Analepsis -
Almost three thousand years prior to the events leading up to our current story, a man lived. A man with an insatiable hunger for knowledge. He lived in Ancient Greece, back before everything turned sideways in the world. Back when the only thing on his mind was the desire to learn. Icaros was a boy of 16, wise beyond his years thanks to his father. His father was a simple salesmen of fine rugs who would buy Icaros scrolls filled with fantastic literature whenever he could. He loved watching his son soak up the knowledge. He had high hopes for Icarus.
Living in Greece had its perks. It was fairly easy to acquire a fortune if you had the means to do so, so the boy and his father lived in relative comfort. Icaros loved his life. His father, his friends, his scrolls. Things seemed so perfect. But that was not to last. War was on the horizon.
With the formation of Rome, people had been talking. The rival beliefs and the growing nation had been on the rise for years now. Icaros's father kept his son ignorant, not wanting to plague the boys thoughts. Allowing him to keep his blessed ignorance. Though, this didn't mean Icarus was completely unaware of the subtle changes. People had begun to slowly change loyalties. The prospering nation seeming like the better place to be at times, despite the Greek nations own state. Countless stories and many rumors that had mingled with the occasional couriers words reached many ears in the Greek states, resulting in a reduction of population. Those who sought purpose or more bountiful fortunes. Perhaps luxury.
Over time, Icaros had noticed the people of his commune disappear. Occasionally catching one or two on the road. Maybe a family on their way to the new nation of SPQR. While it did beg questions, though, Icaros wasn't inherently negative. His thoughts consisted mostly of his father and his friends, so thoughts of impending doom seemed to fly right over his head.
Shortly before Icaros's seventeenth birthdate, however, his ignorance was shattered. An assassin had attempted to strike down the ruler of Greece. The mans body lie broken on the cobblestone pathway, bloody and maimed. He was dead, no doubt. Icaros has never seen blood before, much less death. He wasn't sure how to process it but with curiosity as people around the assassins corpse screamed and gawked. Icaros's father quickly found the boy staring with one of his scrolls clutched in his grip and rushed him away from the scene of death, "No, boy! You must turn away!"
Icaros was fascinated with the corpse, but his insides churned in a way he could not identify as he allowed his father to lead him back to their shop and homage. Little did he know that this was just one of the first, the start of a chain of events that would end his life as he knew it.
Things had just started to become settled in a week later after the apparently failed assassination attempt on the Greece governing body. People had begun to relax. The threat was thought to be over. Icaros's father had asked him to go with him to fetch some skins and furs with him, with his father being a part-time hunter to procure the materials he needed for his rugs. The boy went gladly, grabbing his bow from the storage chest they kept their most precious belongings in upstairs as he bounded out after his father. Excited, after so long he finally got the chance to hunt again!
Icaros and his father made their way out the city gates and to the forests, where any good hunter should think to go to find obvious game. They were after large pelts. Bears, Large cats, deer, that sort of thing. It didn't take them long to spot a trail, though it bore ill markings. A hair had been slaughtered and left for dead. Still strung up in a trap, though it moved no more.
Icaros tugged his fathers sleeve in curiosity, "Is it dead?" He asked. Already knowing so, but seeking to confirm it. His father nodded as he examined the rabbit, "Yes, boy. It's dead. Though what killed it is troubling ... " his father touched and looked the hare over before untying the animal and leaving it as he peered about the woods, "We need to leave, Icaros. Come!"
The boy didn't even have a chance to ask why before he was dragged along, quickly taking frantic steps to keep from tripping as they headed for the forest light that led back to the city. They ran now, and as they did they began to hear shouts. Shouts and screaming. Bursting out into the open, Icaros's father instinctively dragged him behind a brush. The screaming drew the boys attention, and he was horrified at the sight.
Rows of men stood in a line. Countless lines, firing in one direction as arrows from their longbows blotted out the sky. Flaming arrow tips trailed smoke in the air as the projectiles found purchase in the valiant men who stood to bar all advance into the city. Bringing them down like so much grain.
Blood and bodies everywhere. Flaming boulders hurled and flew through the sky, only adding to the darkening clouds that turned the air red and black. Like death. The sight was barbaric. So much senseless death. Is this what people called war?
Icaros looked up at father, but the man seemed to be pale as snow. His skin prickling with sweat as he mourned for the tragedy taking place before the both of them. Their city would burn. Icaros was old enough to know that running would be Ideal in this situation. His father had told him many times to value his own life above sacrifice, to run if things got too dangerous.
