A Father Vast as the Sky #3
Icarus had called me a celebrity, but in truth, this man was the real big shot. The first human to ever take flight.
When his father, Daedalus, fell afoul of Crete's King Minos and had to flee to some isolated island in the middle of the endless sea. That's when father and son gathered beeswax from hives and feathers from birds to craft wings. With those, they flapped their way into the sky.
What incredible ingenuity. The problem? Icarus flew too high, the sun melted the wax holding the feathers, and he plummeted to earth. He crashed into the sea and died, becoming a resident of this Soul Society.
"It's mortifying when tales of your pathetic failure spread to everyone. That's why here in the Soul Society, I prefer going by the pen name RUS."
I was stunned that this guy was running a little cafe in some forgotten corner of Happy World, quietly painting away. But I had more pressing business.
"Mr. Icarus, do you have a painting called Sunrise?"
"Sure do. Right here."
Icarus handed me a framed piece. He ran his fingers over the tape clumsily patching the torn edges and said, "This was the first painting I ever made after arriving in the Soul Society. I gave it to my father as a gift. But right in front of me, he ripped it up and tossed it in the trash."
"The trash?"
"He said I had no talent for painting, that I should learn a trade from him and wield a hammer instead. That was the only way I'd survive in this cutthroat Soul Society..."
It wasn't exactly a masterpiece, to be fair.
"From his perspective, he probably just wanted me to follow in his footsteps and take a stable path. But I didn't want to spend my life in the shadow of a giant like my father. I wanted to stand under the sun on my own strength. Maybe that's why I painted something like this."
Shff. Icarus slid the proffered Sunrise deep into a dusty shelf.
"Section Chief Jo, I'm grateful you fished that torn painting out of the trash and taped it back together. Hedone told me you were the one who gave it to me."
The tape had been there from the start. It wasn't me. Who the hell...?
I thought of the old man who'd desperately hunted for the painting at dawn. Did Daedalus rip it up, throw it away... and then pull it out himself to painstakingly restore it with tape?
Why the hell would he do that? It made no sense. The minds of true masters operated on a plane far beyond us mere mortals. That's why they were masters.
"One thing, though, Section Chief. That painting is my first clumsy attempt from my immature days—an unfinished piece. It's embarrassing to me, so I'll seal it away forever. I hope you understand."
A man wept. Clutching the torn scraps of paper, sobbing his heart out. As his cries swelled into thunder that shook the world—
"Gasp!"
Late into the night. Icarus jolted awake from a nightmare. His wife, the stream nymph Danderiol, lying beside him, asked, "What? Dreaming of falling into the sea again?"
"No, not that."
"Then it was your father in the dream."
Icarus neither confirmed nor denied it. Was that man in his dream really his father?
Dad never cries.
When he'd declared he'd pursue art, his father had grabbed a hammer to beat him. Icarus fought back, and in their worst possible way, father and son severed ties.
How many years has it been since I last saw him? And yet that man still looms in me like an immense stone or boulder, casting his shadow. Am I doomed to live forever in a master's shade?
It was the sorrow of a son with a legendary father. Everywhere he went, the label "son of Daedalus" stuck. The comparisons to his father's genius would haunt him for life.
"If it's that painful, why not meet your father again and talk it out?" his wife Danderiol suggested. "You should tell him we're married, too."
"He wouldn't come even if I called. And if he did, it wouldn't be for kind words. I've never once been praised by him. I was always the inadequate son. That's what it means to be the child of a genius."
Icarus recalled the day he'd shown his father the first house he'd designed and built himself. That day, Daedalus said nothing, just walked off to smoke in the distance. His face was etched with unspoken disappointment. In that silence, Icarus felt the bitter truth: his talent fell short of his father's expectations. The chill of that air, the tsk of his father's tongue-clicking reproach—it still haunted his nightmares.
Danderiol just shrugged. "I love this little cabin you built. It feels lived-in, human. And I love your paintings. They show the world as only you see it. I'm sure your father would too."
"Not a chance! He'd tell me to quit painting and pick up a hammer like him. But look at my hands..."
Icarus's right hand was ghostly, fluffy and indistinct. Partial ghostification—not common, but not unheard of.
"No way I could hold a hammer with hands like these."
"But you can hold me with them, right? Perfect for hugging someone. So soft and squishy. Imagine reconciling with your dad using those hands."
"Drop it. Don't even mention that man."
Whoosh. Icarus rolled over and went back to sleep. Watching his back, the stream nymph Danderiol pondered quietly.
Life in the Soul Society isn't eternal. We'll lose our memories and turn into ghosts. It'd be nice if they reconciled before that. They're family, after all.
Pop. Then Icarus sat up again. He pulled the Sunrise painting from a drawer and felt the taped edges with his fingertips.
"Way too sloppy. Like someone clueless about art forced it back together. No way Section Chief Jo—the elite of elites—would restore it like this. And this..."
