I woke up tasting dirt and victory, silver hair matted to my cheek like wet silk. The shed smelled of damp wood and something new—sharp, green, almost electric. My body felt different, lighter, as if the essence from those radishes had rewired me from the inside out. I stretched, cracked my knuckles, and stepped into the pale morning light.
The field had changed again. Overnight, the four harvested spots had sprouted twins—eight glossy radish plants now stood in perfect formation, leaves quivering like they knew I was watching. The whispers were louder, more insistent, a chorus of tiny voices chanting in my skull: *More. Feed us. Make us sharp.*
Sprout Quill zipped past my ear, giggling like a maniac. "They're organizing, Host! Your veggies have formed a union. Next thing you know they'll demand better soil and paid vacation."
I snorted. "Let them try. I'll just eat the strikers."
But the humor died fast when I heard the boots.
Heavy. Purposeful. Coming straight for my patch.
Lord Harlan Crestfall—my so-called uncle—strode into view like he owned the entire valley. Which, technically, he did, ever since he'd "generously" taken over after my parents vanished in the Cataclysm. Tall, broad, dressed in gaudy crimson robes that screamed money he'd stolen from others. His system had awakened yesterday too: [Plunderer's Grasp]. Fitting. The man had always taken what wasn't his.
Behind him trailed four guards—newly powered, chests puffed, weapons glowing with fresh essences. Harlan's eyes locked on my field, then on me, then on the glowing radishes.
"Well," he said, voice oily and amused, "the little weed has sprouted something interesting after all."
I didn't move. Just crossed my arms, silver hair catching the weak sun like a blade. "Morning, Uncle. Come to admire my gardening skills?"
He laughed, short and sharp. "Admire? No. Collect. You owe me tribute for the land you're squatting on. Those… things look valuable. Hand them over."
The radishes pulsed hotter in response. The whispers turned sharp: *He wants us. Don't let him.*
I tilted my head. "Tribute? Funny. Last I checked, the Cataclysm didn't come with a tax collector."
Harlan's smile vanished. "Watch your tongue, girl. I'm not asking."
One of the guards stepped forward, hand crackling with lightning. "Shall we teach her manners, my lord?"
I felt the essence in my veins stir, ready to answer. But I wasn't ready to show my full hand yet. Not completely.
Instead, I reached into the sack at my feet, pulled out a single tomato—small, red, innocent-looking. I'd planted it yesterday on a whim, just to see. Now it sat heavy in my palm, warm, almost thrumming.
"Tell you what," I said softly. "Take this instead. A peace offering."
Harlan's eyes narrowed. "You think a tomato will buy you time?"
I shrugged. "Try it. See if you like the taste."
He gestured. One guard snatched the tomato from my hand, inspected it with a sneer, then bit in.
The change was instant.
His eyes widened. Then rolled back. A thin thread of black smoke leaked from his mouth as the tomato's essence—twisted, hungry—sank into him. He dropped to his knees, clutching his throat, skin paling as if something inside was eating him from the core outward.
The other guards froze.
Harlan's face twisted. "What did you do?"
I smiled, slow and sweet. "Gave him a snack. Guess he didn't chew properly."
The guard convulsed once, then went still. A faint green glow leaked from his eyes, then faded. Dead. Just like that.
Sprout Quill whispered in my ear, delighted. "Soul-devouring tomato. Host, you beautiful monster."
Harlan roared. "Kill her! Take everything!"
The remaining three charged.
I didn't run.
I stepped forward instead.
Essence surged through me like wildfire. I grabbed the nearest radish plant, yanked it free—root and all—and swung it like a whip. The glowing root lashed out, wrapping around the first guard's ankle. I pulled.
He slammed face-first into the mud.
The second guard swung a flaming sword. I ducked, rolled, and came up with two more radishes in my hands. I crushed them between my palms. Green light exploded outward in a blinding pulse.
[Essence Pulse – Overcharged]
The blast knocked both remaining guards off their feet, armor smoking, eyes wide with shock.
Harlan stood alone now, face pale, fists clenched. For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes.
"You… you're nothing," he spat. "A freak with a broken system."
I walked toward him, slow, deliberate. Silver hair swaying. Mud caking my boots. The field behind me glowed brighter with every step.
"Broken?" I echoed. "No, Uncle. It's working perfectly."
I stopped inches from him. Close enough to smell the sweat on his skin.
"Tell you what," I said, voice low. "Run. Tell everyone what happens when you try to take what's mine."
He hesitated.
Then he turned and bolted, robes flapping, dignity in tatters.
I watched him go.
The field was silent for a moment. Then the plants whispered again, soft and satisfied: *Good. We're safe. For now.*
Sprout Quill floated down to eye level. "Host… that was terrifying. And hot. Mostly terrifying."
I laughed, breathless, exhilarated. The taste of tomato lingered on my tongue—sweet, dark, victorious.
I looked at the body of the guard. Then at the glowing field. Then at the sky, where clouds still churned with the aftershocks of the Cataclysm.
This wasn't over.
This was just the first row planted.
And I had so many seeds left.