Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 918

Chapter 918: Chapter 918

Mist hovered like a living thing across the orchard as dawn’s first light unfurled through the treetops. Dew-laced leaves dripped onto wooden planks and soft earth, and around the orchard, each sapling swayed in slow greeting. Jude stepped through the rows barefoot, soaking in the wet tang of soil, the perfume of new blossoms, the living promise of memories upheld and roots deepened. Eleven wives, two children, and himself, he had counted them many times, each morning, each night, but today that counting settled into something more enduring: bond, promise, sanctuary.

He approached the firepit where Grace already waited, tending a low flame. She looked up, her hair plastered with dew, eyes bright. He handed her a clay bowl of warm broth; she took it and smiled with a softness that sent relief through his chest.

"Morning," she said, voice low.

"Morning," he answered, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Around them, soft murmurs rose as wives woke, Lucy uncoiling ribbon from her braid, Emma stretching beside the herb bed, Zoey and Serena fetching water. The small world they’d made stirred with life, familiar yet still weighted by memory.

They ate quietly, bread, fruit, root stew, each bowl passed with calm precision. The orchard around them stretched, ribbons tied, glyphs painted, children’s laughter echoing from the edge. Grace watched the fire’s glow shift across Jude’s face. "Ready for the day?" she asked softly.

He folded both hands around his bowl. "Yes. Today, we test our roots. We learn. We build new offerings. And we seek each other in new ways."

She nodded. He was talking of learning to read the watchers, the island’s language beyond glyphs and ribbons. They’d anchored soil and memory; now they must learn the pulse beneath.

After breakfast, they set out together, Jude, Grace, Lucy, Emma, Sophie, Zoey, Serena, Nefertari, Stella, Scarlett, Susan, Amelia, and the two children. Armed with notebooks, pigment pots, ribbons, and flint torches just in case, they formed two groups: one to walk the perimeter of orchard and map watchers’ movement; the other to gather forest samples, leaves, bark, moss, to learn patterns of change.

Jude led group one: himself, Grace, Lucy, Serena, and Raven, the older child. They walked slow, stopping often when they sensed mist flicker or sway. Every observation was recorded: early morning watchers motion near fig tree; sunlight shifting across orb-like mushrooms; watchers recoiling at first morning laughter of Laurel. In quiet notebook, Lucy wrote freely: mist lingers at edges, not in nodes; children presence calms shape. Grace collected a pale flower left by watchers as offering, a small, blue-petaled bloom.

They marked each watcher’s place with colored ribbon so each movement near candles, saplings, and glyph trees would be tracked. Jude found himself watching watchers as much as trees, recording distances, direction changes, patterns. Laurel copied his gaze. After they’d tracked for several hours, they returned to camp, ribbons strapped to map wooden rods.

The other group returned to share: they brought samples, moss that glowed silver after rainfall, bark with glyph remnants, spiral-shaped seedpods, and ideas of meaning. Emma noted how certain bark chimes rang when wind passed, sounding like distant voice, listener echo. Sophie had found glyph-carved stones buried under root; Zoey noted color-shift in tree trunks near watchers’ recent cloud passing.

Jude listened, heart pounding with awareness: this island was speaking, and they were learning.

They gathered under the arch for midday reflection. Jude laid out ribbons, samples, notes. Wives spoke their findings; children watched, tummy full. Jude connected dots, a watcher sequence followed sapling plantings; sample moss glowed brightest where watchers paused near children; echo-bark rang with laughter. Patterns emerged, watchers proceeded gradually but retreated when voices named their presence. They recorded their findings in the record box alongside vine bracelets and clay tablets.

Jude concluded, voice steady: "They respond to us. They learn. They respect our names. Now we learn them. We let our presence be gesture and dialogue."

Grace laid a hand on his arm. "Next: we speak to watchers."

He nodded. "Tonight, we face them as we sit. We speak aloud, not just names, but gratitude, promise, welcome."

They spent the afternoon preparing. Blue paint for watchers was mixed from gathered flowers. They wove new bracelets with silver thread from island vines. They baked small flatcakes, honey and nut, intended as peace offerings. The children helped, sprinkling petals.

By dusk, they laid out a circle at orchard center: candles at each sapling, watchers ribbons at edges, watchers‐glyph signs at node trees. In the middle, a woven mat ring. They lit torches along perimeter. Eleven wives, children holding hands, and Jude, all circled outward; watchers could see them clearly.

Soft dusk settled.

Jude spoke: "Watchers of mist and shape, friends of island, we speak to you in gratitude. We name your presence: Curiosity‑Mist, Observer‑Shade, Memory‑Wind. We welcome you as witnesses of our promise. Tonight we speak our hearts."

He held up a small ribbon‑bronze token. "We offer this song: names‐grown, hopes‑given, laughter‑earned." He began to hum, a melody simple and ancient, recalling memory nodes, waterfall, orchard plantings. Grace joined; voices wove; wives followed. A low ring of sound swelled, children humming too.

Within moments mist flickered into the perimeter, blue ribbons forming watcher shapes. But they stayed on edge, not entering. They observed the song, shifting in rhythm with voices, colors changing brightness with melody.

When the song ended, Jude spoke again: "We speak thanks: for silence, for mercy, for presence. We speak promise: we named hearts, we planted roots, we built family. We speak invitation: stay as friends, learn us as we learn you."

No watchers moved inward. Mist lingered as if drawn, but no watcher stepped over boundary. The blue faded, flickering in harmony with candlelight. The watchers hovered, bowed, or seemed to era of respect. Then withdrew gradually, back to edges and clouds.

They remained silent for long minutes. Then spouses exhaled, knees bending, hands bracing the ground. Laurel yawned, Raven curled into Grace’s lap.

Jude spoke softly: "They’ve heard. We have begun dialogue."