Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 845 - 847

Chapter 845: Chapter 847

Nyra sat with her back against a stone pillar, her eyes fixed on Jude. She looked as though she hadn’t slept, but then again, neither had he. "You’re awake," she said softly, her voice hoarse. Jude nodded, pushing himself to a sitting position. "Barely." Elren emerged from the edge of the cavern, carrying a small flask of water and a crushed pack of rations. He handed them over without a word, then sat heavily beside them. No one spoke for a long time. What could be said after they had faced a gate that fed on the very fabric of reality and memory?

Eventually, Nyra broke the silence. "There’s something strange outside. You need to see it." Jude stood, albeit slowly, and followed her through the winding path out of the crater. The climb took longer than before, and each step felt heavier, not because of fatigue, but because the ground itself no longer sang with the same intensity. The magic, the memory, it had dissipated. At the ridge, Jude stopped and stared.

The sky was wrong.

It wasn’t broken or torn. It wasn’t burning or storming. It was... calm. Clear. But foreign. The stars had shifted. The air had changed. The hills beyond the horizon had softened, as if the land itself had exhaled after holding its breath for centuries. Trees that had been dead for decades now held green leaves. A river that hadn’t flowed since Jude was a child now glittered in the distance, winding like a silver thread through the valley. "It’s not just sealed," he said quietly. "It’s reversed something."

Elren stepped beside him. "Then this is good, right? We won?" Jude didn’t answer. His instincts, honed by years of watching things go wrong, told him that such balance came at a cost. Magic did not fade quietly, and wounds as deep as the one beneath the gate never healed without leaving a scar.

They made their way down into the valley, walking toward the nearest village to seek shelter, maybe food, maybe even information. The journey took them through forgotten roads, places that had once been ruled by warlords or claimed by ghosts. Now, there was peace. Birds sang without hesitation. The wind didn’t whisper threats or secrets. Even the ruins they passed seemed less haunted. But when they reached the village of Oswick, things grew strange again.

People recognized Jude. That wasn’t unusual. What was strange was how they recognized him. "Commander Jude!" a woman cried, running from her home to embrace him. "We thought you were dead. After the war, when the peace treaties were signed, we feared you’d left us." Jude blinked. "What peace treaties?" The woman tilted her head. "The ones after you united the Redharbor Clans and the southern kingdoms. Don’t you remember?" Elren stepped forward quickly. "What year is this?" The woman looked puzzled. "It’s the year of the Silver Crescent. Thirty-seven years after the Eclipse War." Jude felt the weight of her words like a blow. That war had never happened. Not in the world he remembered.

They stayed in the village overnight. Nyra questioned the townsfolk quietly, trying to gather more information without drawing suspicion. Every story, every account they heard, pointed to a world where history had rewritten itself. In this reality, Jude had been a renowned leader, a peacekeeper, a diplomat even. The Hollowed? Just a myth. The gate? A legend buried in ancient songs. Nyra sat beside Jude that evening, both of them nursing mugs of spiced tea. "We didn’t just seal the gate," she said quietly. "We stepped into a new world." "Not new," Jude replied. "Rewritten."

"Do you think it’s real?" "It feels real." "But it’s not ours." Jude looked out the window at the peaceful village, at children playing and elders sharing stories around a fire. "Does that matter?" Nyra didn’t answer. And neither did he.

In the days that followed, they traveled more, trying to understand the scope of what had changed. Each town, each city they visited confirmed the same truth: the world remembered different things. The people revered Jude not as a warrior, but as a builder. His name was attached to treaties, to festivals, to buildings. In the capital city of Torvain, there stood a statue of him, taller than life, carved in marble, standing not with a sword, but with an open book. Jude stared up at it, uncertain whether to laugh or weep.

Elren disappeared one morning without a word. Jude and Nyra found a note in his cot. "You gave us peace. I want to live in it. Thank you." They didn’t search for him. They understood. But even as they settled into the rhythm of this new world, something kept nagging at Jude. He dreamed every night, sometimes of the gate, sometimes of faces he didn’t know but felt familiar. And always, always, he heard a whisper just beyond comprehension. Not a threat. Not a warning. A question. And one night, as he lay in a rented room in a quiet town, he finally understood what it was asking.

Are you satisfied?

He rose at dawn and found Nyra sitting on the inn’s roof, watching the sun rise. He sat beside her. "What if this isn’t the end?" She turned to him, her expression unreadable. "You think it’s still open?" "No," Jude said. "I think... it was never just one gate. I think the Hollowed weren’t creatures from a place. They were the place. I think every choice we make opens another one."

Nyra took a deep breath. "Then what do we do?" "We stop running." Jude stood. "We stop chasing what was and start deciding what should be. We have a chance. Not to fix the past. But to shape the future."

So they did.

They returned to the places they’d passed through. Jude met with old friends who didn’t remember him. He forged new alliances. He trained scouts not for war, but for understanding, people who would search for signs of the Hollowed, not to fight them, but to learn how they formed. Nyra took up her blade again, not as a weapon, but as a symbol of protection. She taught others how to feel the subtle pull of forgotten magic and how to listen to the silence between memories.