The Nameless Heir

"Let's go, Daedalus."

The words came out soft and quiet, but they still held weight.

The crowd closed in, tense and quiet, unsure what they were even walking into.

John's face tightened. His brow furrowed, and for a second, his mouth opened—like he wanted to say something. But nothing came. Not a single word. He didn't fully understand what he'd set in motion. Only that it was standing right in front of him now… and there was no going back.

All around them, people watched Kael move. Every step, every shift of his shoulders—they followed it like a threat waiting to happen.

Their weapons rose—not just swords or shields, not the usual kind. Stranger tools. Machines, maybe. Things that buzzed faintly with power but didn't look stable.

Kael's eyes narrowed.

He'd seen weapons like those before, once. In another life. But the ones in front of him now? They looked like knockoffs.

Downgraded. Incomplete.

There was no tension in his stance. No panic. He didn't flinch. Just stood there with the kind of quiet confidence that came from knowing none of it would touch him.

Then he turned, slow, eyes locking on Daedalus, measured and unblinking, like the calm before an execution.

"Let's go."

And the moment the word came, his shadows answered.

The crowd held their breath as the shadows began to rise.

They slipped out from beneath Kael's feet—slow at first, then faster, drawn to something. There was no sound. No warning. Just movement.

Dark shapes stretched upward, thin and smooth, pulled by a purpose only they understood. They twisted midair, bending unnaturally—then locked into form.

Chains.

They didn't fall. They struck and wrapped around Daedalus's limbs with precision, like they'd been summoned for this one moment.

His chains were made to feel fear.

And Daedalus?

He still hadn't moved. Unbothered. Detached. As if the chains meant nothing to him.

He raised his hand. Then, without warning, he thrust it forward—aiming straight for Daedalus's chest.

The shadows followed his lead, rising with him like a second skin.

But the moment his hand touched Daedalus's chest, they stopped. Not on purpose—something was keeping them from moving.

Then something hit him—a sharp, invisible shock. A force surged through his arm, and his body pulled back on instinct, like it had touched something it wasn't supposed to.

He had just felt something that had rejected death itself.

"What… is this?"

Daedalus hadn't moved. Not even flinched.

And Kael? He could feel it now—something ancient pressing in around him. Something was wrong. His veins burned. His nerves felt tangled. Whatever it was, it was messing with his senses.

He smirked. "Oh, I see now. Everything—the Labyrinth, that body of yours—you built it all to outrun death."

He didn't raise his voice, but his eyes lit up—blood-red, divine, furious. Not like a god. Something worse. Something humiliated. Mocked.

Across from him, Daedalus smiled. Not with joy, but with defiance—like a man who had already thought of this moment and found a way to counter it.

Behind them, the crowd began to shift. Uneasy glances. Shuffled feet. Tension spread through the air like dry kindling, just waiting for the spark.

Something was there—something they didn't understand, but still chose to stand behind.

They weren't just protecting him.

They were protecting whatever he had become.

Hope.

One man stepped forward with his weapon raised, but his hands were trembling. His voice tried to sound firm—but cracked halfway through.

"Get away from him."

His expression didn't shift.

A metallic clang rang through the silence, sharp and sudden. Something struck the side of his head and fell to the ground with a dull clunk.

He turned his head, just slightly. Enough to let the man know he was being watched. There was no anger—just a flicker of annoyance, buried deep.

Kael didn't say anything at first. He just looked at the man—long enough to make the silence feel heavier than steel.

He stepped forward. The sound of his foot hitting stone made the crowd flinch.

His voice followed, low and even.

"You're one of those monsters."

Kael smiled, but his eyes stayed locked—flat, unreadable.

"Oh, you wish I was," he said quietly. "I'm far more terrifying."

The man's breath caught. He shut his eyes, bracing for what was about to come.

But nothing came.

No pain. No strike.

Just a hand gripping his collar.

Kael pulled him upright with no effort, then leaned in slightly, voice calm and low.

"I came here for him."

He glanced toward Daedalus, then back at the trembling man.

"I have nothing against the people who live here."

The smile returned—small and humorless.

Kael turned his gaze to Daedalus. His voice was calm, but there was weight behind it.

