancient times Transcendents had been likened to nations. In truth they possessed power equal to a nation, and each of them commanded a stage of their own.

And Najin had risen to Transcendence. He could still set foot upon that realm only while gripping Excalibur, an incomplete Transcendence—yet Transcendence it remained. That meant the Najin of this moment likewise held power comparable to a nation.

Ah.

Only now did he understand what those words truly meant. With every step the scenery transformed. Power poured through him, incomparable to what he had known as a Sword Seeker. The stage unfurled at his back amplified his starlight.

A wave that would have swept him away when he was still a Sword Seeker. A wave that was no longer enough to sweep him away.

The instant Najin dove into the wave, their thrusting spears and blades, the undulating buildings, the pillars raining from every direction swallowed him whole.

For a heartbeat the light he created was smothered—yet light that even a dragon of the Abyss had failed to devour could never be hidden by mere architecture. Light spilled forth, and everything that had encircled him was carved to pieces. With sword-aura radiating in every direction, Najin raced onward, blade trailing at his side.

He never stopped, not for a single instant.

Everything Icarus hurled at him, Najin turned into a path leading straight to his foe. He mounted the road that cracked like a whip and sprinted along its length.

Sssshhhhrrreee!

Air screamed past his ears. The Free Knight's coat streamed behind him like a banner. With every stride ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the world transformed, and the Helios army racing along the same road thrust spears and swords toward him.

Still Najin did not halt.

He had no need to stop in order to swing his sword; he had no need even to swing it. Cloaked in mana, he collided with them bare-bodied. The moment the Star of Breakthrough shone, his flesh accelerated.

They snapped. They broke. They shattered.

A Transcendent was, by definition, a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠being who had transcended. The spears and blades of ordinary men could never stop one. Even when those men gripped weapons a Transcendent had forged for them, the situation scarcely changed.

Their weapons broken, they still reached for Najin. He paid no heed to those grasping hands that sought to seize a star. He had no intention of letting so meager a touch claim him.

The hands crumbled the instant they brushed his body. Nails and blades left small scrapes, yet those marks meant nothing. Excalibur's regenerative power erased them as though they had never existed.

Here lay the reason Transcendents who opposed Arthur had regarded her as a nightmare. Her strength was one thing—but watching her heal every wound in an instant and keep charging drained the will to fight.

Crack.

Najin drove his foot into the earth and increased his speed. Unfamiliar as he still was with the battles of Transcendents, he was beginning to understand the feeling. He grasped what it meant to unfold a stage. If a Transcendent's strength lay in believing in oneself, then the stage was the means by which that belief was forced upon others as well.

"Huuuh…"

He exhaled a long breath and opened his eyes wide.

A city belfry, transformed into a stake, hurtled toward him. Najin swung his sword at the tower that filled his vision, sheared off its roof, and plunged inside.

Crunch—krrraaack…

Icarus tried to crush the tower with Najin still within it, yet Najin was faster than the compression. He burst through the far side, spun once in midair, and reset his grip on the sword.

The basic stance of the Triumphant Sword.

Still airborne, Najin swept the blade. The belfries that had been firing at him in succession split along the arc of his cut. The fragments tried to launch themselves again, but his movement was quicker.

Before the shards could reach him, Najin kicked off the floating debris and leapt again and again. From beginning to end his gaze remained locked on a single figure.

The Wandering Star—Icarus.

Everything else was merely an obstacle. Toward Icarus, who reached for him while still bound to the throne, Najin advanced. As if declaring that such trifles could never seize a star, he struck aside every grasping hand.

Stand up. Tear free of the chains.

And if you cannot—

I will tear you from that throne myself.

Boom.

Najin cleaved the road that flew at him, then stomped down with a raised foot. The force field peeled away from the heaving avenue; the moment it settled into a flat road again, he settled into stance.

For the first time, the man who had never stopped came to a halt.

First Horn.

As though it had been waiting for that exact instant, Helios crashed down upon him. Najin brought his raised sword down.

Triumph.

A storm howled.

Shaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Sword-aura raced the length of the straight road and smashed everything in its path. Hundreds of fragments floating in the air evaporated in a single breath. The savage aura that looked ready to split the heavens themselves leapt across hundreds of meters and at last reached Icarus.

