The Centaur's Lament

Field Report Addendum by Robert Zeiger

I've written and rewritten this account several times now. Each attempt feels inadequate, clinical. I continually fail to capture the profound implications of what I encountered there, beneath Mt. Pelion.

But I must try.

The encounter occurred on our third day of investigating thessalicus' remains. As described in my recounting of that discovery, I had remained in the chamber well after sunset, photographing peculiar markings that seemed to annotate specific genetic modificati

The generator powering our lights hummed steadily, largely masking any ambient sounds from deeper in the cave system. It wasn't until the generator sputtered and died that I heard it—the sound of purposeful movement from somewhere in the darkness.

My small flashlight revealed nothing at first. I turned to leave, picking up my small flashlight and intending to reach the backup equipment.

Suddenly, the sound was behind me.

I turned slowly, my light beam trembling slightly. There, in the chamber's far alcove, stood a being that simultaneously validated and shattered everything I thought I'd learned about thessalicus' anatomy.

The basic body plan was there. The six-limbed configuration, the elevated anterior segment. But there were also many… differences.

It had an almost human-like face, its features displaying an unsettling intelligence. The musculature was refined—and this is difficult to describe—seemingly purposeful in its arrangement.

Then it spoke.

As tense as the situation was, I very nearly shrieked in surprise.

The language was, as Alison would tell me later, a kind of mixture of ancient Greek and something older, more peculiar. Though she could only catch fragments of meaning, her face had gone pale. I saw her hand trembling as she took notes.

What followed was less a conversation than a revelation, pieced together through Alison's partial translations and the being's deliberate gestures toward the diagrams on the walls. The clinical part of my mind noted its movement - far more elegant than the reconstructed gait I'd hypothesized for thessalicus. The rest of my mind was grappling with a very gradual understanding.

This wasn't just another specimen. This was a living bridge between what was and what someone had decided should be.

Over the next several hours, through its halting combination of ancient language and gesture, a picture began to emerge.

The being frequently returned to the thessalicus diagrams, but with particular attention to the annotations I'd previously misinterpreted as straightforward measurements.

Alison's eyes grew wider as she translated fragments: in fact, these weren't measurements at all. I suppose you could call them… modification protocols.

The being moved with deliberate purpose between different sections of the chamber walls, building a chronological sequence.

First, the natural anatomy of thessalicus that we'd spent days studying.

Then, the systematic alterations: enhanced neural pathways, modified muscle attachments, expanded cognitive capabilities. Each change documented with chilling precision.

But it was the being’s reaction to these diagrams that proved most revealing. When indicating thessalicus, its movements were almost reverent.

Yet when demonstrating the modifications, something changed in its bearing, its facial expressions—a subtle but unmistakable shift to... what? Discomfort? Shame? Pride? Even now, I'm not certain.

Suddenly, Alison was gripping my arm. She'd caught something in the being’s speech—something she very roughly translated as "makers" and "divine essence."

Without the context of Crete, from which I had come mere weeks prior, I may not have understood at all. But ever-so-slowly, the realization dawned.

What adorned these cavernous walls were instructions, passed down by beings that the Cretan cult could only dimly imagine when, in The Minotaur, they attempted their crude approximations.

The being led us deeper into even more chambers.

These walls told a story that no conventional archaeology would likely ever accept.

Long before the Greeks spun tales of centaurs, long before the Cretan cult attempted their crude genetic manipulations, there had been others. Beings of tremendous knowledge who saw in thessalicus not just a unique evolutionary specimen, but a template for transformation.

But transformation toward what? Here, the beings’s demeanor once more changed markedly.

Through Alison's partial translations and the being's own evident distress, we began to understand. These modifications weren't meant to create hybrids or biological curiosities. Or at least, not entirely.

They were attempts to craft a new kind of consciousness, to forge beings that transcended natural limitations. These were given unnatural birth by a kingdom—a dominion?—that believed they could improve upon nature itself.

But rather than being only in the modifications themselves, the true tragedy was in the result: beings of profound intelligence and capability, forever aware that they were neither the product of nature like their thessalicus ancestors, nor fully the creatures their makers intended.

They existed in a state of perpetual tension between what they were and what they had been engineered to become.

At length, we came to another chamber.

Here, the walls bore no diagrams—only what appeared to be poetry, or perhaps prayer.

Alison struggled with the text, but certain phrases emerged clearly enough: "divided essence," "false dream," "shadow of purpose."

The being stood before these writings, its form silhouetted by our flashlights, and for the first time I felt I was seeing not just a specimen or an informant, but a being grappling with profound questions of identity.

We learned that these beings had spent millennia hidden in these mountains, watching humanity's rise, preserving knowledge that dated back to civilizations we'd never discovered.

And yet, they were more than archivists.

They were searching. For what, exactly? The being’s attempts to convey this became increasingly abstract. Something about purpose or design.

They had access to their makers' knowledge, but they lacked something essential.

Something they saw in humanity despite all our apparent limitations.

I found myself remembering the ancient diagrams, the precise modifications, the attempted improvements. Yet here, in this chamber of meditation rather than science, the emptiness behind those improvements became painfully clear. These beings existed in a state of perpetual incompleteness—not because they were imperfect, but because, perhaps, perfection itself had been the wrong goal.

As we prepared to leave that sacred chamber, the being made one final gesture - leading us to a section of wall that appeared blank at first glance. But under directed light, we could see the faintest traces of newer markings, still being added to.

These creatures were recording their observations of humanity.

They'd been glimpsed occasionally over the centuries. The old tales of wise centaurs and savage ones were no doubt embellished and built up until they developed a life all their own. But perhaps even these were simply reflections of these creatures’ own internal struggle.

For now, the being’s people remain in their mountain sanctuary, eking out an increasingly difficult existence.

To what end? Sadly, I fear for the worst.

Upon returning to our basecamp, I found a satellite phone that certainly hadn't been there when we left.

Next to it sat a thick folder bearing the Vita Nova logo, containing detailed satellite imagery of the cave system - images dated months before I'd "discovered" the Thessaly reference in those Cretan scrolls.

They had known. They had always known.

I write this now not as a field report for Vita Nova's archives, but as a warning. The Centaur’s people have survived this long by remaining mostly hidden. They are guardians not just of their own sanctuary, but, perhaps unknowingly, of truths humanity may not be ready to face.

And I fear we may have just betrayed their trust.

To anyone who finds this: there are forces at work far older and more terrible than myth would suggest. The centaurs of Thessaly are not monsters to be studied or resources to be exploited.

They are a living evidence of the price of human hubris—and perhaps the last warning sign along the path some would have us walk again.

Dr. Robert Zeiger

redacted

Personal Addendum - Not for Company Archives