"I need you to return with me."

Daedalus didn't flinch. He looked tired, but not afraid.

"I can't," he said quietly. "I have work I need to finish here."

Kael's tone didn't change.

"Sorry," he said. "But I have work to finish too. So you're coming with me—whether you like it or not."

Daedalus looked away, just for a second. When he spoke again, it was softer. Not an excuse—just something closer to regret.

"I have to help this world," he murmured. "I have to redeem myself."

Kael stared at him, gaze cutting sharper than words ever could.

"Redeem?" he echoed. "Don't you see it?"

He took a step closer.

"You're a genius. And somehow, you still don't get it."

His voice stayed low, but there was an edge now. One that cut deeper than shouting ever could.

"Those demigods? They're here because of you."

He didn't let Daedalus speak.

"They came here because you couldn't stop touching the very thing hunting you. You kept running from your past and dragging everyone else into the wreckage. You made things worse—for them. For the people."

Kael paused, letting the words sink in.

"You committed a crime, Daedalus. And you need to be judged."

Kael didn't raise his voice.

"You didn't escape death," he said, watching Daedalus with the kind of stillness that felt heavier than anger. "You just delayed it."

He took a slow step forward. The crowd held their breath, trying to take in everything Kael was saying.

"And in doing that… you left cracks everywhere you walked."

Kael tilted his head slightly, eyes squinting.

"You think you've been saving people. Fixing things. But all you've done is leave damage behind. The city you passed through, every name you whispered your knowledge to—someone else paid for it."

He let the silence sit for a beat.

"You weren't just running from death," he said, voice dropping lower. "You were dragging it with you. Quiet. Constant. Like a curse that never knew when to stop."

Kael's voice dropped, just a little. Quieter now.

Not because of Daedalus.

Because he remembered what the Three Sisters had said about Liz's future. The weight of it pressed against his chest—but he pushed it aside.

He turned back to Daedalus, focused again.

"You can't change fate. I know why you're doing this—because you've always believed every problem has a solution. That if you just work hard enough, you'll find a way to fix it."

Kael's voice dropped a little more.

"But not everything can be fixed." He paused. "The best thing you can do… is accept it. Accept the life you've lived. The damage you've done."

He let that truth hang between them, heavy and real. Liz's face popped into his head again.

He gestured toward the city around them.

"You've done bad things. But you've done good too."

Then, softer—but feeling uncertain:

"Those demigods didn't come here to save anyone. They came to rule. To take power. To feel control—something they could never have in Olympus."

"You know you can't win against them. They're basically gods here."

Daedalus snapped. The control in his voice cracked all at once.

"I didn't know," he said, louder than before. "I was broken. Lost."

His hands clenched at his sides—not in anger, but in something closer to shame.

"They told me to teach—just that. Pass on what I knew. So I did."

His voice faltered for a breath, then steadied.

"But once they had it… they disappeared. Hid inside the Labyrinth. Used it to get here. By the time I realized what they were doing—by the time I chased after them…"

He shook his head, jaw tight.

"I was too late… so now I have to save them. Even if it kills me."

He didn't know what to do. His head screamed. His mind too loud. Too heavy—every thought crashing into the next. He couldn't think.

Was this the right choice?

Dragging Daedalus out of here, forcing him into something he might not deserve?

What if he was wrong? What if this wasn't justice—just desperation wearing the mask of purpose?

He didn't know.

But Liz's face flashed in his mind, and the noise in his head cracked open.

He needed Daedalus.

Whether it was right or not… it was the only way to protect her—and his mother.

So he reached out and grabbed his hand.

This time, there was no shock. No resistance.

But Daedalus didn't look relieved.

He looked guilty.

His eyes dropped, and something in his posture gave—like he already knew it was his fault. Had known it for a long time.

The crowd watched in silence.

No one moved. No one dared speak.

Until one woman stepped forward.

She wasn't young—maybe thirty-five, maybe older. Her face was tight with grief. Eyes wet. Lips trembling. She didn't speak.

She just walked up to Kael—and slapped him.

Hard.

It echoed louder than any word could have.

Kael didn't react. He didn't flinch or pull back.

But he felt it.

Not the sting.

Something else.

Something heavier.