Welcome back to the Atlas, friends.
If you are new here, you’ve just stepped aboard The Strings of Us, a serialised sci-fi epic being funded in real-time by readers like you. You can catch up on previous chapters in the archive here. 👇
The Story So Far:
We are aboard the Chrysaora, a monumental generation ship born from a secret alliance between humanity and intelligent, gravity-manipulating rabbits. Tensions on the vessel are running at a breaking point. A rogue saboteur recently triggered a near-catastrophic explosion in the water reclamation facility on the exact day the ship’s overarching AGI, “Sister,” was activated. Security Chief Lysander Tanner and rabbit spec-ops officer Hec’ten narrowly averted disaster, uncovering a hidden conspiracy that has led Lysander to forge a secret, investigative alliance with Dr Farrell.
Meanwhile, far from the political sabotage, the grieving human historian, Elias, is struggling to adapt to his new life among the stars. To break through his rigid, academic shell, the rabbit archivist Cas’shya has brought him to the ship’s holographic archive. Rejecting his sterile artefacts and museum-piece mentality, she has plunged him into a fully immersive, sensory reconstruction of Ancient Athens to teach him how rabbits truly record history: by feeling it.
Today, we leave the sound-dampened void of the starship behind and step into the bustling, sun-baked crowds of the Grecian Agora. A boastful Olympian is about to learn that the greatest athletes in history aren’t always human.
A massive thank you to everyone in the Cartographers Guild who joined the Leaderboard so far to help this vessel launch. Let’s open the logs.
A Brief History of Rabbit-kind: The Tale of Philoc the Swift - Part 01 - The Pride of the Agora.
Philoc the messenger was one of the swiftest and most agile rabbits of his time. People assumed he was looked over by Hermes with the way that he could convey messages faster than even the fastest of horseback riders. It was said he had wings on his feet just like the god, and could practically fly along the ground with the way that he ran. Ironically, the humans who would comment as such were often the closest to the truth.
He worked mostly for Rabbits as a runner between communities, using the many warrens that connected Rabbit families beneath the surface, and was well loved and respected for it. However, he was just as often chastised by the elders of the Rabbit families, what with his awkward habit of regularly getting mixed up in human affairs. His love of figs was sadly the driving force behind this unwelcome knack for getting into trouble. Philoc could barely contain himself at even the slightest waft of a basket of market figs, conveyed on a delicate breeze. In order to acquire them through more legitimate means, he would often go against common Rabbit convention and quietly run messages for important people on the surface, in lieu of payment, with fresh or dried figs and dates. Careful as he was to keep his profile low so as not to anger the Rabbit families further - and to keep his talent for Terra running a secret, under pain of Rabbit law! His reputation still preceded him. He was an almost mythical creature to those in the know, becoming a Rabbit who, in time, was highly sought after by the Athenian elite to run messages. Sometimes to generals or dignitaries, often to lovers, and even to the Kings, Pharaohs, and Emperors of other nations. Despite being well known in the upper rungs of society, however, he was yet to cement for himself a longer-lasting and more durable form of notoriety and fame.
All of that effort to remain relatively anonymous was to change the day he met a young, boastful Olympian. Demetrius.
It all began, as many good stories do, in the bustling Polis of Athens. Under the watchful eyes of the gods, Philoc, who was indulging in a few well-earned fruits, overheard a proclamation.
A tall, muscles-and-braun kind of man was standing among a crowd of admirers, fully slicked in rose-scented olive oil and glinting in the midday sun. He bellowed out to the crowd in as impressive a voice as his huge chest could muster.
“Good people, my name is Demetrius of Athens. I implore you to remember this name well, for I am bound for the Olympic Games, where I will assuredly win glory in every event. Not only for myself, but for the great city of Athens and for all of its citizens who wish to see the gods’ light shine upon the brow of an Athenian. The golden wreath bestowed upon the heads of the best athletes will be proof of my claims to excellence when I bring it home to this very Polis.
But do not just simply take what I say without scrutiny; listen well to the experience I bring to the Olympiad. The abilities I have come to possess in my travels will be evident for all to see, and it will be repeated for future generations to come as the greatest example of the human capacity for athleticism. In Sparta, I trained with their mighty generals. I can throw a discus, a shot, and a javelin further than even the boldest and most highly acclaimed Spartan warriors. On horseback, I travelled east, where I was recruited as a mercenary for the famed horse riders known as the Scythians. I now have the dexterity, the speed and the natural ability of those who can ride like the wind and shoot arrows with both hands free, from the back of their horse - at full gallop no less. My chariot skills have been likened to those of the great Hittites, famed for their chariot warfare, which will come as a surprise to none who know of my exploits in Anatolia.
