Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 933

Chapter 933: Chapter 933

Natalie reached into the leaves and pulled out a small pod, curled tightly, smooth, and silver. "Found another one," she said. "It’s warm."

Scarlet blinked. "You think it’s alive?"

Jude took it gently. The pod pulsed faintly, like it had a breath of its own. "Maybe. We’ll study it later. Document everything."

By dusk, they’d gathered two baskets of herbs, three strange seed pods, and a handful of leaves that shimmered in colors they hadn’t seen before. Jude added notes to their glyph ledger, cross-referencing Lucy’s maps with what Grace called the "song trail", the pattern of areas where watchers responded most strongly to sound.

That evening, he returned to the orchard late, exhausted but light. The fire was already lit, and the wives were gathered in loose clusters, some talking, others tending small fires, one or two writing in notebooks. Jude found Zoey sitting under the fig-glyph tree, her knees hugged to her chest.

He sat beside her without a word. After a moment, she leaned into his side.

"I miss how simple it used to be," she whispered.

"It was never simple," he said softly. "Just different kinds of fear."

She chuckled weakly. "Maybe. But now we’re deciphering gods."

He pressed a kiss to her hair. "We’re speaking to old things. But that doesn’t make them gods. Not yet."

She turned to look at him, her eyes searching. "Do you think we’ll ever go beyond the mountain?"

"I think," he said slowly, "that when we’re ready, the island will show us the way. And we’ll know it’s time."

She didn’t ask how. Instead, she rested her head on his shoulder and they watched the flames dance, the ribbons flicker in the trees, and the watchers, always at the edge, hold their places in silent vigil.

Night thickened, stars brushing the orchard in scattered light. Jude stood eventually, stretching. Most of the wives were inside, reading or resting. Only Grace remained near the fire, her hands tracing shapes in the dirt.

He walked to her, knelt beside her.

She didn’t look up. "You’re different tonight."

"How?"

"You’re softer. But also sharper. Like something inside you has shifted."

He nodded, unsure how to explain it. "I feel like... a door opened inside me. And I don’t know where it leads yet."

She looked at him then, eyes wide and full. "I think that’s what the island wants. For us to become doorways."

He reached for her hand. "Then walk through with me."

She rose with him, brushing ash from her skirt, and they slipped into the house. Laurel and Raven slept, tucked between Susan and Emma. Lucy was already curled beside Stella, their arms linked. Natalie dozed by the open window, one leg thrown over Rose’s. Jude lay between Grace and Sophie, their bodies warm against his, the smell of cedar and night blossoms in their hair. Fingers twined over his chest. Soft sighs. Gentle dreams.

And in the darkness beyond the house, watchers shimmered like stars, silent but present.

The island listened.

And Jude, surrounded by love, by memory, by something deeper than either, closed his eyes and breathed it in.

Moonlight poured through the thin canopy like molten silver, glazing the forest floor in soft light as Jude and Grace walked side by side. The orchard shimmered quietly behind them, alive with sleeping breath and whispered dreams, but ahead, the path into the forest edge waited, untraveled since the watchers’ ritual. The mist hadn’t returned in its full form, but a cool sheen hung between the trees, quiet, humming. In his left hand, Jude held a woven satchel lined with flatcakes, berries, and tokens. In Grace’s right palm, she carried a ribboned stone etched with their family glyph, an offering of memory.

They didn’t speak much, only exchanging glances, little smiles, the brush of fingers. The air between them was full of unspoken things: hope, tension, the lingering warmth of the ritual, and the soft ache of exhaustion. At the third bend in the trail, just before the tall twin-trunked ash trees, Jude stopped. A watcher hovered just beyond the nearest bush, its form more defined than before, thin and vertical, ribbons of blue mist threading through its center like veins of smoke in ice.

Grace’s breath caught. Jude raised his hand slowly, palm up, and the watcher didn’t retreat. Instead, it shimmered, once, then pulsed lightly.

"We come as friends," Jude said quietly.

The watcher drifted closer, and this time it didn’t stop at the edge. It glided through the underbrush, disturbing not even a blade of grass. It passed between the ash trees and stopped at a gap in the trail. Jude moved forward and set the satchel on the ground, then stepped back, motioning Grace beside him.

The watcher lingered. One thin tendril reached toward the satchel. It hovered for several seconds, then drew back. The watcher shimmered again, brighter this time, and then faded, not vanishing, but stepping backward into the mist until it was only a faint pulse among the trees.

Jude exhaled. Grace looked up at him. "They accepted it."

"I think so." He took her hand, squeezing gently. "We’ll leave more. Each day."

They returned slowly, tracing steps in silence until the orchard’s warm edge welcomed them again. Inside, soft voices floated over firelight: Emma and Lucy humming lullabies as they rocked the children; Scarlet and Sophie whispering near the herbal satchels; Serena and Natalie braiding woven fibers under torchlight. The smell of roasted roots and dried meat lingered, and the fire crackled low.

Zoey was the first to notice them return. She stood, brushing moss from her palms. "Did they appear?"

"One did," Jude said. "It accepted our offering."

There was a pause, then Zoey’s shoulders eased. "Good. We’ll keep the rhythm."

As the wives circled close, Grace shared the details, the pulse, the shimmer, the trail of mist. Jude knelt near the hearth, placing another ribbon on the map. "Here," he murmured. "This is where we begin the next line."