The Apocalypse Survivor Who Can Plant Memories

Chapter 2: First Harvest

The golden amber light continued to throb, casting long, wavering shadows against the ruined concrete. Vinícius watched, mesmerized, as the sapling underwent a terrifying, beautiful acceleration. The twig-thin stem thickened, spiraling upward, twisting as if trying to find its own soul in the barren dirt. Green leaves unfurled with audible snaps, unfolding like origami paper until they were wide, waxy, and vibrant.

"Okay, slow down," Vinícius murmured, backing away as a branch brushed against his shoulder. "I said grow, not explode."

[Synthesis acceleration: 200%.]

The system’s voice echoed in his skull, cold and clinical. Before his eyes, a small protrusion appeared on a low-hanging branch. It swelled, darkening from a pale, translucent white to a deep, bruised crimson. Within seconds, it had transformed into a plump, heavy peach, its skin fuzzy and iridescent in the dying light.

"Is that actually fruit?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Are you really going to feed me, or is this just another hallucination?"

[Resource Manifestation: Memory Peach (Type: Sustenance/Sensory).]

Vinícius reached out, his fingers trembling. The fruit felt unnervingly warm, vibrating against his skin as if it possessed its own heartbeat.

"I’m hungry, you know? Not looking for a science experiment," he muttered, grabbing the peach and yanking it from the stem. The branch recoiled, shivering. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry."

He stared at the fruit. It didn't smell like a peach. It smelled like nostalgia—like rain on hot asphalt in a childhood summer, like the faint scent of his mother’s perfume, like the ozone smell of an approaching storm.

"Are you going to be the death of me?" he asked the sapling.

The tree pulsed again, a soft, inviting glow that seemed to say, Eat.

He didn't wait. He bit into the flesh.

"What the—"

He choked, stumbling back against the wall. The flavor wasn't fruit. It was a sensory assault. A rush of sweetness hit his tongue, but it lacked the texture of pulp or juice. Instead, it felt like his brain was being flooded with a high-definition memory of a peach. He saw the orchard. He felt the sun. He heard the rustle of leaves. It was so intense that his vision blurred, and for a second, he wasn't standing in a ruin; he was standing in a vibrant, color-saturated past.

"It’s not food," he wheezed, spit flying from his lips as he doubled over. "It’s a lie! It’s a damn, beautiful lie!"

He spit the remnant onto the ash, his heart hammering against his ribs in a wild, irregular rhythm.

"Why? Why give me this? I need calories, you heartless machine! I need fat, sugar, energy!"

[Query: Nutrient synthesis failed. System is designed to stabilize host cognitive functions through sensory recall. Bio-metric efficiency remains at 98%.]

Vinícius wiped his mouth, his breath coming in jagged, painful gasps. The world around him spun. The amber glow of the tree seemed to grow blindingly bright, drilling into his retinas.

"You’re draining me, aren't you?" he hissed, grabbing the tree’s trunk for support. "You're feeding off my focus to manifest these fake memories."

[System Status: Maintaining mental stability requires host energy. Warning: Excessive use will induce cognitive collapse.]

He leaned his forehead against the rough bark. His head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache that matched the tree’s pulse. The "meal" had provided nothing for his stomach—the hollow, gnawing pain was still there—but his mind felt weirdly, dangerously refreshed. It was like he had just downed a gallon of adrenaline and sugar, but his body remained starving.

"You’re a parasite," he whispered, feeling his knees give way. "You’re just a parasite that hides behind pretty lights."

[Correction: Symbiosis established. Host provides biological focus; System provides cognitive stabilization. Without the system, cognitive decline is projected at 40% within the hour.]

"So I'm stuck with you," he groaned, sliding down until he was sitting on the cold, unforgiving ground. "I die of starvation, or I die of mental burnout because you're using my brain to grow glowing sticks."

He looked at the tree. It sat there, defiant and radiant, a beacon of life in a place that had long ago given up on the concept.

"You’re not going to let me sleep, are you?"

[Warning: External movement detected. Proximity: 50 meters. Thermal signatures: Multiple.]

Vinícius froze. The lingering, fuzzy euphoria from the fruit evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold, sharp spike of terror. He didn't need to ask what was coming. He’d heard the sound of clicking claws on pavement before.

"Scavenger dogs," he whispered, his hands trembling as he reached for a jagged piece of rebar lying near the curb. "Of course. Nothing brings the monsters out like a warm, glowing light."

"Damn it all to hell," he hissed, standing up with a grunt of effort. His head spun, the mental fatigue from the synthesis making the world tilt on its axis. "You have to stop glowing. Can you do that? Can you hide?"

[Memory Garden: Concealment mode unavailable without further nutrient stabilization.]

"Figures," he grumbled, shielding his eyes as the tree pulsed again, a beacon in the suffocating dark. "You’re not a lifesaver, you’re a dinner bell."

He scanned the street. The silhouettes were emerging from the shadows of a collapsed department store. They were hulking, hairless, and lean, their eyes reflecting the ambient, sickly grey light of the wasteland. They moved with a predatory, synchronized twitch, their nostrils flaring as they caught the scent of something that didn't belong in their dead world.

"Come on then," Vinícius murmured, gripping the rebar. "You want a bite of something real? Come and get it."

He didn't have the strength to run, and he wasn't going to leave the only thing that had given him a flicker of hope in years. He planted his feet in the ash, his heart syncing with the steady, golden thrum of the sapling.

"You better do something useful before I’m torn to pieces," he warned the tree.

The tree didn't answer, but it flared, a sudden, blinding flash of amber that illuminated the entire block, freezing the lead dog mid-stride.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Vinícius breathed, his grip tightening on the metal. "Now they can see exactly where to aim."

The pack let out a chorus of low, guttural growls that vibrated through the very foundation of the street. Vinícius narrowed his eyes, the remnants of the peach-induced euphoria warring with the cold, hard reality of his imminent death. He stood his ground, the golden light casting a halo around him—a martyr in a graveyard of his own making.

"One way or another," he whispered, his voice s

teady despite the tremor in his hands, "we’re going to see how far this goes."