Anyone who knows the sky and the clouds knows that it couldn’t have been the sun that brought Icarus to his demise. It was not increasing heat, or light so warm it felt like an embrace, and the wax keeping his flimsy wings together did not melt.
No, the sky is as cold and unforgiving as the earth in Persephone’s absence.
Maybe it was Aeolus who threw Icarus out of the sky with his winds, or it could have been his son, Boreas, who dusted the wings with frost until they were so brittle they shattered, or maybe it was neither.
What would Icarus have reached if he kept flying highter?
Would Icarus have risen into the thinning atmosphere, clutching his throat from lack of air? Would he have reached the realm of the gods, only to be struck down from the heavens by a bolt of lightning for hubris?
Either way, it ends the same: with melted wax, or frozen limbs, or singed feathers.
— Mortals Were Never Given Wings Because Even Birds Know Their Limits