Side Story: In that memory...

Somewhere deep in ruins far beyond the reach of humanity, where shadows cling to every crevice like living entities, a lone figure sat silently, immersed in a report.

The darkness wrapped around him, as if it possessed its own will, stubbornly refusing to reveal his face. Only one thing defied this oppressive shroud—the radiant, golden blond hair of the figure. It stood out, a symbol of light resisting the encroaching blackness, an icon unmistakable... though no one else was there to see it.

The figure raised a piece of paper, eyes slowly scanning each line with a measured intensity. His gaze was sharp, dissecting every word, but as time passed, he released a sigh—not one of disappointment, but something deeper. It was a sound weighed down by emotions too tangled to decipher.

"I can't be wrong this time..."

He muttered under his breath, fingers clutching the fragile parchment. The words seemed to echo, swallowed quickly by the surrounding silence.

He let go of the paper, its significance lingering even as it fluttered to the ground, disappearing into the inky black.

Still veiled in shadow, the figure leaned back and withdrew another sheet—this one older, more weathered. Its edges were tattered, bronze in color, but the markings remained discernible, etched in time.

A slow breath escaped him as he began reading the ancient text again, as if he had recited the well-worn verse countless times.

"He soared on wings of gilded dreams, beyond the frost, past silver streams. An ambition dared, a heart undone, he flew too close, and embraced the sun."

The depiction on the parchment became clearer, and showed an enigmatic figure holding a gun, charging into the unknown under the command of a distant crowned figure. There was something unnerving about the figure's devotion— a fervor tinged with madness.

"His devotion burned bright, his feathers tore, he tumbled down, and was seen no more."

The imagery shifted, and the figure was now falling into an abyss, watched by those above with reluctant pity. In the descent, another figure appeared, one with elongated ears, offering a flower to the falling soul. Together, they vanished into the darkness.

"Lost to time, a name erased, a fleeting echo, swiftly replaced."

Beneath the words, the scene unfolded further. Underneath an enormous, white tree, the fallen figure rested, clutching a shadowy object to his chest as if it had become its vessel of containment. Suns and moons cycled endlessly beyond the branches, chasing each other in a futile dance of light and dark, signifying the countless days and nights.

"But somewhere in the dark below, a buried ember starts to glow. Forgotten in darkness, in shadow yearned, he rose again, though none discerned."

The final image etched into the old parchment showed the figure stirring, the darkness it once held now coursing through its very being. It rose from its forgotten grave beneath that ethereal tree, eyes alight with an ambition far more intense than before, returning to a world that had long abandoned its memory, replaced.

The blond figure then closed his eyes after finishing, his breath catching as if the words weighed heavier with each recitation. When he opened his eyes again, they gleamed, a deep gold reflecting like the flicker of distant stars.

He studied the cryptic allegorical verses again, but this time his focus lingered on the nameless figure— the one long erased from the minds of history, yet still alive in the echoes of this ancient poem he held.

"You flew too close once... And now you return..." The blond man murmured, his voice low and reflective.

"Not to fight... but to grasp at the thing you desired most of all— peace."

He leaned forward, resting his hands on the aged parchment, eyes closed in silent contemplation. When they opened again, his gaze shone brighter, revealing the familiar pair of golden bronze eyes.

"This is the new name you gave yourself," he continued, his words soft yet piercing. "But the name you once held... will be forever engraved in the memories of those once close to you."

His lips parted, voice low and laced with finality.

"Isaac..."

The name hung in the air, familiar, yet strange. It carried with it a weight of meaning beyond the simple syllables. A name tied to a presence that haunted his thoughts— an anomaly. Yet there was always something more.

"No..." he shook his head, his expression tightening, unseen behind the shadows. The truth was deeper. He knew it now. They had met before— long ago, when the world had looked very different.

The name that resided in the deepest corners of his memory was not Isaac. It was the one whose tale was etched on this very parchment.

"...Icarus."

His words fell like a stone into a silent well, ripples unseen but ever-present.

The name he uttered... It was the boy from the land of snow who had given everything in service to a winter sovereign. The one who had flown too close, not for ambition, but out of loyalty so fierce that it eclipsed his own self-preservation.

At the mention of that name, the blond figure released a breath— not of pain, but relief. A sigh as though the burden of history had finally shifted.

"May you find peace in what you love most."

The man carefully folded the ancient parchment, tucking it away with carefulness.

Then, he stood, turning his back on the dark ruins around him. His golden hair caught the faintest light as he gazed into the dark abyss— a civilization long buried beneath this forsaken chasm.