Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 937

Chapter 937: Chapter 937

Jude followed the gesture, glancing toward the mountaintop. A column of blue smoke was rising again, thinner than before, spiraling tightly into the air like a snake uncoiling. He looked back, and the figures were gone.

He stayed in the clearing until the first hints of dawn touched the horizon. Then he returned to the house, slipping inside to find Grace awake and waiting for him at the window.

"I heard you leave," she said. "What did you see?"

He shook his head. "The watchers were near. Or something like them. But the pillars, " He broke off, running a hand through his hair. "They’ve been emptied. And the ribbons were cut. Deliberately."

Grace stood and joined him. "Was it them?"

"I don’t know. They didn’t feel the same. They didn’t pulse. They didn’t glow."

She frowned. "You think something else is mimicking them?"

"I think something darker is watching us now."

The wives gathered by sunrise, concerned and alert. Jude explained what he had seen, and tension rippled through the circle. Scarlet crossed her arms, face grim. "Maybe they’re testing us. Or maybe the watchers were just the first layer of this island’s mind."

Susan spoke next, quieter. "The blue smoke is rising again."

"We should investigate the mountain," Stella said firmly. "We’ve been avoiding it for too long. That’s where everything leads."

Zoey nodded. "We’ve all felt it. It’s calling."

"But it’s surrounded by beasts," Rose said, voice tight. "We’ve all seen what happens when we get too close."

Jude held up a hand. "We’ll take it slow. No one goes near the volcano alone. First, we re-establish contact with the watchers. If they’re still on our side, they may offer protection."

"But how do we know they were ever on our side?" Layla asked. "They never spoke. Maybe they were just observing, like scientists watching animals in a pen."

"That’s possible," Jude admitted. "But we felt something. Connection. Meaning. Until last night, they responded to everything we offered."

Natalie leaned forward. "So if they’ve stopped... is it because we failed a test? Or because something else interrupted?"

No one had an answer.

They spent the day rebuilding the offerings. New herbs were gathered, fresh water carried from the spring, new ribbons braided. Jude carved new glyphs into the wood, slightly different now, with subtle variations meant to invite clarity and truth. They sang again at dusk, forming a circle around the pillars.

But no watchers came.

No pulses of light, no shimmer of form. The orchard remained still.

The absence left a chill in Jude’s bones.

That night, he didn’t sleep. Instead, he sat with Sophie and Lucy in the watchtower they’d built above the eastern treeline. The stars were unusually clear, and the volcano’s blue smoke glowed faintly under the moonlight.

"Do you feel that?" Sophie asked, voice low. "It’s like something’s listening."

"I’ve felt it for days," Lucy murmured. "Something is coiling around this place. Watching everything we do."

Jude nodded. "It’s learning us. Studying. But the question is: why?"

They stayed there until morning, watching the mountain and its slow, steady plume. Then came the scream.

It shattered the air like a blade.

Jude was already running, heart thundering in his chest. The scream had come from the western ridge, one of the trap trails. The others weren’t far behind. When they reached the path, they found Stella and Emma crouched over Zoey’s body.

She was alive, but unconscious, her leg torn open by something sharp. Jude dropped beside her, checking her pulse. It was weak, but steady.

"She went to check the snares before we were all ready," Stella said, breathless. "I told her to wait. Then we heard growling, and she screamed, "

Emma pointed. "There."

Blood led into the trees. Not just Zoey’s, but something else’s too, black and thick, like oil. Jude stood and followed it a few paces. The trail ended at a claw mark carved deep into a tree. It was too high for a normal animal.

He looked back at the others. "Help me carry her. And no one goes into the woods alone again. Ever."

Zoey didn’t wake until the evening. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, her breath catching in her throat.

"Shh, it’s okay," Jude said, gripping her hand. "You’re safe."

She swallowed hard. "It wasn’t a beast. It wasn’t... natural."

"What did you see?"

She looked at him, eyes wide. "It had no eyes. Just... a face like bark. It moved like it was stitched from different animals. But it stood like a man."

The wives exchanged uneasy glances.

Jude leaned closer. "Did it speak?"

She shook her head. "It breathed. That’s all. But I heard something. In my head. A voice. It said... ’You’re not ready yet.’"

The firelight flickered over their faces. Silence fell again, thick and uneasy.

Scarlet stood slowly. "This is it, isn’t it? The beginning of the next stage."

Jude nodded. "The watchers were the first guardians. But now something else has stepped forward. Something that tests."

Emma spoke softly. "Then we must pass."

The following days became a blur of preparation. The wives trained together, bow, spear, tracking, defense. Jude worked with Natalie to craft traps that didn’t kill but captured. He and Grace studied the watcher maps, trying to find patterns in their silence. Layla kept watch over Zoey, whose wound healed slowly but who never stopped whispering about that creature in her dreams.

And every night, they sang at the circle.

And every night, it remained empty.

Until the sixth night.

That was when they saw the first of the changed watchers.

It appeared at the edge of the circle just after the final note. Alone. Tall. But its light was wrong, dull, fractured. And it didn’t pulse. Instead, it tilted its head at them, then reached down and touched the awakening pillar.

The glyph turned black.

The wives stepped back instinctively. Jude held up a hand.

The watcher’s form flickered, as if struggling to stay present. It opened its arms wide, then twisted, snapping into a spider-like shape for a heartbeat before resuming humanoid form. A ripple passed through the orchard, like a pulse of wrongness.