The rabbits’ banquet was distinctive.
Most likely, they had created an idol by weaving bundles of grass modeled after Tisy and ourselves, and they were dancing wildly on the wild plains with the beats of drums and stomping feet.
Seeing this scene, I was reminded of the Bon dance I enjoyed during the summer of my compulsory education period.
At the central tower, instead of a drum, a sacred deity statue was placed, and the rabbits surrounding it joyfully jumped about. The elated atmosphere permeating the entire area was strikingly similar.
It was quite a fancy and endearing spectacle. It would make a splendid illustration in a picture book.
[“Are you having fun?”]
[“I want to dance!”]
The festival offering resting on my lap—what was essentially a “fluffiness element”—sniffled softly.
Of course, that makes sense. Being a child who was born last autumn and full of playful vigor, it would rather jump around with everyone instead of staying still on an adult’s lap. To begin with, there aren’t many individuals who enjoy being fluffed, making this even more so the case.
While rabbits are cute, they can be quite high-strung sometimes.
[“Here!”]
[“It’s fine, go ahead!”]
An elder sitting one level below me scolded promptly, but understanding his sentiment, I set the elaborately adorned young rabbit free to join the dance.
I, too, was incredibly bored with the rituals during my compulsory education days, frequently dozing off and getting scolded. I even recall standing during the opening ceremony and falling asleep. Hence, go ahead, everyone, and play your hearts out.
[“We are deeply apologetic, oh great companion/guardian/deity. Despite our lavish treatment and the lamentation held for the warriors, for the offering to escape…”]
[“That’s enough. Life is short; it’s more important to have fun and enjoy it.”]
Sitting cross-legged with a cheek resting on my palm and my left hand dangling loosely, I laughed heartily back at the elder.
The Sylvanian lifespan is short. Perhaps originating from rabbits, their telomeres are shortened, and aging begins by the age of thirty. By fifty, they become elderly. Considering the oldest record of age in the Tisy File was fifty-nine, in comparison to the mechanized humans who can live for over eight hundred years in baseline reality time, their timespan is incredibly brief.
Thus, they should live life to the fullest, experiencing immense joy. If they eventually desire eternal youth and I have the means to offer it, I wouldn’t object to prolonging their lifespans.
Indeed, Tisy also lamented the lack of facilities for anti-aging treatments.
[“By the way, what did Tisy do on occasions like these according to tradition?”]
[“…Our great mother always forgave with a smile.”]
[“Exactly.”]
How could I blame them for something Tisy forgave? Thanks to her, I can sit here so boldly and borrow another fifteen warriors without any complaints.
Moreover, these warriors who prefer light armor—apparently unable to tolerate their faces being covered—became terrifying scouts capable of jumping at an average speed of 80 km per hour. They are also outstanding soldiers due to their cautious and precise nature as marksmen, which makes me even more grateful to them.
Requesting what they can’t achieve and offering what they can—this is the normal establishment of society. What more could I ask for from them?
[“So, elder, how are your knees holding up?”]
[“Oh! They feel as they used to when I was young. I’m quite surprised.”]
Attempting to shift the topic, I inquired about the usability of the peculiar machine-like seat that extended from the village chief’s waist down to his knees.
It is a non-powered muscle suit operated by highly flexible artificial muscles made from lightweight titanium and elastic Kevlar with high-hardness rubber tubes, designed to restore past vitality to the elderly whose legs and knees have weakened.
In essence, it’s a cost-effective version of a reinforced exoskeleton. It doesn’t require batteries, and I made it so it can still be maintained even after I’m gone, so it should long assist the elderly in recapturing their former vigor.
The elder was pulled out of his home multiple times due to my welcoming and negotiations with the Tech Gobs, but I presented him with this as an apology, and I’m glad he finds it to his liking.
[“The other tribe members have also been delighted. They said it makes carrying loads much easier.”]
[“If your great mother provided them with shelter and safety, then I shall offer them further convenience.”]
If she were Prometheus bringing civilization, then I would be Hephaestus offering tools, so to speak..
…Ah, this analogy might be a bit off. He’s one of those gods who suffered greatly in mythology and has quite embarrassing anecdotes, so I’d rather not emulate him. Especially the incident with Aphrodite—I absolutely refuse that.
NTR, no way, absolutely not.
Setting aside the jest, all we can offer the Sylvanians in return are health and longevity.
Since they can survive on the grass around them, there’s no need for agriculture. They also have splendid homes left by Tisy and have no intention of overpopulating.
This is because, like the original rabbits, Sylvanians are perennially in estrus, yet instead of having multiple offspring, they only produce one or two children at a time, which prevents explosive population growth. Additionally, their docile and pastoral personalities ensure that they show no interest in conquests, and their politics are generally satisfied with the notion that “the individual who has lived the longest is the most prominent,” making their fundamental lack of ambition quite clear.
