The gnawing hunger in ten-year-old Kai’s belly was a constant companion, second only to Scamp, his painfully thin, mange-ridden dog. Scamp’s breathing had grown shallow these past weeks, a rattling cough shaking his frail body with increasing frequency. The village healer had shaken his head, muttering about lung-rot and the lack of proper medicine. There was no money for medicine, barely enough for the handful of withered yams Kai scavenged.

  "Just a little further, boy," Kai whispered, his voice cracking. He supported Scamp, whose legs trembled with each step. They were deep in the jungle, further than Kai usually dared, driven by a desperate hope that Scamp seemed to share, pulling weakly on the tattered rope leash.

  Then, Scamp gave a final, wheezing bark and collapsed at the base of a gnarled root system. He nudged his nose weakly towards a narrow opening in a dense wall of vines, a place Kai had never noticed. "What is it, Scamp?" Kai pleaded, tears blurring his vision.

  With a surge of adrenaline born of despair, Kai tore at the vines. Beyond them lay a small, unnervingly silent clearing. In its heart stood a tree that pulsed with a soft, internal golden light. Its leaves, shaped like elongated teardrops, shimmered from pale lemon to deep amber. Tiny, bell-shaped flowers, the colour of condensed moonlight, clung to its branches.

  Scamp, with his last ounce of strength, dragged himself towards it, whimpering. He nuzzled a low-hanging branch where exactly thirty-three luminous, pear-shaped fruits glowed. Then, with a soft sigh, his body went still.

  "No… Scamp!" Kai cried, gathering the lifeless dog into his arms. Hot tears streamed down his face, splashing onto Scamp’s dull fur and the strange, shimmering bark of the tree. The silence of the clearing pressed in, amplifying his sobs. This was it. His only friend, gone. The hunger, the poverty, the loneliness – it all crashed down on him with unbearable weight.

  He didn’t know how long he sat there, cradling Scamp, his grief a raw, open wound. Eventually, a desperate, almost defiant hunger gnawed through his sorrow. His eyes fell upon the thirty-three fruits Scamp had indicated. A PohonEmas, a golden tree – the whispers of legend were true. But it was too late for Scamp. The name felt like a cruel joke: Pohonemas33. Thirty-three fruits that could have saved him, found moments too late.

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  Numbly, he plucked one. It felt warm, almost vibrating. He bit into it. A wave of warmth, not just in his stomach but through his entire being, spread outwards. The gnawing hunger vanished, replaced by a strange, thrumming energy. The world seemed sharper, colors more vivid, yet his grief for Scamp remained, a cold stone in his chest.

  He buried Scamp beneath the Pohonemas33, marking the spot with a pile of smooth river stones. He took only one more fruit. This tree, this magic, it felt sacred, tainted by his loss.

  Days turned into weeks. Kai visited the tree, taking only what he needed. The village was suffering. A fever had swept through, and many were weak. One afternoon, he saw Old Man Elara sitting outside his hut, his face a mask of despair. Elara’s granddaughter, Lia, was inside, her cough echoing weakly.

  Driven by an impulse he didn't understand, Kai approached. He still had one of the golden fruits. "For Lia," he mumbled, offering it.

  As Elara’s trembling, calloused hand brushed his, a jolt shot up Kai’s arm. It wasn't pain, but an overwhelming flood of… feeling. He saw, not with his eyes but in his mind, Elara’s crushing fear, the image of Lia pale and fading, the old man's desperate prayers. He felt the suffocating weight of Elara’s sorrow as if it were his own. It was terrifying, raw, and deeply intimate.

  Kai stumbled back, gasping. Elara looked at him, concerned. "Are you alright, boy?"

  Kai just nodded, shaken, and fled.

  He realized what had happened. The fruit, the tree… it hadn’t just nourished his body. It had awakened something within him. When he touched someone, someone in deep distress, he felt their pain, their deepest emotions.

  He tried it again, cautiously. He offered a fruit to a young mother whose baby cried incessantly from hunger. As their fingers brushed, he was swamped by her exhaustion, her fear for her child, the sharp sting of her own starvation.

  The power was a torment. Each touch was a fresh wave of vicarious suffering. But it also spurred him. He understood their pain because he felt it. He continued to share the fruits of the Pohonemas33, each act of giving a bittersweet ritual. The fruits brought relief, sometimes even recovery, to those he helped. Their easing pain brought a sliver of peace to the echo of their sorrow within him.

  Kai was no longer just a poor boy. He was a conduit, a reluctant empath, forever marked by loss and gifted with a terrible, beautiful power. The Pohonemas33, discovered in Scamp's last moments, had given him a purpose, but its magic was eternally bound to the ache of his first great sorrow and the shared pain of his struggling village. The thirty-three fruits were a constant reminder of what he’d lost, and what he now carried for others.