Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 916

Chapter 916: Chapter 916

Mist rose in gentle waves from the wet earth as the new dawn unfurled across the orchard, its ribbons still fluttering in the breeze. Jude stepped barefoot between sapling rows, dew soaking his feet and calling forth each memory they had sown since claiming this place. Each plant represented a vow, names whispered, seeds offered, courage affirmed. The moon had left behind faint luminescence in the sky; now the rising sun breathed warmth and possibility into leaves. Eleven wives, two children, and he, once strangers, now family, walked through rows of hope.

Grace stirred the embers in the firepit, sending sparks upward like tiny prayers. Lucy carried steaming tea; Emma brought bowls of soft porridge. The children, Laurel and Raven, chased each other between trees, laughter spilling into the morning air. Their joy was a stone laid in the foundation of their new world, smooth and shining with possibility.

Jude knelt at the first sapling they planted, iron stake node tree, painted long ago with glyphs of naming. He pressed fingers into damp soil and closed his eyes. A pulse carried through his veins, mirrored in the sapling’s trembling leaves. He touched the painted bark lightly and whispered, "We remain."

Beside him, Grace laid a hand on his shoulder. "They’re waking," she said quietly. "The watchers. But not to claim. To watch."

He exhaled and watched as faint ripples of blue mist drifted at the orchard’s edge, soft, careful, curious. They paused by the orchard and hung back in the trees, observing. Not intrusion, but witness. Not enemies, but cautious guests.

Jude turned back to Grace. "Let them watch. We’ve nothing to hide now."

She nodded. They stood and joined the wives around the firepit, standing as the hearth reclaimed their presence. They ate together, fruit, porridge, soft bread baked by him last night. Conversation wove through names, laughter, small wonders. The watchers remained unseen but present.

After breakfast, Jude spoke: "Today we explore the river’s source. We go to the waterfall. That place has power, water that flows off the island, maybe down to unknown shores. We’ll mark a final node there, name it, promise again. We do this now so the watchers know our full story: names, unity, life."

Grace met his eyes. "Yes. Let’s complete the loop."

They divided work for another routine day: wives who stayed to care for children and tend orchard; those going with Jude. Jude, Grace, Lucy, Emma, Sophie, Zoey, Serena, Nefertari, Stella, Scarlett, Susan, Amelia, thirteen stepping out for journey. They cleared path to river, ensuring markers stood. They worked with quiet determination, rites of names at trail forks: water, seed, rhyme.

As midday approached, they reached a bend where river narrowed and deepened, water smooth and carrying sunlight through. Fish darted, insects hovered. Emma knelt and scooped water in bowl; Grace placed petals in it; Lucy whispered vow. They released petals into stream, watching them drift downstream, carrying promise. They tied ribbons to nearby branches and moved on up toward waterfall’s roar.

The climb grew steep, rocks slick with moss. Vines tangled around limbs. Sweat beaded on foreheads. Hearts pounded not only from exertion but from knowing what they had to do: step beyond where tree line ends, where island opens skyward and vulnerable. The watchers stood at the forest’s edge, blue mist hovering.

They reached the waterfall and paused. It thundered over jade stone ledge into deep pool below, sending spray upward like baptism. The air vibrated. Trees around bowed. Moss glowed emerald. It was holy, raw.

Jude produced bowls of water from river, petals, seed, earth from orchard. Grace held a clay tablet they had prepared earlier, names carved on its face, each wife’s emblem, children’s names, date, vow phrase. It was heavy with presence.

He set bowls on flat stone by edge. Grace placed the tablet in center. They arranged petals in rings around it. Then each wife stepped forward and poured water over the tablet and shared vow aloud:

Grace: "I name this place Heart of Flow. I remain anchored in love."

Lucy: "I name this place Memory Stream. I remember force and flow."

Emma: "I name this place Promise Pool. I choose new life."

One by one they spoke and poured. Even the twins knelt to lay petals and whisper names. Each added weight, each lily petal a pledge, each voice drawn out fluorescent in spray haze.

Jude embraced the twins briefly. "You are part of our story," he told them. They beamed.

He knelt last, placed palms on tablet, looked upward, sky shimmering beyond waterfall. "I name this place... Leaf and Rock," he said, choosing words to embody forest and stone. "I name it promise made permanent. I anchor our future."

A hush. Waterfall roared.

Then, beneath that roar, came the watcher’s voice: silent movement, ripple of mist, edges of presence. It crested over them, shape poised, faint blue glow. It paused, no eyes, no face, but pregnant with recognition. It tilted toward each wife.

Jude sensed lung-pressure in air. He lifted palms. "We are named here too. Witness this."

Blue mist drifted through names painted on tablet, through ribbon crown, through breasts. Each wife remained calm. Grace reached out and touched Zoe’s braid. Lucy touched Emma’s shoulder. Together, their names formed a net.

The watcher hesitated. Then withdrew slowly, folding into waterfall’s mist, leaving behind a faint scent of ozone.

They exhaled. Heartbeats returned.

Jude nodded. "The watchers know our names, our unity, our life. They return to observe, not disrupt."

They carried the tablet down through forest path. At each nodal point, they planted small stones and ribbon reminders of the waterfall vow: stake, fungi clearing, mirror pool, caves, orchard, waterfall. They circled back by twilight to camp, laden with joy, exhaustion, clarity.

They shared simple meal, hearts light. Patches of laughter rose, they told stories of petal ceremonies, of watching mist. Rachel and Raven cuddled wives for bedtime. Jude and Grace leaned back and watched the orange coals, the orchard glowing in fallen night.

He whispered, "Are we done?"

Grace smiled. "Until tomorrow, yes."

Jude pressed hair behind her ear. "Then we live."

They slept entwined. Around them, watchers hovered at the edge, silent after making their last acknowledgment. The island held them in memory, promised their names were anchored.

And they belonged.