After everything I've learned, I really have no choice but to suck it up. I got the short end of the stick—so what? Complaining won't do me any good. Time to turn lemons into lemonade.
I can't stay in hiding forever if I want to spread the word of her return. I still can't believe I'm basically the goddess's missionary now, the one who promotes Eriu and leaves her calling card behind.
The task shouldn't be too challenging. Action speaks louder than words—and word of mouth travels fast. The more I help, the more trust I earn. The more trust I gain, the easier it becomes to influence faith and share stories about the Goddess of Abundance. Information backed by proof is everything.
But before I do any of that, I need to train my body.
The last time I fought the bats, I was in terrible condition—battered, exhausted, barely standing. I need to be faster, lighter, more precise. I can't rely on fireballs or burning entire landscapes every time. I need weapons.
Close combat: a dagger.
Long range: a bow and arrow.
Carrying them around would be a pain… unless I use fire to summon them.
I focused, letting flame gather in my palm, shaping it with Eriu's power. A dagger formed—solid, sharp, humming with heat. I tried again. A bow and arrows followed.
Perfect.
I set up thick wooden logs as targets and began training. I circled them, striking from different angles, landing blow after blow. The dagger felt natural in my hand. Archery, on the other hand… not so much. I overthought everything—my stance, my aim, my breathing.
Why am I making this so damn hard?
I was about to give up when it hit me.
Endless possibilities.
Why follow the "proper" way when I can create my own?
I stopped thinking and fired burning arrows instead. They struck true—fast, powerful, devastating.
Impressive.
The weapons barely drained my energy, and I could switch between physical and magical attacks. Even more impressive.
I felt it then—my speed, agility, endurance, strength—all increasing. It wasn't just me. Eriu's power was enhancing my body. Combined with my focused training, it was wild.
If I had this during my triathlons, I would've destroyed everyone.
I ran, jumped, dodged, and attacked. Wind slapped my face. Heat rushed through my veins. My adrenaline spiked.
And then—
Oh hell no.
That feeling again.
The flood of joy. The overflow. Abundance in its purest, cruelest form.
I lost control.
It hurt.
Too much excitement. Too much happiness. Too much of everything. My body trembled, breath ragged, chest heaving. I collapsed to the ground, helpless.
With no one to mate with, I couldn't stabilize it.
I was starving—thirsty—for touch, for connection, for intimacy of any kind. Tears streamed down my face as I endured it until everything went black.
When I woke up, I gasped for air as if I'd come back from the dead.
Weak. Shaky. Hollow.
So this is what she meant. Refusing to mate really does put me in danger.
I clenched my fists, furious—but determined. I'll find a way. I have to. Moderation. Control. Discipline.
Once my energy stabilized, I adapted further to life here. I actually agreed with Eriu's pro-nature philosophy—local, organic, no pollution. I refuse to turn this world into a landfill.
I recycled everything. Dried fruit for snacks. Pickled vegetables. Cooked grains. At some point, I realized I'd gone fully vegan.
I learned how to make paper from sawdust and how to write with charcoal from burned twigs. And if I got lazy, I could just envision stacks of paper and pencil twigs—done.
Being a librarian really paid off.
I listed plants useful for materials: cotton, flax, and bamboo. Silk from silkworms and spiders.
I envisioned them—and they appeared.
A silver needle. Cotton thread. Linen fabric from flax.
My first creation: a small linen crossbody satchel.
I filled it with medicinal herbs, dried fruits, a pocket knife, and a calabash gourd for water. I threw on a hooded cotton cape.
Now I was ready.
Braver. Bolder.
The surroundings of my refuge are still quiet and undisturbed.
I decided to head deeper into the forest, marking my path as I went—odd-shaped trees, heart-like rocks, patches of distinct flowers. The forest felt alive again. Screeches. Purrs. Squeaks.
Yeah… the snake definitely scared everyone off earlier.
I heard rushing water ahead. Rivers always meant life.
As I approached the riverbank, I spotted them—beavers. Short, stubby, furry little engineers hard at work building a dam.
They had logs—plenty of them.
I walked closer. They stiffened, panicked. I stopped, ready to turn back—
"Hi! Are you lost?" one of them called.
"Oh—no. I was actually looking for logs. I saw you had plenty and wondered if you could spare some."
"We could," another beaver snapped, "if those damn rats would stop sabotaging our dam!"
Rats. Of course.
I looked at the structure. Honestly? Not that hard. If they could do it, so could I.
"Maybe I can help you rebuild," I offered. "I don't have much else to do."
"But you're a girl," one said doubtfully.
"So?" I shrugged. "Trust me."
"I'm Igor, chief of the tribe," he said. "We need help before the storm hits. What's your name? What tribe are you from?"
Uh oh.
"I'm… I'm…" My mind blanked.
Igor raised a brow.
"I'm Shelley," I blurted. "From the… Bunny Tribe."
I nodded. "Yes. Bunny Tribe."
I am a bunny.
"Never heard of it," Igor muttered. "But come on, help us."
I followed them to the dam—
And there they were.
Big. Brown. Giant rats gnaw through the wood.
Disgusting.