Qunicula was a vast plain—wide and open like a giant football field—encircled by thick shrubs and low brush. The ground was uneven, carved with ditches and humps, sloping uphill in some places and downhill in others. It was not a simple track.
The hare announced the rules.
"We go around Qunicula three times. Whoever finishes first wins."
I nodded confidently. I can do this. How hard could it be? I had trained for triathlons, ran regularly, and pushed my body even harder in my refuge. This should be easy.
I stretched my legs, rolled my shoulders, regulated my breathing, and warmed up properly. The crowd stared at me like I was performing some strange ritual.
"Is that some kind of tribal magic?" the hare mocked. "It won't help you."
I ignored him and whispered under my breath, "We'll see about that."
One of the rabbits stepped forward and raised his arm to signal the start.
The moment he waved, I took off.
I ran with controlled breaths, steady and light on my feet. To my surprise, I quickly pulled ahead of the hare. I glanced back—he wasn't even trying. I completed the first lap ahead of him and kept my pace.
The downhill stretches were manageable, but the uphill burned. Still, I felt confident. If he kept being lazy, I would win.
Then, without warning, the hare flashed past me.
"I'm getting bored," he said smugly as he overtook me. "I can't wait any longer. You're far too slow—even with a head start."
Panic flared in my chest. I pushed harder, legs screaming, lungs burning. I gained a little ground—but then he accelerated again, effortlessly. He ran like he was fused with the wind itself.
He won.
I bent over, gasping for air, legs trembling. Damn it. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't match his speed. The crowd erupted in cheers for the hare.
I looked at Nebitt. The devastation on his face crushed me.
"I can't fail him," I muttered. "I won't."
"One more time!" I shouted.
I reached into my bag and manifested a handful of gold and gems. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Where did you get all that?!" the hare demanded, greed blazing in his eyes.
"It's my prized possession," I said evenly.
That was enough. He agreed.
We raced again.
This time, I pushed harder, forcing myself faster. I came closer—but not close enough. He won again.
I manifested a pearl and wagered it. Confusion spread among the onlookers. How could one person have so much treasure?
My body began to protest. I stumbled, tripped, scraped my knees—but I kept going. I was careful not to overdo it, afraid of triggering the Goddess of Abundance and sending myself into dangerous overdrive.
The hare kept winning.
I was shaking now, breathless, dizzy. If I pushed any harder—ran and manifested at the same time—I would collapse. I thought of the ginza.
"Haven't you had enough?" the hare sneered. "Accept it. You're a loser. And the tortoise should cut ties with these rabbits."
I forced myself upright.
"I won't accept defeat. Nebitt values his friendship with them. He made an oath. And this decision isn't yours—it belongs to the rabbits."
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
"One last race," I said hoarsely. "I wager the ginza."
The hare clicked his tongue impatiently.
"Fine. Last one. No more rematches."
I nodded—and immediately felt the weight hit me. My knees buckled. That unbearable sensation surged through my body, draining what little strength I had left.
Nebitt stepped forward, eyes bright with resolve.
"You've done enough," he said gently. "You already pushed yourself past your limit. Let me help you now. You were right—I can do this. Please rest."
He straightened his shell and faced the hare.
"I'll race in her place."
The hare burst into laughter.
"A tortoise? Are you both insulting me? Or do you really enjoy losing?"
"Whatever," he yawned. "Let's get this over with."
I wanted to stop Nebitt—but I couldn't. I knew how much this meant to him.
The race began.
As expected, the hare passed Nebitt easily—twice. The crowd mocked and jeered, urging Nebitt to quit. But he didn't. Step by step, he moved forward. Slow. Steady. Unyielding.
I clapped and cheered for him.
Then the rabbits joined in.
Something shifted.
Annoyed, the hare decided to humiliate us further. He lay down to nap, confident he would still win.
Nebitt kept going.
Slowly. Patiently.
When the hare finally woke, Nebitt was only inches from the finish. The hare sprinted—but it was too late.
Nebitt crossed first.
Just like the fable, the tortoise won.
I sobbed openly, laughing and crying at the same time. The rabbits stared in stunned silence—then realization dawned. They rushed to Nebitt, embracing him, understanding at last what true strength looked like.
The hare vanished the moment he lost.
The rabbits returned to their true selves—warm, joyful, sweet.
Nebitt handed me the ginza, the gold, and the gems.
I took only the ginza.
"Keep the rest," I said softly. "Just treasure each other—and let Eriu, the Goddess of Abundance, watch over you."
They agreed, thanking her in unison.
After resting until my strength returned, I said my goodbyes. Nebitt and the rabbits promised that I—and my tribe—would always be welcome in Qunicula.
I manifested myself back to my refuge.
In a blink, I was home.
I collapsed onto my bed and slept.