Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1606

Chapter 1606: Chapter 1606

The reflection in the black pool didn’t show their faces.

It showed their souls.

Jude saw himself first - golden, yes, but flickering. Not whole. He wasn’t a man anymore. Not just a body. He was becoming... something. He saw veins of light pulsing through his limbs, branching like roots, curling into the earth beneath him. His chest glowed the brightest, where the heartstone’s power had settled, but his eyes - his eyes were mirrors. They reflected everything behind him: Lucy’s warmth, Rose’s resolve, Sophie’s doubt, Emma’s fire, Zoey’s hunger, Susan’s ache, Grace’s calm, Natalie’s strength, Stella’s tenderness, Scarlet’s wildness.

They lived in him now.

And in the pool, he saw the truth.

He was the island’s echo.

The women leaned in behind him. One by one, their reflections danced and twisted - not into monsters, not into gods, but into pieces of something vast. Lucy’s form rippled into golden vines, curling upward and blooming endlessly. Rose’s became flame and bark, both consuming and sheltering. Emma’s shifted into glowing stone, solid and sharp. Zoey was water, ever-moving, always tempting. Susan appeared as silver mist, elusive and nurturing. Natalie’s became wind threaded with stars. Grace as sunlight, Stella as moonlight, Sophie as lightning barely restrained. Scarlet became the sound of drums in the dark.

None of them looked away.

Kira stood across the pool, her own reflection absent.

"You see now," she said softly.

Emma whispered, "We’re not just connected to the island. We are the island."

"No," Kira said. "You are its children ."

Jude felt it then. Not metaphor. Not symbol.

Truth.

The fruit hadn’t given them power. It had revealed bloodlines older than language. They hadn’t changed the island. They’d reawakened what had always been sleeping in them.

Lucy’s voice was barely audible. "Then who was the mother?"

Kira looked up at the blackened trees.

And the ground beneath them shook.

Not like before. Not a warning. Not a pulse.

This was a heartbeat.

Slow. Heavy. Timeless.

From the black pool, bubbles surfaced. Not water. Memory. They rose with sounds - moans of love, cries of birth, sighs of longing. Then light broke through the surface. Not gold. Not silver.

White.

Brilliant and pure, it burst up in a pillar.

Jude reached out instinctively - and something reached back.

A hand.

Feminine.

Ageless.

Bone-white, glowing at the fingertips, its palm steaming where it touched the surface of the pool. It gripped Jude’s wrist, not to pull him down, but to steady itself. Another hand followed. Then a head.

A woman emerged.

Not like Alara.

Not like Kira.

This one was made of everything - petal and ash, flame and fog, root and star. Her eyes opened, and the grove bowed around her. Trees cracked. The wind stilled. Even the vines in Kira’s hair withered and bloomed at once.

Jude didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

The woman stood, naked and impossibly tall, her hair a mass of flickering white strands that danced like fire and fell like silk. Her body glowed with the shimmer of all seasons, all things.

"You are mine," she said.

Her voice was not loud. But it was everywhere.

Rose sank to her knees. Lucy gasped. Emma clutched Stella’s hand.

Jude swallowed hard. "Are you - her?"

"I am the first," she said. "The island. The breath. The root."

She stepped onto the shore and the black pool closed behind her.

"I waited," she said. "Slept while the world forgot me. Dreamed of lovers and tribes. Cried in silence as the stars passed me by."

She stepped closer to Jude. "But you called me."

"We didn’t mean to - "

"But you did."

Her palm touched his chest.

He arched, not from pain - but from sudden knowing . His spine snapped straight. His heart pounded once, then stopped, then started again with a new rhythm. Not his own. Hers .

She turned slowly to the women, each of whom stood frozen, overwhelmed.

"You are my daughters," she said. "Not by blood. But by choice. You danced upon my moss. Bled beneath my roots. Breathed my air. Loved my sun."

She moved to Lucy. "You brought joy."

To Rose. "You brought fire."

To Sophie. "You brought resistance."

To Zoey. "You brought hunger."

To each, she gave something - either a word or a touch - and each woman glowed brighter in response.

Finally, she faced Kira.

"My sentinel," she whispered.

Kira dropped to her knees, head bowed.

"You have done well," the woman said. "But your time is done."

Kira’s breath caught, but she nodded. "Thank you, Mother."

Then she stood, walked into the black pool again, and vanished beneath its surface without a ripple.

The white woman - the island herself - turned back to Jude.

"You took the fruit," she said. "You joined the pulse. But now you must choose."

Jude’s brow furrowed. "Choose what?"

"Your shape," she said. "Do you lead them? Or do you become me ?"

He stepped back.

"What does that mean?"

"If you lead, you remain man. Lover. Mortal."

Her eyes flashed like lightning.

"If you become me... you will lose them."

Lucy let out a soft cry. "No."

"But the island will live forever," the woman said.

Sophie stepped forward. "You can’t ask him that."

"I do not ask," she said. "I offer."

Rose walked to Jude, grabbed his hand.

"You are already leading us," she said. "That’s enough."

"But if he becomes you," Emma said, "he isn’t Jude anymore, is he?"

"No," said the woman.

Jude looked at each of them, his heart pounding. He thought of every moment - the fear, the desire, the growth. The pain. The joy.

He looked at Lucy.

She nodded.

Then Rose.

She stepped back, letting go of his hand.

"I choose," he said quietly.

The woman of white waited.

"I choose them ."

A long silence.

Then she smiled.

And behind her, the black pool exploded into light. Not swallowing - but freeing . Visions surged into each of them - memories of lifetimes they’d never lived, names they’d never known, rituals and kisses and births and battles and laughter. The knowledge poured into their blood.