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I was told the story of Daedalus and Icarus was a myth.
If we were meant to fly, the gods would have given us wings.
For I am the cursed boy with three names.
The lowest of the low.
Born on that inauspicious day, the reviled son of a slave of Rome.
Betrayed to a fate worse than death, I defied an Emperor and soared with eagles .
All to journey to the hill of the white horse, with nothing but the promise around my neck.
I believed the impossible, for truth became lie and myth became real.
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