Still, it’s surprising how fifteen warriors have gathered under me, even after losing three soldiers last time. It’s a popular choice, drawing selections through lottery from sixty volunteers for the local defense team. Unexpectedly, they seem to be in high demand.
This much faith in Tisy is quite telling. Despite their short lifespans and lack of a written language, the fact that this faith has been maintained for five hundred years is truly commendable. That alone testifies to Tisy’s competence as a ruler or the faithfulness of the rabbit-like beings, or both. In any case, it’s essential to carefully preserve their prayers.
[“By the way, elder, I have a question.”]
[“What is it?”]
[“Why do you burn it in the end?”]
Pointing to the divine statue the rabbits danced around, the elder tilted his head and replied as if it were self-evident.
[“Our great mother descended from the stars and stated that she would return to them. Therefore, we burn it grandly to send our prayers, wishes, and gratitude to the stars in smoke.”]
[“Ah, I see.”]
So that was the ritual. The fact that all the intricate intentions have been accurately transmitted through oral tradition for five hundred years is astonishing.
Five hundred years. Usually, oral traditions get jumbled and are often forgotten, merely summarized as “it has been decided so.”
They must have devised their methods without a written language, which is truly impressive.
It’s quite incredible that such an advanced species arose merely by chance, and yet members of the old human species still call themselves the “lords of creation.” Factually, numerous superior beings exist individually in the universe. Take the photon beings, for instance—the top-tier of our overseers whose consciousness resides in the waveforms of light. They lack physical forms but can manipulate objects, potentially existing indefinitely while contemplating philosophical questions like “Do we even die?” for two trillion years.
In contrast to humanity, which includes mechanized humans, they seem so fragile and delicate.
I suddenly thought about the old humans and searched for Galatea, finding her sitting quietly apart from the rabbits, nibbling on celebratory food.
I wondered why, and the elder, realizing this, awkwardly and hesitantly informed me.
[“Hmm? In the past, humans… well, there was a time they considered Sylvanians merely big rabbits.”]
[“Oh… so the countries where they were regarded merely as large rabbits and fought against them are now all gone…”]
The extensive Tisy File is summarized and archived, so just by thinking of it, the relevant article promptly appeared on the retinal monitor. It seems this planet’s Homo sapiens once had a period where they couldn’t recognize verbal creatures as higher intelligences, leading to battles here and there.
Now those nations have long since perished—during Tisy’s lifetime, mind you—and are entirely separate from the Canopy Holy Capital I am visiting today. Still, it would be nice if they didn’t be so intimidated by her presence here.
You know, Galatea appears to be the type who appreciates cute things. She has this heartwarming expression when watching the Sylvanians dance, but when her eyes meet people, both children and adults run in fear, causing her visible distress. It would be good for everyone to treat her more kindly.
The warriors seem to slightly open up and greet her, so hopefully, friendships can develop from there.
After taking a sip of the tea offered by the Sylvanians—note, it was incredibly bitter to the point where my tongue nearly twisted—I observed the festival, and a communication came from Selene.
“Seems you’re participating, Captain.”
“…Does it look like it? But if I danced myself, it’d be too awkward due to the size difference.”
“As we thought you’d decline, we prepared something for you.”
Before I knew it, a drone arrived silently carrying an enlarged drum that the Sylvanians could play and was now suspended for me to use.
It was then plopped beside me, and lo and behold, a display akin to a rhythm game showed up with the words “Your turn, please.”
“Well, I do have some knowledge of musical instruments, but…”
When I grabbed it and placed it on my lap, the elder reacted, and the wave spread out, causing the entire venue to hush.
Yes, please wait a moment; this isn’t easy for me. Looking at the faces of expectation—though most Sylvanians, due to underdeveloped facial muscles, tend to look expressionless—I found myself unable to decline.
Alright, let’s just see how it goes.
After tuning the drum a few times, I started playing the melody of their current dance tune.
Amazingly, the rabbits’ energy exploded, producing a noise so loud that my translator barely functioned. It’d be as if everyone speaking human languages began talking simultaneously, becoming lively and festive. But does this mean good or bad?
Unable to tell, I layered a light rhythm, and then, as if sensing it, the musicians also joined in, pounding. Given that their mouth structures prevent them from playing wind instruments, they primarily use percussion instruments, so the colorful variety of instruments that now joined in suggested that they were pleased with the music, yes?
In any case, the banquet, a petition for a successful campaign, continued to thrive, and as the moon reached its zenith, the sacred statue was set ablaze.
With the thick smoke rising into the sky, I prayed for the warriors’ success, thinking of the Sylvanians’ Prometheus of old… who are no longer among us.
The next update will be around July 20, 2024, at 7:00 PM.
