Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 914

Chapter 914: Chapter 914

From beyond the lanterns came a pulse of blue mist, subtle, shimmering. It moved around the circle’s rim. No face, just flow. It lingered for a breath, then retreated behind the stones, flickering but not entering. They heard it move, wind but wrong. They closed their eyes, leaned on each other.

Jude spoke into their hearts: "We remain."

The mist waned. It drifted upward until only ribbons fluttered on trees and nodes.

They stood solemn. Gaze locked.

No one spoke further. The watcher had spoken.

They extinguished lanterns, extinguished doubts. They slept under one great quilt of blankets, eleven hearts in one hearth.

Tomorrow they would step toward orchard planting. Build radiance. Draw life from rock. And if the watcher came again, they would stand named, named together, beyond mist, beyond shape.

Dawn would come. They would be, still.

Dawn arrived like a silent hymn, bubbling through the leafy ceiling to spill soft clusters of light across the clearing. Jude stepped from the treehouse, feet brushing wet dew off the woven mats, the chill in the air sharpening every breath. Even after all they had done, the naming, the naming again, the mapping, the caves, they were still here, unchanged and yet wholly different. Eleven wives, once fearful, now steady as living stones set in a vast, trembling foundation. He paused at the edge and exhaled: the forest was alive and watching, but the watcher shapes had not intruded since the cave ceremony. The maps held, the vows echoed off stone, and the island’s pulse hummed low and affirming beneath their feet.

Grace approached, bowl in hand, scent of hibiscus tea sweet on the morning breeze. Lucy, Emma, Sophie, Zoey, Serena, Nefertari, Stella, Scarlett, Susan, Amelia followed. Each face held the same word: readiness. Jude stepped in among them, breath even. "Today," he began softly, "we grow something we can eat. Not just survive, but tend. We plant an orchard, a statement of permanence."

A murmur of assent rose. They gathered for a quick breakfast, roasted roots, berries, light fish broth, and discussed soil, seeds, spacing. Jude allocated teams: Grace and Lucy would find fruit saplings. Emma and Sophie would dig beds. Zoey and Serena would carry water and mulch. The rest would nurture seedbeds near the shack, where sunlight hit driest and roots could stretch.

They paused at the iron‑stake node. Grace touched the tree trunk, now painted with glyphs and ribbons. "Let’s begin here," she said. "We mark planting as ceremony, tethering life to vow."

They knelt in pairs around the first sapling, small and bare, leaves still curled and yellowing at the tips. Jude held the sapling while Grace placed soil around the roots; Lucy poured water; Emma tied binders around the stake. Faith bundled in moist earth, names murmured as each dropped seed and tongue placed vow: I name you, remembering self. The air lifted. The watchers stirred deeper in the forest but held back.

Next they moved to the berry bed. Sophie turned soil so soft it yielded like memory. She planted clusters of saplings, wild raspberries, blackberries. Lucy and Zoey lined the soil with mulch and moisture. Each planted seed was named out loud: raspberry, we grow; blackberry, we hold. Every seed joined the map.

While they worked, Jude walked through the group, adjusting hands, whispering thanks. He felt, for the first time since arriving, that nourishment might become their offering to the island. Not offerings at nodes only, but daily gestures of growth.

By midmorning, the orchard began to take shape: neat rows of budding promise. The wives hovered at its edges, fingers brushing leaves, eyes reflecting hope. Jude wandered through them, proud as any father. Grace pressed a kiss to a bud. Lucy brushed damp soil from her sleeves and squeezed his arm. Emma laughed at Serena and Scarlett whispering to the saplings. Sophie’s hands glowed pink from clay. This was alive. This was family.

They paused after watering. Jude called them together under the arch. They stood in a loose circle around him, dusty, warmed by sun and sweat. He opened his palms. "We named nodes, wove our names into the forest, tended life in darkness. Now we place life in light. We anchor self and selves in presence. Let this orchard remind us: we belong. We grew ourselves here. Together."

They nodded, tears bright or hidden. They placed their hands over their hearts, bowed in unison. Their exhale echoed like release.

They spent the rest of the afternoon brushing glyphs onto newer trees: the watcher‑symbols freshly painted, spreading across bark as testimony. Ribbons rose in bright arcs. Each new glyph held names: Jude’s wives, the watchers, the island. They painted their hearts, not just lines, purple for Emma, green for Grace, blue for Lucy, yellows and violets for others, all woven together.

By evening they lit new lanterns at each sapling, weaving fairy‑light patterns that flickered on leaves. The orchard glowed pale against dusk.

Jude handed out bowls of stew and fruit. They ate on mats by the orchard edge, smoke drifting toward watchers, no watchers moving. They laughed softly. They discovered old jokes. They told stories in low voices, voices now free of fear. They were home.

At the end, Jude stood again. "We have built trees of promise. But trees take seasons. So do memories. Tonight we seal in another covenant. We speak right now of what grows beyond survival, beyond naming. We speak of our futures, not one year, not ten, but beyond memory’s hold. I’ll begin."

He pressed his hand to Emma’s shoulder. "I choose a family, children born to dust and sun. I choose mornings opening to your voices. I choose days of learning, of fighting to free ourselves and others. I choose life."

They turned in circle. Grace spoke next: "I choose laughter. I choose healing, soul and earth. I choose a partner in you all and in him, to be the anchor that never slips."

Lucy, voice dense: "I choose stories. I choose songs. I choose presence. I choose us remembering each sunrise that arrives."

Each wife spoke. Serena, "I choose solace." Nefertari, "I choose strength." Sophie, "I choose curiosity." Stella, "I choose art." Scarlett, "I choose laughter and kinship." Susan, "I choose courage." Amelia, "I choose hope."

Each vow bare and bold. Jude watched tears bloom like flowers. The air hummed around them.

He raised his flask. "To what we build." They drank. The watchers bowed outside the lantern glow.

Deep set, no watchers came.

They slept under the stars, the orchard glowing gentle gold.

A new night drifted in. No fear.

At dawn, Jude awoke alone, drawn to the first sapling. Sunlight glinted on painted glyphs. Leaves glowed bright. He knelt, touched the root-bud. Felt it steady. Naming complete, hope sewn.

He breathed in: we remain.