Examining it closely, Icarus spotted a round stain. Like a water drop had fallen on a sketchbook.
"The hammer's on the move!"
At dawn, old man Daedalus came barging in again. He was throwing a fit, demanding the Sunrise painting. What a scene.
If this geezer shows up every day like this, I'll die of sleep deprivation or an accident before Soul Society fires me. But I can't cooperate with him either.
I was deep in thought when...
"So you're really not giving it up, huh? Fine. Guess I'll finish the Chairman's commission without the painting. It'll take about four days. All karma, I suppose."
What? He could complete it in four days without the painting? A chill raced down my spine.
If Daedalus Section Chief finished in under five days, I'd lose the bet outright. Then I'd have to claim Melinoë's "special reward." No way. I had to sabotage him!
But how do you mess with a genius master's work?
I can't. But his estranged son might.
A man who inherited genius blood. Icarus could sour Daedalus's mood. And a temperamental artist like him wouldn't get any work done, botching the job.
He said the painting's sealed forever, so no handing it over. Perfect plan.
"Mr. Daedalus, you want the Sunrise? No choice, then. I know where it is. Follow me."
"For real?!"
I led the limping man—his leg half-ghostly—to a remote corner of Happy World. A ramshackle cabin amid thorny woods. Daedalus scowled at it.
"Built with zero skill. Pathetic."
Knock knock. I rapped on the door. A man appeared.
"Who...?"
"......"
The man and the old codger locked eyes. What would happen next? Tension city.
"Your hand..."
The old man stared at his son's fluffy, ghostly hand. They stood there forever. After an eternity of silence, Daedalus stroked his prickly beard, glancing around.
"Your paintings are selling well, I hear. Don't know much about you kids' fads, but apparently they're blowing up on SNS. Good for you."
"But you tore up my painting, Dad. Threw it in the trash."
"That... Painting won't get you far in this harsh Soul Society. That's what I thought. Still do. Living off art is a tough road."
"But I saw you. Late at night, pulling the scraps from the trash, taping them up, bawling your eyes out. I thought it was a dream. Dads like you don't cry."
His son's eyes flicked to me, then he shook his head.
"Then I met Section Chief Jo and realized: a guy like him would've restored it perfectly. So if it wasn't him who taped it... my dream was real."
In other words, seeing me convinced Icarus his father had restored it. He was way overestimating me. Awkward.
"Dad, why'd you tape back the painting you tore up?"
Icarus raised his voice, emotion raw—no room for me to speak. Daedalus matched him.
"Truth is... your painting was plenty cool. But I couldn't just cheer you on. Art's a brutal path. So many end up miserable. I didn't want that for you."
"You're right, Dad—it wasn't easy getting here. I painted till my hands wore ghostly, finally opening my own studio."
"......"
"If you hadn't been so harsh, I'd have quit early and lived in your shadow forever. So... thank you."
The son bowed his head. A weathered hand steadied his shoulder.
"Don't bow. You're married now, head of your own household. Living well with your wife—you've outdone me. You've always been a great son. You'll be a better father too."
Daedalus turned and limped toward the fake sun starting to glow in the distance.
"No painting needed? You came all this way for it!" I called.
The old man replied, "It's fine. Section Chief Jo, I hated you for stonewalling me on that painting. But it made me reflect on why it mattered so much. That was your angle, right? Thanks. Because of you, my life's masterpiece is taking shape."
"Masterpiece?"
"Yep, all thanks to you. You really know how to handle me."
I teared up from sheer sadness. Unfair! Could a disowned father and son reconcile this easily?
Married Danderiol started bawling too, thumping my shoulder.
"Truly the 'Guardian of Married Women'! Section Chief Jo, you played the villain to protect our family! My husband and I will never forget this! Never!"
Two days later, the Chairman stormed into the Gratitude Team office, fury uncontained.
"You rascal Jo! What sorcery did you work to sway that stubborn Daedalus? That desperate for a special reward?!"
Flip. The Chairman held a newspaper. And below that headline:
Daedalus's commission from the Chairman: recreating the sky on Soul Society's ceiling. Real sky, somehow. Genius stuff—who knows how.
But my eyes went to the smaller article below. The taped-up Sunrise—except now it had a winged man's silhouette added. I didn't know who, but one leg was ghostly-fluffy.
Father and son reconciled. Totally not my plan—headache city. Worse, the Chairman's rage pierced the heavens.
"You rascal Jooo!"
"Gaaah! The ceiling's cracking!"
"Run!"
Stick around, and I'd be flattened by the Chairman's might. Time to bolt!
"You! Stop right there!"
The Chairman chased. But after a bit, his steps halted.
"...The old man's still kicking around here."
Old god Cronus, tilling with a hoe nearby, straightened up.
"You're old too—what's your point?!"