Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 923

Chapter 923: Chapter 923

By the time they dared step forward, the watcher was gone.

Jude unwrapped the object. It was a thick, sealed scroll , parchment of a kind none of them had ever seen. Dark, flexible, warm to the touch. On the outer surface, a glyph they had not yet encountered. An eye with three lines crossing it. Beneath that, smaller script , not glyphs, but a language. And at the very bottom, one word in English.

"Jude."

His heart stilled.

Grace took his hand. "It knows your name."

"No," he whispered. "It remembers it."

They did not open the scroll that night. They agreed, silently, that it was not yet time. Instead, they burned sweetwood and sang old lullabies. They held one another close and whispered promises as the watchers returned to the trees and the scroll sat waiting, heavy with secrets.

Much later, when the children were asleep and the fire only embers, Jude sat with Grace beneath the fig-glyph tree again. The rain had stopped. The orchard smelled of ash and earth.

"You’re afraid of what it says," she said softly.

He nodded.

"But you want to read it."

"Yes."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Then let’s read it. Tomorrow. Together."

He closed his eyes. "Okay."

She turned his face to hers and kissed him , not fiercely, not with hunger, but with the soft, endless devotion of someone who would follow him into gods and ghosts, into burning sky and broken time.

And somewhere far away, deep within the mountain, something opened with a sound like breath.

The scroll remained untouched through the night, wrapped in its dark material and placed at the center of the stone altar beneath the fig-glyph tree. Mist curled around its base, as if the island itself were curious about the message delivered by its silent emissaries. Jude barely slept. Grace lay close against him, warm and steady, but his mind wouldn’t still. The watchers had crossed a threshold, broken a rule, and in doing so opened something far older than memory. They had named him. Or remembered him. And that changed everything.

When the first birds called and the clouds above the orchard shimmered with gold, Jude rose. Grace followed without a word. They dressed in silence and stepped barefoot through the damp grass toward the altar, the others still curled in blankets beneath the main canopy.

The scroll was still there. Untouched. Waiting.

Jude reached for it.

"Together," Grace whispered, her hand folding over his.

He nodded and unfurled it slowly. The material bent but didn’t crack, it was strange, like leather but softer, etched with patterns that shimmered faintly in morning light. The script on the first panel was unreadable to him, curved and flowing, like writing underwater. But then, beneath it, the English word remained. Clear.

JUDE.

As his eyes moved lower, the script shifted. Transformed. It was as if the language sensed his presence and morphed accordingly. The lines reformed, one after another, until the scroll became legible in a rough, jagged hand.

You are not who you think you are.

You are not from this time.

You were sent here.

Not to survive.

But to ascend.

Jude froze. His mouth opened, then closed.

Grace tightened her grip on his arm.

More lines revealed themselves.

The island is not a prison.

It is a cradle.

Its heart sleeps beneath the mountain.

The watchers are its memories.

You are its key.

You are the beginning of the end of gods.

They both stood still for a long time, the scroll open in Jude’s trembling hands, the words burning behind his eyes.

"I don’t understand," Grace whispered. "What does that mean? Ascend? Gods?"

Jude shook his head, but his heart thundered in his chest. "I don’t know. But I’ve felt it. Since the first year here. Something waiting. Watching. Like we were... chosen."

She stared at him. "Why didn’t you say anything?"

"I thought it was madness."

She touched the scroll again. "Maybe it still is."

The others began to stir. Susan was first, wrapping herself in a cloak and walking quietly toward them. She stopped when she saw the scroll and the look on their faces.

"What is it?" she asked, voice low.

Grace looked to Jude.

He hesitated, then passed the scroll to Susan.

One by one, the wives gathered. Rose, then Serena, then Layla and Natalie, each drawn by the hush in the orchard. Zoey arrived with Laurel on her hip. Lucy, Stella, Emma, Sophie, Scarlet, they circled the tree, reading in silence, eyes scanning the impossible message.

When the last wife had finished, no one spoke. The orchard was silent except for the slow, steady rustle of wind through wet leaves.

It was Susan who finally said, "So the watchers want us to believe he’s... chosen for something bigger."

"Maybe," Serena said, arms crossed. "Or maybe it’s a test. Maybe it’s manipulation."

Natalie frowned. "They gave it to us after peace offerings. After we tried to connect."

Stella shook her head. "And now they’re pushing something ancient and godlike onto us? No. This feels... off."

"I believe it," Lucy said softly. "I don’t know why. But I do."

Sophie looked at Jude. "What do you feel when you read it?"

He stared at the parchment, at the last line repeating over and over in his mind. You are the beginning of the end of gods.

"I feel like something in me already knew it."

Scarlet was quiet, unreadable. Then: "What if this is why the monsters never come close? What if it’s not the orchard, or the glyphs, or our fire?"

Grace stepped closer to Jude, her voice steady. "What if it’s him ?"

A heavy silence followed. The wind shifted. Somewhere deeper in the trees, a watcher shimmered into view.

They spent the day in uneasy motion. The scroll was placed beneath the altar stone, hidden but accessible. Jude worked beside Zoey and Sophie clearing the western trail, but his mind wandered constantly. Every word from the scroll echoed in him like a bell in a canyon. The others avoided talking about it directly, but glances lingered on him now. Looks held longer than they should. As if trying to see something deeper beneath his skin.