Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1598

Chapter 1598: Chapter 1598

The fireflies returned, hundreds of them blinking in soft harmony as they floated through the field, weaving between bodies and blossoms. The island sang a new lullaby, not of danger or ritual, but of stillness and beginning.

As dawn crept over the treetops, Rose finally stood.

Her naked form caught the first light of morning, golden streaks wrapping around her like a living aura. She turned slowly, facing each woman in turn, then looked to Jude. "The island has accepted us," she said softly. "But now it waits for us to accept ourselves."

Zoey lifted her head. "Haven’t we?"

Rose shook her head. "Not fully. We brought life into this world, yes. But now we must raise it. Nurture it. Shape it. Together. And the island... the island wants to grow with us. It wants us to make a home."

Susan rubbed her eyes, yawning. "You mean... like build something?"

"Yes," Rose replied, stepping into the center of the circle. "A place that’s ours. Not borrowed from the forest or stolen from its roots. Something we create, with our hands, with our hearts. The field was given to us. This... this is our chance to claim it."

Emma stood too, cradling her son. "You mean stay here? Permanently?"

Rose smiled. "We’re already permanent."

Stella laughed softly. "I never thought I’d say this, but... I want that. A home. With all of you. With our children."

Natalie nodded. "Not just shelter. A sanctuary."

Jude looked around them again - at the field, at the sky, at the pool, at the love sprawled across the golden moss like petals. His chest tightened with something deeper than happiness. It was belonging.

"I want that too," he said.

So they began.

It started with clearing the space between the standing stones. The women gathered fallen branches, wide palm fronds, smooth stones from the pool’s edges. Jude carried logs with Zoey and Natalie, their bodies moving in a strange rhythm of laughter, sweat, and purpose. Grace sang as she laid moss across the base of what would become the floor. Lucy directed the shape, using wild vines to mark where walls would curve. Rose guided them like she always had - not with control, but with vision.

The children were never far. They lay bundled in petal-soft cloth, swaddled in the warm scent of their mothers, sleeping peacefully. Sophie stayed near them always, her hands protective, her eyes watchful. She hadn’t gone into labor, but her glow was no less bright.

By midday, a structure began to take shape - not rigid or square, but soft, curved, open. It flowed with the field, with the trees. It was not a house. It was a womb made of wood and dream and devotion. It breathed with them.

When night returned, they lit small fires and bathed the babies in the pool. Jude cradled his daughter against his chest, his skin bare, his heart full. Lucy watched him with a gaze so soft it nearly undid him.

"She already loves you," she whispered.

He smiled. "I already need her."

Then she leaned in and kissed him slowly, melting against him in the glow of firelight. Their children slept beside them, swaddled between them. There was no urgency in the kiss, no heat of passion. Just the hum of belonging. Of family.

The others gathered again - around the fire, around the babies, around Jude.

Rose knelt behind him, pressing her body along his back, her arms sliding around his waist. "Tomorrow we begin shaping the inside," she said softly. "Walls. A kitchen. A space for them to play. Grow. Learn."

"And what about us?" Jude murmured.

"We grow too," she whispered into his neck. "Every time we hold them. Every time we hold each other."

One by one, the others joined - laying beside him, curling around him, stroking hair and skin, humming to the children between them. Their limbs intertwined until they were one shape, one breath.

As the stars spun above, Jude stared into the canopy and felt it.

Not a shift.

Not a change.

A root.

Deep.

Permanent.

Alive.

And from somewhere inside him - no, deeper than that, from within the island itself - he heard the voice again.

You have chosen. And you have been chosen. Now grow. Now love. Now live.

He closed his eyes and let the island carry him into dream.

Wrapped in his wives.

Surrounded by his children.

At the beginning of everything.

The dream did not feel like sleep. It felt like sinking into the soil of the world. Jude drifted beneath layers of sound - laughter, lullabies, whispers not in words but in roots and rivers. He floated through the heartbeat of the island, wrapped in its breath, its rhythm. Images came and went: Lucy cradling their child under a blooming tree, Rose dancing naked in the light of three moons, Emma weaving vines into walls that breathed. Sophie stood with her back to a pool of silver water, her reflection showing not one woman - but twelve. All his wives. All versions of love.

When Jude opened his eyes, it was still dark. Not night - but the quiet, velvet dark just before dawn. The others were still asleep, tangled together in the wide circle of moss and golden cloth they’d shaped around the babies. Little hands twitched in dreams. Chests rose and fell in unison. A soft coo broke the silence - Grace’s daughter, awake before the light, blinking wide golden eyes at the canopy above her.

Jude smiled and sat up carefully, easing Lucy’s arm from his chest. She murmured something in her sleep and curled tighter around their daughter. He stood barefoot, stretching, and walked toward the edge of the field. The path to the heartstone glowed faintly in the distance, pulsing slowly like it was still dreaming too.

He didn’t head that way.

Instead, he turned toward the cliffs - the place where this had all begun, where Rose had once fallen, where the island had first shown its power. The wind met him gently, salty and cool, brushing against his bare skin like a greeting.