Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1769 - 1768.1

Chapter 1769: Chapter 1768.1

The sun didn’t rise in the way it used to. It unfolded, like petals pressed open by an unseen hand, spilling liquid gold across the forest canopy and down into the hollow where they lay. The altar had cooled beneath them, its glow softened to a steady pulse, like a heartbeat at rest. Around Jude, his lovers slept - some tangled in each other’s arms, some curled on their sides, glowing faintly in the hush that followed creation. Lucy’s body pressed flush to his, her lips barely parted in sleep, her hand still resting low on his abdomen, claiming him even in her dreams.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His body was still saturated with the experience - the union, the explosion of pleasure and meaning and transformation. Every inch of him felt new, as though his skin had been peeled away and rewrapped in something finer. More aware. He could feel the island now not just under him, but within him. In his blood. In his breath.

The others stirred slowly, each one waking in near perfect sequence, as if time had realigned them with a shared rhythm. Stella blinked up at him from where her head lay on his thigh, brushing her hair back and smiling sleepily. Zoey stretched like a satisfied lioness, muscles rippling, eyes sparkling with mischief and love. Natalie yawned beside her and rolled toward him, crawling up his chest to kiss him softly, reverently.

Scarlet sighed and sat up, her bare skin radiant in the morning light. "I feel like we’ve been rewritten."

Sophie rubbed her eyes, her voice husky. "Or reborn."

"I think it’s the same thing," Rose said softly, already standing, already watching the edges of the clearing as if waiting for the next summons. Her hair gleamed with dew and gold, her expression unreadable, deep with knowing.

Jude sat up finally, the slow ache in his limbs sweet and real. He reached for Lucy, who met him halfway, wrapping around him with lazy affection.

"So," she whispered in his ear. "We’re dream-seeds now."

"Apparently."

She smirked. "That mean we can lie in bed all day and pretend we’re growing?"

"Only if we water you often," Zoey quipped, brushing a kiss along Lucy’s shoulder.

The laughter that followed was soft, easy - something lighter than they’d felt in weeks. No dread. No tension. Just connection, basking in the afterglow of something too big to name.

But Rose remained quiet.

It wasn’t until everyone had dressed again - if loosely, lazily, with fronds and wraps slung over still-bare skin - that she finally turned to them.

"It’s not done," she said.

They quieted immediately.

Rose gestured toward the path, her voice calm but sure. "The ritual woke something. But now... we have to listen."

"To what?" Grace asked.

"To it," Rose said. "To the island’s memory."

Jude frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It wants to show us. Where it came from. What it was. Before us."

The group exchanged uncertain glances. But there was no fear. Just the sense that something vast was unfolding, petal by petal.

Jude moved first. Not out of authority, but instinct. The others followed. The path Rose had indicated shimmered with fine mist, leading deeper into forest none of them recognized - though they had walked this island for months.

But this part of it had never revealed itself.

It was older.

Quieter.

The air hung thick with scent - ferns and night-blooms and something musky, almost like heat before a storm. Trees here were taller, impossibly ancient, their trunks braided with silver vines that pulsed faintly beneath the bark.

As they walked, shapes began to appear. Carvings. Reliefs etched into the trees and stones. Jude ran his fingers along one - an image of a man and woman standing in water, surrounded by glowing roots. The style was simple but haunting. The figures were always joined. Always touching. Always glowing.

"This is us," Lucy said softly, fingers brushing a similar carving.

"No," Rose murmured. "It’s before us."

They came upon a massive trunk, split open like a doorway. Inside, a cavern - carved not by nature, but by hands. The walls were covered in the same reliefs. Generations of joined bodies. Eyes glowing. Hearts blooming. A lineage of union.

In the center of the chamber stood a pedestal.

And upon it: a sphere.

Black as obsidian, pulsing with the same golden light they had come to know.

Jude stepped closer, drawn to it. The others surrounded him instinctively.

"It’s memory," Emma said softly. "It’s storing their stories."

"Like a seed bank," Stella whispered. "For everything they were."

Jude didn’t wait. He reached out - and the moment his fingers touched the orb, the chamber vanished.

He was somewhere else.

Naked. Alone.

Except - he wasn’t. He felt them. All of them. Lucy’s breath. Rose’s touch. Sophie’s defiance. Zoey’s fire.

And more.

Others.

Thousands.

Memories flooded him - not in pain, but in beauty.

He saw the first people.

Not humans, not quite.

Figures made of shimmer and will, of longing and need. They had found the island - or perhaps the island had found them. They had come not to conquer, but to bond. To share. They had lain in moss and kissed in caves and merged their light again and again until the forest itself began to remember their names.

He saw the first altar carved.

The first seed offered.

The first union that changed the world.

And then the first betrayal.

One who sought to take, not give.

To control, not share.

A breach in the circle.

A scar.

Jude gasped and staggered back as the vision released him. The orb dimmed again, as if satisfied.

The others rushed forward. Lucy caught his face in her hands. "What did you see?"

He swallowed. "History. Their history. Ours now."

Rose stared into the orb. "The scar still exists."

"What scar?" Susan asked, her voice wary.

Jude looked at them, his breath steady now. "There was someone who wanted it for themselves. The union. The Source. They wanted to own it. And that... broke something."