Every morning, Helios harnessed his winged horses, unleashed his golden chariot, and set out across the sky. As the Sun God transformed the rosy dawn into the golden blooms of day, he thought of those far below. Years ago, he fell in love with a water nymph named Clymene. Together, they had seven daughters and one son named Phaethon. But Helios had a wandering eye. Clymene eventually left him, taking their children with her and marrying King Merops of Ethiopia. When Phaethon was little, Clymene told him tales of his divine father. As he grew into a young man, he took a special pride in knowing he was the Sun God’s child. However, one day, Epaphus, Phaethon’s peer who was himself the son of Zeus, sought to temper Phaethon’s arrogance, taunting that Helios wasn’t his father after all. With no absolute proof to the contrary, the possibility bore into Phaethon’s mind. He feared that his mother had lied. And who was he if not Helios’ son? When Phaethon confronted Clymene, she insisted that his father was the powerful Sun God. Nevertheless, Phaethon was seized by doubt. So, Clymene sent him off to ask Helios directly. Walking eastward, Phaethon entered the Sun God’s gleaming palace at last. Once his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he saw Helios’ radiant smile and open arms. When Phaethon expressed his skepticism that Helios was truly his father, the Sun God only beamed. To dispel all doubt, he would grant Phaethon anything he wanted. Basking in Helios’ glow, Phaethon felt there was but one way to prove their connection to the world— and himself. He needed to drive Helios’ chariot for a day. The Sun God’s smile dimmed. In his daily journey, he steered his fire-breathing horses through space at top speeds. The task required masterful control to ensure that the chariot raced along its precise celestial trajectory, with a thin margin separating stability from catastrophe. Even Zeus wasn’t confident in driving his chariot. Helios begged his son to reconsider, but Phaethon was steadfast, so the god prepared him for the journey. With a crack of the reins, he was off. In flight, Phaethon’s mortal insecurities fell away. But soon, the reins slackened in his hands. Unaccustomed to the feathery weight of a mortal, the radiant horses climbed higher and higher. The chariot whirled past constellations, narrowly missing the pincers of Scorpio and the arrow of Sagittarius. With the Sun so far away, the Earth darkened, and the seas began to crackle and freeze. Startled, Phaethon sharply pulled the reins. The horses lurched and the chariot plunged towards the Earth’s surface. Lakes boiled and forests burned as Phaethon struggled to pull the chariot up, leaving deserts in his wake. Back on Mount Olympus, the Gods were panicking. Zeus saw that Phaethon was destined for a crash that would set the Earth ablaze. So, he hurled one of his mighty thunderbolts at the boy. The horses tore away, leaving Phaethon suspended in the heavens for just one moment, before he plummeted to the Earth, into the river Eridanus, never to resurface. Phaethon’s sisters gathered on the riverbank to weep, gradually metamorphosing into poplar trees that leaked precious amber into the water. Zeus repaired the Earth and created an everlasting memorial, strewing Phaethon’s likeness in the stars. Overcome by grief, Helios had hidden himself from the sky. But he soon returned, and every day from then on, as he raced through the heavens, he greeted his son. The constellation, known as “Auriga,” or “the charioteer,” stands as a reminder of a lost young man, and his bid to harness powers far greater than himself.
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