In boxing, I have spent many months fighting with bears in the northern hills of Makedonia, learning how to brawl, to read the flow of the fight, to dodge, weave and master the art of using my opponent’s weight against them. To think like a bear is an art in itself; they do not presuppose the outcome of a brawl and instead react with lightning reactivity in the moment that it is necessary. It is impossible to surprise a bear, and it is impossible to surprise me. In wrestling, I tested the might of Poseidon and the Minotaur, both by sailing down to the ancient Mesopotamian island of Crete, where I fought against the great beast and learned how to use this Bull’s strength against him, pulling him to the floor and holding him fast as Theseus may have done in the past. After this, I travelled into the far north, well beyond our northern borders and up into the cold, frost-bitten realms of the Celts. It was there that I studied under a great tutor. A fierce Celtic warrior by the name of Arthengeterix, who taught me the techniques of his fierce, one-to-one combat style. It is a fighting form that has stood him in great standing as a king among the tribes. It is this fighting style I will be bringing to the Pankration, where there will be no one in the Greek world able to stand toe to toe with me”.
Philoc, who had scoffed his figs by this point and was sitting amicably in the shade of a small market stall adorned with flowers, scoffed again at this man’s audacity and boldness. Surely no one could be daft enough to believe this man’s claims. For a start, he looked to be no older than twenty-five years, so quite how he had been able to stuff his life so full to bursting with all these experiences was beyond belief. Stories of Minotaurs, Mercenaries, and fighting bears. Philoc laughed to himself again and creased his eyes in bemused bewilderment. However, his ears pricked up at the next statement.
“My dear friends, ‘but what of the running events’, I hear you ask… Fear not, for I have found the greatest of tutors. I am certain you have all heard tales of the swift and lightning-fast Gē Dromeis. Terra runners. Rabbits whose ability to run has become almost legendary. Of course, most of you, I am sure, think of these enigmatic creatures as simple kids’ tales, but I can assure you they are not! I have met one, and learnt the secrets of their incredible ability to be in one location and the next before the blink of an eye. I can now best any Rabbit or Human in a course of any distance. The other Olympians will have only a view of dust, kicked up from my blazed trail as I cascade towards and over the finish line”.
“Hah!”
The crowd was silenced suddenly, unsure who would be brave enough to have released such a hearty laugh at this newest claim. People shuffled awkwardly, and Demetrius himself stilled, unfamiliar as he was with being ridiculed. Glaring into the crowd, he scanned for the culprit, ready to prove his mettle as a warrior and athlete right here, right now.
The crowd began to part a little, shuffling awkwardly as the source of the disruption became more evident. Demetrius growled his stern gaze through the crowd as the people parted, until at last his eyes landed on a Rabbit. A small white and grey flecked Rabbit looking sheepish and trying to look as small as he could behind a basket. Many in the crowd who could see what was happening gasped audibly, unsure what to make of this turn of events. Rabbits, as far as they were concerned, were borderline mythical. Stories told to children and shared over wine. These were the moments that concerned Rabbits, not real life. As word of the Rabbit rippled through the crowd, it began to buzz momentarily until -
“You, Rabbit! You mock me!?”
“No sir, not me at all, nope, must have been someo….”
Philoc clasped his paws over his mouth aghast and ashamed in equal measure at having spoken in Human language as openly as this. With so many people around, he couldn’t quite believe himself.
Demetrius projected an accusing finger across the heads of his audience.
“Your guilt speaks volumes, Rabbit! How about I come over there and wipe that smirk off your face properly? Do not think that because of having met your kind before, I will be lenient”
At this moment, when the tension was climbing rapidly up the walls of the great acropolis to new heights, a man stepped out of the crowd. Herodotus, who had much knowledge of the world and of Rabbits, saw an opportunity.
“My dear friends, calm this quarrel immediately. I am sure not everything is as it seems. Perhaps there is an opportunity here for you, Demetrius, to show us all the truth of what you say”.
