Fredo thanked me wholeheartedly, and frogs and toads alike celebrated my presence. Being able to help another felt deeply fulfilling. I was truly glad I'd helped Fredo regain his confidence and realize that greatness has nothing to do with size.
He carefully handed me the ginza.
"This is the ginza," he said softly. "It's the last one. Machava consumed all the rest and never replanted them. This isn't enough to repay what you've done for us, Shelly of the Bunny Tribe."
So that's why Eriu's power couldn't manifest it. It was nearly extinct.
I cradled the plant gently. I'll plant it. Tend it. Protect it. Many would benefit from it one day.
"Thank you," I said sincerely. "This is more than enough. There's no need to thank me—thank Eriu, the Goddess of Abundance, for her mercy and guidance. She's the one who led me to you. Just be the great king you always dreamed of becoming."
"I've heard of her," Fredo said thoughtfully. "From old myths and legends. We will honor her. Are you her priestess? Is that why the Bunny Tribe is so elusive?"
I denied everything—except one truth.
That the goddess lives.
And that she cares.
Vera, I thought darkly, you'd better prepare yourself. I won't let you corrupt any more clans. To those already affected—I'm coming. I swear it.
After bidding farewell to Fredo and Desapo, exhaustion settled into my bones. I could have manifested my way home, but I chose to walk. I needed the quiet.
Vesper didn't appear. I didn't even sense him.
Instead, a new word burned softly onto my wrist.
Wisdom.
As I walked, I nearly collided with a tortoise dragging a massive leaf piled high with vegetables. Fruits spilled from it, leaving a trail behind.
"Oh!" I quickly bent down, gathering everything that had fallen. "You look like you could use some help. May I carry these? Where are you headed?"
The tortoise smiled kindly. "That would be wonderful. My rabbit friends will be grateful. With help, I'll reach their burrows faster."
I manifested a basket, gathered the produce, and added more for good measure. I walked beside him, matching his slow, steady pace.
"That's very kind of you," I said. "Do you visit them often?"
"Every day," he replied. "My name is Nebitt. And yours?"
"Shelly—from the Bunny Tribe," I said automatically.
Oh no.
I just told a tortoise I was from the Bunny Tribe… and we were heading straight into rabbit territory. I hope they don't catch my lie. But rabbits though...
I imagined fluffy, harmless bunnies hopping peacefully around. Cute. Gentle. Exactly what I needed after everything.
At last, we arrived.
"Welcome to Qunicula," Nebitt announced.
I looked around.
No hopping. No cuddles.
Instead—chaos.
Shouting. Jeering. Thuds and snarls. A group of rugged, scarred rabbits were brawling violently while other beasts gathered to watch and bet.
My jaw dropped.
"What… is this?" I asked.
"This is what they do all day," Nebitt said sadly. "Fight. Gamble. Bet. A hare convinced them it would make them feared and respected. That life is easier without responsibility."
My heart sank.
They were destroying themselves.
"You should stop helping them," I said firmly. "If you keep enabling this, they'll never realize the damage they're doing."
Nebitt stiffened, his eyes dark with sorrow. "I can't. I promised my late friends I'd repay them for saving my life. Forever."
Guilt washed over me.
"I'm sorry," I softened. "It's not my place to judge. I'm just… worried."
As we approached, the rabbits suddenly brightened, greeting Nebitt with genuine warmth. For a brief moment, I glimpsed their true nature—jolly, affectionate, kind.
I set the basket down. They swarmed it hungrily.
"Don't act like pathetic kids," a lazy voice drawled. "It's just a lame basket of food."
Under a shaded tree lounged a hare—relaxed, smug, radiating irresponsibility.
So this was the rot.
He stood and pointed at Nebitt. "Didn't I tell you you're not welcome here anymore?" Then he sneered at the rabbits. "If you want respect, stop associating with losers."
I scoffed.
"Excuse me," I stepped forward. "Nebitt is more of a champion than you'll ever be."
The hare turned on me. "And who are you? Another loser tagging along?"
He laughed.
Enough.
"I'll prove my point," the hare announced loudly. "I challenge them to a race. If I win, you abandon the tortoise."
Then he turned to the crowd. "Place your bets! Anything you value!"
The air buzzed. Beasts laid down treasured items—tokens of hope, desire, desperation.
I looked at Nebitt. He was terrified.
This wasn't a fable.
This was real.
I stepped forward.
"I'll race—for both of us."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"We'll win," I said to Nebitt, squeezing his hand.
He smiled—hope flickering at last.