Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 915

Chapter 915: Chapter 915

Dawn light flitted through the canopy, scattering flickers across the gardens, treehouses, and freshly planted orchard rows. Jude stepped onto the main platform, slipping onto the cold board without making a sound. Around him the camp stirred into life. Grace tended young shoots at the perimeter of the orchard, Lucy smoothed soil around berry bushes, Emma carried water across the clearing. The day promised warmth, but Jude sensed a deeper current beneath the calm surface. They had planted for permanence, named for unity, reclaimed nodes for memory, now the island awaited the final proof.

He crossed the clearing toward Grace, kneeling to brush a leaf free of dew. "Morning," he murmured, offering her a bowl of warm root-broth. She accepted it, placing her other hand over his.

"Did you sleep?" he asked.

"Uneasy. But I woke knowing what we’re meant to do today." She set the bowl aside, following his gaze across the orchard where ribbons fluttered like banners.

They walked side by side to the edge where Lucy and Emma were supervising a pair of girls from their world, distant but connected, children brought earlier with promises of hope. The twins, seven-year-old sisters, collected wildflowers at the edge of camp, curious and bright, clinging shyly to loaves of bread Jude had baked.

"They should be involved," Jude said softly. "They’re part of what we’re building here."

Grace smiled. "Yes."

Emma knelt with them, helping tie ribbon pieces into their braids. The twins giggled, helped by Lucy, who wove soft vines through their hair. Jude touched Grace’s shoulder and nodded, today would be about handing the future onward.

They gathered everyone, wives, twins, brothers they’d found earlier on the island, and formed a circle in the center orchard between sapling rows. Eleven wives, two children, and Jude. Each holding a ribbon or bowl, ready.

He began: "We planted seedlings, named trees, pledged ourselves, built circles of vow. Now we teach this soil to hold memory for others. These children witness our promises. We step beyond naming ourselves, to passing it on."

He handed Grace a sapling that bore the first ripe berry. She introduced the twins to the orchard, teaching them about soil, sun, water, memory, all in hushed tones of awe. Lucy and Emma led the children around, each tapping saplings gently, planting small seedlings in holes dug by Sophie and Stella. With every planting, Grace spoke names aloud: the twins, Jude, the island, each wife, linking voice, earth, life.

The wives paired with children, placing ribboned sticks to mark each plant. Jude held the elder boy’s hand, an orphan found weeks ago, guiding him in pressing soil, naming the story: "This is Raven Root. We plant hope."

Others joined: Harriet, the younger twin, pressed her small palms to damp soil while whispering, "I belong." Partners echoed.

They worked through morning light, bringing hands together. The orchard expanded, rows of fruit, nut seedlings, flowering shrubs, each connected by vow and child’s voice. The watchers stayed beyond the tree line, distant and respectful.

By midday, they paused beneath a broad fig tree, the first one planted weeks earlier. Jude brought out bowls of fresh stew and bread. Conversation sparked with laughter: the girl spilled stew, Raven Root caught it and giggled, wives teased one another softly. Jude watched Grace’s smile, it made him tremble. This was more than survival, it was life.

After lunch he stood again. "Now we celebrate with story and ritual. Gather in the shade."

They regrouped. Jude began a storytelling: the island’s origin, the watcher shapes, the nodes, each trial, the vows, the caves. Grace, Lucy, Emma, Sophie each told smaller tales, about the watcher shape, the memory nodes, the mirror-pool. The twins listened wide-eyed as Laurel and Raven held each other while kneeling near fiancé’s knee, then group stories began. Children laughed at toddler stories, worried at darker shadows, then applauded when each wife finished.

Jude brought out wooden flutes and drums they’d carved. He and heads of each wife played simple tunes, a living memory song. The wives joined, singing round the orchard. Laurel and Raven experimented, a shrill note, a child’s giggle. Then all around the children began to echo, an offering of voice, passing on memory.

They danced. The orchard shone bright around them. The watchers stayed behind thin trees, silent shapes, giving space.

When the light shifted toward dusk, Jude called them in for a closing rite, candles in jars placed around the orchard rows. Each wife lit one for a sapling, blessing seed and name. Children lit theirs too. Jude knelt before the fig tree, hands cupped around the flame. "Let this orchard carry our names. Let it carry theirs. Let every leaf and blossom remember who we are and who we choose to be, together."

The children repeated after him: "I choose life. I remember."

Grace added: "We choose family." Twins echoed: "We choose family."

Lucy said: "We choose memory." Twins echoed: "We choose memory."

Emma spoke: "We choose hope." Twins: "We choose hope."

They paused, wreathing hands together. A breeze flicked through branches. Crickets chirped.

Jude gazed at the watchers again. A pale flick of blue at the forest’s edge, but no shape, no intrusion.

He stepped forward, hand still extended towards the orchard.

"It is enough," he said. "For now."

They walked back to camp, single file, children in parents’ arms. No words, no fear, only contentment.

Under the treehouse platform, Grace planted the last candle by Nefertari. He offered Harriet and Raven gifts: small pouches of seeds and ribboned stones from nodes. "For promise, for memory." The girls held them wide-eyed.

Night settled. Stars glowed through canopy gaps. The wives and kids lay curled together in blankets near the firepit. Jude rose to stoke embers one last time. Panting birds called once more. The watchers watched no more.

He returned to Grace, kisses greeted, fingers traced glyphs on her neck. "We did it," she whispered.

They held each other in silent gratitude.

The embers faded. The orchard glowed from candlelight.

In the final hush, Jude repeated the vow in his mind: I remember. We remain. We live.

And the island answered: Growing.