But as the boy tugged his father along, it made little difference. The man was still much too large for him. Full of muscle and weighted down by loss as his knees hit the dirt, a pair of soldiers turned toward the noise. Shouts filled the air as Icaros pulled strongly with all his might in that moment, forcing his father to fall back into the bushes as arrows sailed over their heads to pierce the tree behind them, "Father! We have to go! Come ON!"
While this might've gotten his fathers attention, the man still moved sluggishly. Getting up to allow his son to pull him along. The weight of grief held him down, like too much brick. And as they began to take off into a jog, then a run, Icaros felt a thump through their binding grip as his father coughed up blood, "D-dont stop ... "
His father fell. Face first into the grass, two, three, four arrows in his back as he bled out. It was too late ... tears filled Icaros's eyes as he ran into the woods. The aim of the bowmen becoming remarkably less accurate as he distanced himself from the noise. Multiple men in armor giving chase, though it was too late. Icaros's feet sped him far, far away from the massacre, from the loss, from his only living parent he knew. Now dead in the grass from cruel men with evil intent.
Two months later, after running for dear life on what was to be the first surprise assault on the city of Greece, Icaros had collapsed at an embankment miles from the city from exhaustion. Coincidentally, there was a nearby pub that was rather welcoming to all, and the owner had been running for supplies when he'd stumbled across the boy. Whether fate, or blind luck, his life was saved as the man brought him back to his humble building in solitude amidst the forest, treating him with the help of his wife.
Icaros woke to a sleeping inn keeper, thanking him generously with all at his disposal. The man rejected his thanks, though. Instead, offering the boy refuge. Icaros decided to accept his proposal. Having nowhere else to go, he settled down. Grateful for the chance to belong. The grief of losing his father had left him hollow inside, and anything that kept him busy was more than welcome.
A week later, while cleaning the floors in the midst of the excitement, Icaros stumbled on a book. It had fallen off the shelf. A peculiar thing, with a solid cover instead of a roll and a seal. Interest filled the boys hollow eyes as he ran to the owner of the pub to inquire about the piece.
The man was more than happy to satiate Icaros's curiosity as he opened the cover to show him how you read it, "It's called 'The Urn of the forgotten Wish granter.'" The pub owner said. He told Icaros that there was a legend that proceeded the book, but most called it poppycock. Though, the man did not believe this to be so. A glint of curiosity filled his eyes as he smiled at the boy. Wish Granter?
Going back to his room to study the book, his curiosity transformed into a fiery hope. Whether through naïveté or simple passion, Icaros decided then and there as each page sucked him into the legend further that he would one day see if there was any truth to it, "It sits in a lost tomb, guarded by sands and lost for ages. The book says there're supposed to be trials? Huh ... "
closing the book to examine the cover, it appeared to be made out of refined bark. The book seemed old. Certainly older than any scroll. Sighing, he placed it on the bed, getting up to get back to work, "I need to finish cleaning. I completely forgot about my chores-"
A shatter came from downstairs, then a bang. Like someone had crashed into wood or something. Yelling filled the pub as the inn owner came bursting into Icaros's room. The boy was about to ask what happened when he was scooped up in the muscularity of the mans arms, tossed over his shoulder and carried along.
The pub owner busted through the open window with Icaros over his shoulder, taking off in a quick dash as he headed for the woods. His heavy footsteps making quite the ruckus, so it was no surprise when the boy spotted soldiers running after them. They wore the designation of SPQR, the marking of Rome. They were the same soldiers that had attacked Greece!
The man spoke in a hurry as he ran, "Names Milton, kid! Guess it's just you and me now!" Milton kept running further into the forest until the soldiers were lost out of sight. For a big guy, he sure did run fast ... Milton put Icaros down on the grass gently, staring at the boy as a question rolled out of him, "They were after you, huh?"
Icaros nodded. Pulling out the book Milton had given him as he recounted his tale to the ex pub owner. His shop was probably in flames now, "I'm so sorry, sir. They attacked my home city and killed my father. They must've been hunting me since I escaped~" Icaros felt a strong palm land on his shoulder as Milton cut him off with a huge grin, "Not a problem, Lad! Say, you hung onto that old thing, huh?" He peered at the book, slipping it out of Icaros's grasp as he flipped through it, "You know, a lot of these stories contain quite a bit of truth to them. What say you to a little adventure, boy?"