Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 941

Chapter 941: Chapter 941

Rose frowned. "A gate to what?"

"To the true will of the island," Ashra said. "It’s not just a creature or a force. It’s a story. One that loops. One that punishes."

Jude stared into the flames. "A loop that always ends in forgetting."

Ashra nodded. "Until now."

The next morning, they returned to the central settlement. The house still stood, untouched. The fog was gone. The birds had returned. Natalie wept softly when she saw the garden intact, untouched by beasts. The herbs had even grown fuller, as if the soil itself had become richer. The goats, surprisingly, were all alive, though a bit skittish. Emma dropped to her knees and laughed when one nudged her hand.

Life, it seemed, was reasserting itself.

But the air was not entirely calm. Jude could feel it, like a hum under his skin. The island’s story was still spinning, trying to make sense of the disruption they’d caused.

The wives spread out across the area, checking for changes, gathering notes, collecting samples. Jude entered the house and paused in the doorway. Everything was exactly where they left it. The long table. The piles of journals. The woven rugs. Even the faint scent of ash in the fireplace lingered.

But something small had changed.

A flower.

A single white flower rested on the windowsill. It hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t one they’d planted.

He walked to it and studied the petals. Soft, delicate, glowing faintly. And at the center, not pollen, but a tiny, humming glyph. Not one he recognized.

"Ashra," he called.

She appeared quickly, eyes scanning the room. When she saw the flower, she froze.

"That’s not from me," she whispered.

Jude touched the glyph. The flower pulsed once, then the glyph vanished into light.

Ashra stepped back. "It’s watching."

"Not the heart?"

"No. Something deeper."

That night, after the wives had returned and were asleep, Jude stood outside the house, watching the stars. Ashra joined him.

"You said there are more hearts. More stories."

She nodded. "This island is not a single entity. It’s a network. A mind fragmented into countless wills. Each one dreaming its own story. Some peaceful. Some horrifying. All connected."

Jude exhaled slowly. "Then waking one wasn’t the end. It was just the start."

Ashra looked at him. "And the others will come now. Spirits. Watchers. Beings that were kept at bay by the corruption. Now they’ll return. Some will be curious. Some angry. Some lost."

Jude looked back toward the house, where his wives slept. "Then we prepare. We make this place a beacon. We hold onto who we are. And we help others remember."

Ashra turned to him fully. "You’ll need more than memory. You’ll need truth."

Jude looked her in the eyes. "Then help me find it."

She nodded once. "I will."

As the wind picked up and rustled the trees, Jude felt something move in the back of his mind. Not fear. Not warning.

Invitation.

The island wasn’t finished with them. But for the first time, it was listening.

The morning was unusually silent. Even the birds, which had returned just days ago, seemed to hold their songs. Jude stood barefoot outside the house, the damp grass pressing against his feet, eyes fixed on the edge of the tree line where the light barely touched. Something was wrong. Not wrong in the way it had been during the days of corruption or the blue smoke. This was quieter. A stillness that didn’t belong, as if the island itself was waiting for him to move first.

Behind him, the house creaked with the gentle stirrings of the wives waking. Jude didn’t turn. His eyes tracked something in the trees, a flicker too quick for human shape, but too precise to be wind. A glimmer. Then gone. He listened, holding his breath, then exhaled slowly and turned toward the porch. The flower was still there on the sill, white, glowing faintly, its glyph now fully faded, but Jude could feel its echo pulsing in the wood.

Inside, the house was already alive with movement. Serena was in the kitchen, humming softly as she peeled a fruit with her dagger. Lucy swept the floor. Grace knelt by the table, sorting through the journals they had brought back from the cave. Everyone looked normal, but there was a tension under their smiles, a thread that hadn’t been there before. Jude stepped inside, and they all turned to him instinctively, as if waiting for a word, a sign, something.

He offered a faint smile. "Did anyone else feel it this morning?"

Susan appeared from the back room, arms crossed. "You mean the silence?"

"Yes," Jude said. "The island’s listening."

Stella leaned against the doorway, arms folded. "It’s always listening."

"No," Jude said. "Not like this. Before, it was watching. Now it’s... choosing. Or trying to."

Ashra entered then, her presence quiet but immediate. "It’s preparing the next layer."

The room stilled.

Natalie spoke softly. "Another heart?"

Ashra shook her head. "Not a heart. A mirror."

Jude frowned. "What kind of mirror?"

"The kind that shows you not who you are, but who the island thinks you are."

Layla’s voice was hard. "And what does it think we are?"

Ashra glanced at each of them. "Interruptions. Symbols. Errors in its pattern."

Jude moved to the table and unrolled the map, the one they’d started months ago with charcoal and careful notes. He tapped the volcano. "We pushed back. We touched something deep. It cracked, but it didn’t break. And now the island’s trying to understand us."

Zoey approached slowly, placing a small stone on the table. It shimmered faintly. "I found this near the spring. Look inside."

Jude picked it up. Within the clear surface, a faint image hovered, his own face. Not a reflection, but a carved memory, etched like a portrait in crystal.

Emma leaned in, brow furrowed. "That’s not just you. Look behind. The house. Us."

He turned it slightly, and sure enough, all twelve wives were there, frozen in miniature, standing around him.