Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 894 - 896

Chapter 894: Chapter 896

They came at last to a creek, babbling, clear, mossed. Grace dipped her hands; Lucy cupped water and drank; Serena voiced quiet thanks. They refilled flasks. He noticed marks on two stones near the bank, etched lines, circular motion, arrows pointing toward the water’s flow. The trail had extended here, made for crossing. A ferry point. A turning point.

They tracked upstream, chance guiding them, until at last the canopy broke and they stepped into a clearing beside a large spring. Water pooled in a hidden delving cauldron, deep, still, dark in color with a sheen of oil under sunlight. Here were more tokens, bundles of roots tied to stakes, pendent shells, carved wood. Signs of ritual or offering, older than their own. Jude examined the stones circling the basin: miniature pillars, repeating faces in relief. Some were weathered into erasure; others were fresh. The newest had Emily’s carved spiral; another held a swirl representing Lucy’s token. They were invited.

Grace knelt to add her own: a braided vine she’d carried since morning, tied around a sharpened wood peg. Emma laid a root crown given by Sophie. Nefertari placed a gold-painted pebble. Jess, Serena, Scarlett, Zoey, Susan, Natalie, Amelia, all added offerings, shaping the ritual again.

Jude looked at the pool. A reflection stirred: their shapes, water-wracked. He exhaled hard.

"I watched you believe," he whispered. "Now watch the island speak back."

It did. A current rippled outward. The air changed. At first it was cold; then it became warm, steamy. The ground trembled as though the cave beneath them exhaled. From the stone pool’s stillness came a low tone, a resonant melody, chorded like a tree swelling in the wind. The reflections shifted. A dozen shapes stepped from the forest’s edge, small watchers, these, but human-faced, animal-limbs, their eyes shining white. One knelt by Grace’s offering; another unpeeled the vine crown, laid it carefully atop a mossy stone.

Jude stepped forward. "We stand open." His voice sounded deep and steady in the chorus. "We named ourselves into your memory. We bound ourselves into your shell. We brought our love, our blood, our lives. Now we ask, not as refugees, but as sowers." He exhaled. "Teach us what grows in your world."

A watcher rose and pointed toward mist rolling beyond the spring down the creek. The mist formed as they watched, white, foliate vapors swirling. Tendrils reached forward then pulled back.

Jude stepped toward the pool. "Shall we follow?"

Lucy came with him. Others held hands. Flames of trust, seeded in their veins.

They stepped into the mist, but it didn’t wet their skin. It moved around them like damp silk. It carried sound: voices familiar but distant, their own voices, speaking memories, whispering consent, singing names.

Jude walked, water washing faintly over his boots. They followed a natural ladder of stone and vine up a shallow rise, the mist receding. They passed old shrines hidden at last by foliage, crab-carved shells, spiral horns, references to patterns they’d found before, recognition dawned, not just landmarks, but genealogies. Every carving showed them as participants: their names, images, roles. Here had a man carved Lucy; there Grace; here whispered names of children unborn, Lyla’s mark, the note of Lyla’s name they had carved earlier.

They climbed higher until the jungle yielded to a rocky open where iron-rich seepages glowed pale orange. Mosses bloomed here, fungal networks crested. The watchers circled, silent. They witnessed.

Jude drew them into a broad circle. "We carried each other as memory and promise. That promise seeded us here, and you responded. We asked to exist. We exist."

He held out both hands, palms upward. "Now we’ll prove that we belong."

Pause fell. The watchers braced.

He whispered, "We love." The words spread through their group. One by one they repeated: "We love."

"It will not break us."

"We will not break."

They spoke together until echoes rose from the stones themselves.

The watchers bent their forms downward, hands touching earth, palms licking stones. They pressed into the ground in gestures both reverent and fierce.

Jude held Lucy’s hand tighter. The mist cracked away, shapes shifting from watchers into mist, fading. Forest sounds returned, the hum of insects, birdcalls.

They stood.

After a long moment, Jude spoke: "We carry you with us within memory. Ask, give, love. That is the covenant."

They stepped backward, crossing the upper creek. The artifacts sank into moss again. Their offerings remained, tokens soaking into spring, visible but bound.

They retraced their steps, moving downward as forest light dimmed, forest regained. Spots of flowering moss and rocks stained with vivid lichen reminded them of altar stones.

They emerged again at the arch, not a barrier, but a threshold. They crossed beneath calmly, stepping into the regular forest path toward camp. Herded by dusk and gentle wind. Soles wet, breaths sunk, bells tolling in their hearts.

Back at camp, night rustled foliage slowly. They lit small fires under the platforms. They cooked sensitive broth of roots, fish, fruit. Conversation murmured through twilight. They spoke of what they’d seen. Over and under words hovered awe and release.

Sophie sank next to Jude. "The watchers, they honored our names."

He smiled. "They received us into world."

Emma added, "And they responded without harm."

Grace brought water for Lucy, Garr of trust in every drop.

Helena restated softly: "Promise kept."

Jude looked around. Their camp felt changed: not feared, not bound, but safe under their shared story.

He looked up at stars shining overhead, dreaming patterns across the sky.

"We changed the dream," he said. "Remembered ourselves."

They nodded. Words said enough.

Late that night, he lay with Lucy in his arms, chest buzzing gently. Her hair draped over him. She pressed close. "We did it," she whispered.

"We are it," he replied. She smiled, closed her eyes. He pulled down the blankets to the pair, mind reaching out to the jumbled memories they’d buried and found.

Outside, the watchers lingered at the perimeter of the torchlight, silent silhouettes against housing trees.