Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 900 - 902

Chapter 900: Chapter 902

Jude nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder. He could still feel the gentle tremble of last night, when they gathered in prayer around the arch, offering thanks but also acknowledging that they remained strangers in some deep ways to the island itself. "Morning," he whispered back. They each felt the electricity humming in the subtle opening of day, the boundary between memory and dream shifting, so he added, "We did what we came to do. We’re here."

They prepared breakfast together, smoked fish warmed in sea salt, roasted root vegetables, hibiscus leaf tea sweetened with a drop of honey that had survived the long trek through fallen trees. Conversation was minimal but steady: how the embers needed tending, a curious bird call from the treetops, a nest they saw above the treehouse.

When the food was ready, they arranged bowls around the embers and began to eat. Jude noticed his wife’s hands shaking slightly as they passed bowls to each other, but none of them spoke of the tremor because none needed to. It was enough that they lingered together, that they ate in harmony. That alone was triumph beyond measure.

Once breakfast was done, Jude rose and took the clay box that held their memory scrolls, the record of blackouts, recollections, strange dreams and events, placing it against a tree root to keep it off the ground. "We’ll review this tonight," he told them. "And bring it with us if we go deeper today."

The box’s hinges creaked in response, something unexpected, but they took it as good omen.

They spent the morning splitting chores while maintaining closeness: Lucy and Grace checked the fish traps; Emma and Jude gathered herbs and water; the others prepared sections of the treehouse and firepit. They worked in small teams, shifting pairs, sharing words and laughter while also keeping vigil in their own ways. Light banter masked deeper vigilance, and shared tasks bound them more tightly to one another.

After lunch, they gathered around the arch again, this time to leave markers like Natalie had begun making. She passed out lengths of twine tied with moss, each color-coded: yellow for water-soaked spots, blue for memory nodes, red for emotional intensity. Grace tied hers to a low branch and nodded outward. "Good or bad checkpoints. So we can traverse this place together."

Emma stepped forward and included a small iron bell in her bundle. "Noise can wake the watchers," she observed. "It can wake us, too."

Lucy’s voice trembled just slightly: "I worry about scent markers. Mushrooms and flowers mean something here." Everyone felt her whisper, but none needed to explain. They had felt the blue smoke swirl like mist that bent toward them, remembered enough to be wary.

They split into teams again. Jude accompanied Lucy and Emma, forging deeper into the forest. Grace and Sophie took another path, Grace trailing behind, speaking only in hushed tones of gratitude for their closeness. Susan and Serena went to inspect the fire pulse readings, they had noticed the volcanic tremor was slightly stronger, though still below dangerous threshold, and Stella, Scarlett, Amelia, and Nefertari gathered mushrooms and began documenting the nodes again.

Jude and Lucy walked side by side, the forest canopy filtering midday light so softly it felt like dusk. They pressed ribbons where flagged and marked young saplings gently with earth for later growth. When they reached the old canopy root cluster near the garden perimeter, Lucy paused. "This was the first place I felt that... stillness last time. Where the voice greeted me."

She squatted down and gingerly unpacked her small dried mushroom sample. She knelt and pressed it into soil, murmuring a prayer, and water pooled around it. "I ask again," she said, her voice soft. "To remember, to stay."

Jude watched her hand tremble and wished he could keep her safe from everything that haunted the island. Instead he squeezed her fingers, whispered, "We remember," and together they walked onward, deeper.

They meant to follow the creek’s bend back to camp, but crossed it again and climbed a rise that curved them toward the volcano. Soon the ground was dry crumbly, roots blackened, rock stained white. The volcanic influence was growing now. Jude’s boots crunched and slipped, and he steadied Lucy, who leaned against his arm. "This place tries to swallow memory," he observed. "But it knows we carry more."

She nodded. "Then let’s show it."

They reached a small plateau where a single vertical rock jutted upward from the slope, burned black on one side and bright white on the other. Emma joined them and together they retied a marker ribbon around its midpoint.

Jude felt the first tremor then, a low-thrum beneath his boot. He put his hand in the rock’s mineral veins. The pulse felt familiar, like the volcanic tremor he and Susan felt earlier. But there was another vibration: that shift in mind again, like blue smoke that touched fingers, moved into thoughts.

He stiffened. Emma turned and met his eyes. "Jude?"

Lucy stepped forward, voice steady. "We’re here."

He closed his eyes and breathed hard. When he opened them, he retrieved the clay flask from his pack and carefully poured a handful of water at the rock’s base, watching steam curve and rise like mist. "Artifice," he said softly. "Let’s mark again. Ribbons, water, words."

He spoke a vow aloud, quietly: "Here, I vow to hold myself. To my name. To theirs."

Lucy did the same. Emma followed, pledges of memory, unity, resistance.

They stepped back. A low rumble followed, but then faded.

They watched together. Then turned and walked back as a group.

That evening they reconvened at the arch under falling dusk.

They gathered around the firepit, using small coals they’d kept safe. They passed the memory box. Flames drifted red and orange on their faces. A hush fell as they realized no one needed reminders, they were already tuned to the island’s pulse.

Jude opened the box and began reading:

" Lucy’s blackout. Garden shed. Twisting soil. Left seated, returned standing. "