The Egg Chamber split. Most of the chains that had webbed the chamber like spider silk were severed. Having shattered the bonds that held Icarus, the sword-aura scattered as though its purpose were fulfilled.

Silence settled.

Nothing remained where the Triumphant Sword had passed. Not the pillars that had filled the air, not the fragments, not even the soldiers—none of them stood any longer between Najin and Icarus.

A path cut in a single straight line.

Gritting his teeth against the recoil of the Triumphant Sword, Najin looked at Icarus.

Only one chain still bound him. More accurately, it did ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not bind him so much as pierce him. The chain ran from a stake driven through Icarus's heart. It was not a chain Najin could release.

It was a chain Icarus himself would have to undo.

Najin could offer no help with that—yet Daedalus could.

Daedalus.

The singular inventor who had, first and last in human history, reproduced a Masterpiece. As Icarus's dearest friend he had designed every building of the sky-nation Helios. And in his final moments, summoning the whole of his knowledge, he had designed the high castle in which Icarus would dwell.

Labyrintos.

The Masterpiece that would later be called the Great Labyrinth.

Some claimed it was a prison built to confine the undead Icarus; others said it was a trap to bleed dry any invader who set foot in the fallen kingdom. But Najin, who had lived Daedalus's life, knew better.

This labyrinth was never meant for those purposes.

And in his final moment Daedalus designed it: a great labyrinth where memories swirled.

It would be completed only when Icarus forgot himself, eroded, and released his starlight in every direction. Knowing his friend would one day break, Daedalus had designed such a maze.

Icarus's starlight, his life, his memories—all the things that would scatter and be lost—would be sealed and preserved. So that they could never escape, he made those memories wander the high castle forever.

But, Daedalus smiled bitterly, this is not a prison meant to hold you for eternity.

If someday you walk free of this labyrinth… if you can undo the chains you bound around yourself… then you will fly through the sky one last time.

Someday. Without fail.

Hoping that day would come, Daedalus left one clue so that his hopelessly stubborn friend might break through the maze: a ball of thread unwound from the very entrance. The unique path through the Great Labyrinth Labyrintos, marked by Daedalus's Masterpiece that formed a pair with the labyrinth itself.

Ariadne's Thread.

In the last moments of his life Daedalus sought out Icarus and cast the ball of thread he carried. So that if his friend ever rose from the throne by his own strength, he would be able to conquer the labyrinth prepared for him.

Najin looked ahead.

A thread invisible to every other eye. Yet to the eyes of one who had lived Daedalus's life, a path woven of that thread shone clear. It stretched behind him in a continuous line. Until now Najin had not been moving at random. He had followed that thread, clearing every obstacle so that the way would remain open without obstruction.

He looked at Icarus. Now those eyes, too, would see the path.

With every chain broken save one, the starlight of the funeral procession hammered against Icarus's body. His pupils began to tremble.

One more step.

Suddenly Najin glanced sideways. Light was spilling from the banner of La Mancha bound to his pauldron. The light gathered and took human form.

"Now then—time to crown the finale."

The ingenious gentleman of La Mancha clapped Najin on the shoulder.

"Let's run with all our hearts!"

A sharp rap of a staff sounded.

"Is that so, my lord?"

Rocinante laughed as he tapped his staff.

"Honestly, I give up. Very well, my lord."

Sancho shook his head as though there was no reasoning with them, yet he smiled.

Thump.

The three of them shoved Najin in the back.

"Ah."

Najin let out a short laugh.

"Of course, my lord."

He flung Excalibur toward the sky. The light it released flared like a star. While a vast star hung overhead, Najin lifted the Cross-Star Spear.

The star of Dalso shone.

A straight road that ran all the way to Icarus. As if inviting him to come this way, Najin pointed the spear at the star blazing high above.

And—crack.

Icarus slowly began to rise. The chain driven through his heart seemed linked not only to the Egg Chamber but to the entire nation of Helios. It was a weight no single human should ever have to bear.

No one could fly the sky while dragging such a sinker. To fly, the fetters had to be broken.

Najin smiled. He knew exactly what Daedalus would have said.

"Icarus."

Daedalus pointed at the heavens.

"It's time to set out on a journey."