Turning to Philoc, he beckoned him forward. Philoc, aware of the expectant gaze of the entire crowd, not to mention the heat coming off Demtrius’s glare, was hesitant to take a step further and instead considered making a dash for it, secrecy be damned.
“Come now, no harm will befall you”.
Assured by this gentle man’s calming presence, he hopped forward from his spot in the shade of the basket and out onto the sunny stage that had been created by the feet of those who had parted to let him in.
Herodotus, satisfied that he had absorbed some of the immediate danger, began:
“Gentlemen, let us not resort to brash actions. Demetrius, your claims are grand, and if true, worthy of the annals of history. Yet, they are met with scepticism, understandably so. Why not prove the veracity of your training with the Gē Dromeis in a challenge that would befit such a tale?”
Demetrius, after a moment of thought, his pride piqued: “And what challenge would you propose, wise Herodotus, that could possibly prove my worth and silence the doubters?”
“A race, but not any mundane race. A race to the Oracle of Delphi. To consult the Oracle on a matter of great importance, a question that only the fastest and most worthy of messengers could deliver and return with an answer to before the next full moon. The gods themselves would bear witness to such a feat, and what better way to prove your divine training?”
Demetrius, for a moment, baulked at the thought of this challenge; surely he was above this nonsense. But then he looked around at the expectant eyes of his peers among the audience. Old and young alike, energised and awed by his stories of heroism and skill, were looking to him. A young child was reflecting admiration, as one might if standing before Zeus himself. Knowing that he had to prove himself and also not let these people down, he calmed himself and nodded, inwardly reluctant, but outwardly assured.
The crowd turned their attention towards Philoc, their admiration sliding into bemusement as they absorbed the reality of this unusual exchange.
Philoc hesitantly, and with a respectful nod towards Herodotus, spoke: “Esteemed Herodotus, and... Demetrius, it’s true I’ve overheard some tales taller than the olive trees of Athens, yet none so bold as to claim tutelage under my kin. While flattery it might be to some, to me it brings about a deep quandary.”
He pauses, glancing around at the crowd and then back at Demetrius, his tone a mix of apology and gentle correction.
“For no Rabbit, swift or wise, would dare boast to have taught the wind its ways, nor claim the stars as students. My laugh, ill-timed and unkind, was but a ripple in the pond of your grand tales. Yet, if a race to Delphi is the path to truth, then on swift legs I shall tread it, not for glory or laurel, but for clarity’s sake and maybe... for a fig or two at journey’s end.”
The market stall owner, seizing an opportunity for a bit of easy glory himself, called from his stand: “I will happily and with great pride provide a whole cartload of figs and dates to the winner of this esteemed contest of man versus beast… Ahem… Rabbit”.
“There it is settled then. As the witness to this agreement and a chronicler of truths, I shall set the terms and oversee this race. Let it be known that on this day, a challenge was set forth, one that will be remembered through the ages. Tomorrow morning at sunrise, when the first vestiges of the sun’s facade creep over that distant temple’s apex, we will meet at this very spot, and the race will begin. The message you will convey -”
Herodotus paused in thought. His wisdom and understanding of the greater patterns of the universe led him into a moment of silence as he pondered his role in steering these two characters towards a worthy outcome.
“Let the question for the Oracle be this: ‘What is the true measure of victory for a man? Is it in the laurels of triumph, or is there a greater victory to be found within?”
The crowd cheered with delight as the rules were laid bare for all. Herodotus, pleased with the effect of his words, looked to his two peers for their consent. Demetrius nodded, a thin smile on his lips, caught between amusement and annoyance, whilst Philoc took a low bow, eyes closing for a moment as a gesture of respect, before hopping away between the feet of an old woman.
From the Cartographer’s Desk
This chapter was an absolute joy to build. After the claustrophobic, high-stakes tension of the water facility sabotage in the present timeline, pivoting to the sun-drenched, mythological past of Ancient Greece felt like a necessary breath of fresh air.
Writing Philoc the Swift allowed me to explore the cheeky, slightly irreverent side of rabbit culture. I loved contrasting Demetrius’s loud, aggressive human hubris, built on boasts of wrestling minotaurs, fighting bears, and training with Spartans, with Philoc’s quiet, fig-loving capability. It sets the stage perfectly for the race to Delphi, proving that the greatest athletes in history aren’t always human.
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Thanks for reading, and all the best to you all.
This was so much fun!