Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 908 - 910

Chapter 908: Chapter 910

When a wife couldn’t remember exact position, another stepped forward. No judgment. No condescension. Only soft guidance.

When they’d finished in afternoon light, the bark-map lay complete and alive. The watchers remained outside, silent silhouettes anchored in memory.

Grace exhaled: "It feels like a promise."

Lucy traced the lines. "Like a compass."

Emma added waterlines: "Like a home."

Jude stood and pressed his palms to the map. "We will not wander blind anymore."

They sealed the map in a bark wrapper and stored it beside the record box. Two anchors: memory and physical map tied together.

That night they did not share ritual or circle. Instead they placed small candles at each node’s marker stake in the camp perimeter: stake, clearing, fish trap, ridge path, palm pool. As each was lit, Grace whispered name vow, Lucy called memory vow. Others repeated. Then they returned to camp.

All fireplaces merged into the central firepit. When flames raked the sky, Jude spoke softly: "We have named ourselves. We have offered. We have mapped. We are not lost within this island’s shell."

He looked at each wife in turn. "If we remain named, memory intact, together, then whatever shape comes cannot claim us."

They nodded, some with tears, some with visible strength. They passed fish fillets and roots, laughed at soft memories, recounted small stories from the map-making. Their laughter felt like echo in a cave, alive, resonant.

Beyond their hearthlight, a ripple of blue moved across the trees, but it did not touch them.

They slept entwined but awake between dreams.

In the dawn’s first light, the watchers were gone, as ephemeral as smoke, but their presence still lingered like breath on water.

The island had heard them.

And might honor them.

The morning mist curled like pale fingers around the treetops, brushing dew across the rope bridges and sleeping floors of the treehouses. Jude stepped onto the central platform into a quiet chorus of humming insects and distant birdcalls. All his wives had gathered before him, huddled silently with steaming bowls of broth in their hands. They looked exhausted, but determined.

They had followed the map. They had spoken names. They had wielded memory against erosion. And now the island breathed around them, aware, alive, watching.

Jude took a deep breath and lifted his bowl. "Today, we finish this," he said softly.

Grace leaned toward him. "Finish what?"

He met her gaze. "The map is made. The names are spoken. But the watcher shape visits again. We’ve soothed nothing yet. Today, we venture beyond the nodes, past the palm pool, into the heart of the forest where the trees stand too close, and the air shifts shapes. We take every tool, map, memory, unity. We go together."

Lucy nodded, voice steady. "We’ll hold each other."

Emma added: "We’ll speak our names whenever we feel something veer."

He gestured toward the path. "We start at first light."

After breakfast, lumps of roasted root and dried fish, the women helped pack and prepare. Natalie refilled water flasks from the spring, Sophie checked each cord and clasp, Serena braided a new rope to mark their way. No one spoke much , they all knew what this meant. They were entering a realm beyond nodes and memory, where the island’s heart pulsed raw and unmasked. A realm their first venture with names might not survive.

When dawn bled weak into the trees, they set out. Walking in a line, map‑bearers at the front and rear, hands loosely linked by rope, eyes scanning the forest’s secret veils. The path twisted deeper: roots thick, shadows dense, smell of peat and something like heated earth underneath.

At first they paused at former memory nodes and briefly touched them , stake, mushroom clearing, dried circle, ridge path, palm pool, each offering of water, seed, ribbon repeated, each vow spoken swiftly: "I remember. I remain."

Each time the forest paused too, steam flicked, birds settled, breeze held its breath. A promise that the island heard.

Then they left all markers behind.

The trees grew thicker. Fewer paths. A silence fell so deep it felt carved from absence. Only their steps, careful, soft, echoed.

Jude held the map inside his shirt, pressed against his heart. Each step trembled with promise and fear.

About midday, they reached an ancient root wall, broad and swaying. Its manganese hues reflected their lanterns as they passed. A cloven path led between its arches, black soil beneath. An unnatural hush reigned.

Jude led them in a circle. "Here," he said, voice low,"we draw a line. We walk it together and name it aloud." He stepped forward and stepped back so each would say their name as they passed the root wall , Grace, Lucy, Emma, Sophie, Zoey, Serena, Nefertari, Stella, Scarlett, Susan, Amelia, Natalie , and then back with Jude last: "I remain."

Each repeated, voice echoing twice: through the arch and again as they exited.

Then they paused. Shared breath. The forest resumed.

They walked deeper, path narrower, trees closer. Light dimmed by overhead canopy. The map’s ink blurred in Jude’s pocket from sweat and brightness.

They found lines of fungus along dark ridges , blue-veined, luminous , growing in narrow beds beside the path. Memories of blue smoke flickered in his mind. He signaled for Grace and Emma. They knelt and placed offerings , water, seeds, root-talk. They spoke naming prayers.

Smoke drifted from the fungus. A shape formed ahead: slender, pale, fluid, impossible silhouette of one of his wives. He recognized Helena’s smile. Grace gasped. Emma quivered.

Jude pressed hand signals: stop. He stepped forward alone, hands open.

"Name," he whispered.

The figure froze. It wavered. Then scattered into pale mist. The fungus glowed briefly, then darkened.

He felt the forest exhale. Husky, deep. Earth beneath tremored.

He returned. "It came back," he said, voice tight. "But naming killed the shadow."

Grace nodded. "It tries. It breaks."

They pressed on.

The path wound upward to a gentle saddle above crater ridge but hidden beneath green canopy. There they paused. The next map node waited, a stone carved over centuries with crab-carapace lines and spiral shapes. It sat atop a mossy root like a fallen guardian.