Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1561

Chapter 1561: Chapter 1561

Morning returned in golden silence, not with the harsh demands of survival, but with the soft invitation of rebirth. Dew clung to petals that hadn’t existed the day before. The air shimmered with low, melodic warmth, as if the island itself exhaled around them. Jude stirred first, still wrapped in the limbs of lovers, still breathing in the sweetness of moss and skin. Rose’s fingers lay on his chest like petals. Lucy’s legs tangled with his. Sophie’s arm rested across his stomach, her fingers curled possessively in sleep.

Above them, the children floated like slow-moving stars. One drifted down toward Jude’s face, staring at him with ancient, endless golden eyes, then brushed its tiny hand across his cheek.

His heart thudded.

Not just love. Recognition.

The child smiled - not a twitch, not an accident, but something deliberate and deeply knowing - and then floated away again toward Emma, who blinked awake with a slow stretch and a soft, wondering sound in her throat.

"They never really sleep," she whispered. "They just... rest their glow."

"They don’t need rest," Grace murmured from across the nest, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "They pulse in time with the island. They’re part of it now."

"No," Rose said quietly. " We’re part of them. "

The others began to rise, pulling loose from each other slowly, lovingly, without words. Their bodies gleamed, not just from the night’s shared heat but from something inside - residual glow, perhaps, or the way love marked the skin differently when it was worshipped, not spent.

Scarlet kissed Jude’s shoulder before sitting up and letting her child float onto her lap. "They’re hungrier this morning."

Susan was already peeling fruit with her fingers, offering bits of dripping sweetness to her daughter, who slurped it with delight. Stella carried water in her cupped palms, letting her child drink from the small basin formed between her fingers.

Sophie watched it all unfold, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as she scanned the children. "They’re doing more than growing. They’re learning. And fast."

"Look," Lucy said, pointing.

Near the hearth, one of the children hovered still, head tilted, eyes scanning the wall of the tree-home. Then it reached out - not with hands, but with its mind - and a glowing pattern shimmered across the bark. Lines. Marks. Like writing, but fluid. Alive.

Emma stepped closer, brow furrowed. "It’s showing us something."

Jude stood, careful not to disturb the others, and moved to the wall. The glyphs glowed softly under his fingertips, and the moment his skin made contact, everything changed.

His vision swam.

The hearth vanished.

The home was gone.

He stood in a massive, circular chamber of gold and bone and moss, spiraling upward into endless sky. Twelve beings surrounded him, tall and radiant, their bodies wrapped in robes of living light. Their eyes blazed with knowing. They spoke - not in sound, but in memory.

You have birthed what we could not.

You have touched the root and returned with love.

The island chooses you. The cycle continues.

Jude gasped and fell back, stumbling into the arms of Sophie, who caught him.

He blinked, the home returning around him.

Lucy rushed to his side. "What did you see?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then whispered, "Others. Before us. Long ago. But they couldn’t do what we did."

Natalie stepped forward, her child floating protectively near her shoulder. "You mean... they tried?"

"They tried to merge with the island," Jude said. "But they were afraid. They took, but they never gave."

Rose’s voice dropped low, reverent. "And we gave everything."

Sophie helped him sit again as Emma and Zoey examined the symbols still glowing on the wall. One glyph pulsed brighter than the rest - a circle within a circle, surrounded by twelve stars.

Stella traced it. "That’s us."

"The new circle," Grace said.

Susan leaned in. "What does it mean? "

"It means we’re more than just a family now," Rose answered. "We’re a beginning. "

The glyph pulsed once - and then shifted, stretching wider until it became a map. The forest. The beach. The cliffs. But there were new places too. Hidden valleys. Towers grown from coral. A temple at the center of the island that none of them had ever seen.

"We’re being invited deeper," Lucy said.

Zoey cocked a brow. "We just finished building this house."

"There will be more," Rose murmured. "This was our womb. Now it’s time to grow."

Scarlet clutched her baby closer. "Are they safe out there?"

Jude reached for her hand. "They are the safest thing this island has ever known."

That settled it.

Before midday, they were packing - if it could be called that. They needed little. The children clung to them, fed on nectar and fruit and light. Their feet didn’t touch the earth unless they chose to. They were weightless but warm, beings of thought and presence, their tiny hands always reaching, touching, knowing.

They left the tree-home behind with no sadness. It would remain - alive, thriving, a future shelter for moments they would someday need. The island never erased, only expanded.

They walked toward the center of the map.

Through forest that parted at their approach.

Through vines that grew into arches above them.

Through glades painted with floating motes of golden fire.

And always, the children led.

Not through words, but feeling. Gentle nudges. Glances. Pulses of instinct that filled the hearts of their mothers and Jude alike. When to turn. When to pause. When to look up and watch the clouds change shape into memories not yet lived.

They arrived at twilight.

A rise of soft hills formed a ring around an open basin of white grass. In the center, a great temple stood - not built, but grown, like a ribcage made of petrified trees, curving high and wide, holding a space sacred before they’d ever been born.

Jude stepped forward, heart hammering.

The temple doors swung open - silent, effortless.

Inside was no altar. No throne.

Just a wide pool of still silver water, and above it, a dome of living branches whose leaves shone with a constellation of every night they’d ever seen.