Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 942

Chapter 942: Chapter 942

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

Ashra nodded. "It’s begun."

Jude placed the stone down. "Then we meet it on our terms."

They set out that afternoon toward the western edge of the island, the one they had rarely explored. That land had always felt barren, cracked rock, wind-swept plains, and jagged cliffs that dropped into nothing. But if the island was constructing a mirror, if it was truly trying to reflect them, then it would do so in the place most unlike them. It would build contrast. Definition. Opposition.

The walk was long and silent. Even the usual banter died quickly. The further west they moved, the more the island’s pulse faded, like walking out of a dream into a painting where nothing moved. Eventually, the trees ended, and they stepped onto the cracked stone plain. No birds. No insects. Just wind.

Serena stopped and knelt, brushing her hand across the rock. "Too clean. Nothing grows here."

Jude looked out across the flatness and pointed. "There."

Far in the distance, something shimmered, like heat rising from the earth, but shaped, held in a fixed point.

They approached slowly, weapons drawn. As they neared, the shimmer solidified into a structure, round, perfectly symmetrical, like a pearl sliced in half and placed on the ground. Smooth stone. No markings. Just a single entrance, open, unguarded.

Jude glanced at Ashra. "A temple?"

She shook her head. "A question."

He stepped inside first, the others close behind. The air within was cool, unnaturally still. Inside, the chamber was circular with walls made of the same smooth stone. At its center stood a single column, and on it, a mirror.

No frame. No ornamentation. Just a surface of liquid silver, still and cold.

Jude approached slowly. When he looked into it, he didn’t see his face.

He saw Jude, standing in the ruins of the house. Alone. No wives. No smoke. Just ash.

He stepped back, and the image rippled, then returned to silver.

"What did you see?" Susan asked, voice tight.

Jude looked at her, then at the others. "Nothing real. Just fear."

Ashra stepped forward. "It’s not a mirror of form. It reflects the island’s version of you. The one it fears. The one it desires. The one it wants to erase or become."

One by one, the wives stepped forward. Some saw flames. Others saw themselves alone. A few saw strange versions of themselves, dressed in white, faceless, kneeling.

Layla was the only one who didn’t look away quickly. She stared into it for nearly a full minute before speaking.

"It sees me as a mother."

The room froze.

Jude stepped closer. "Are you...?"

She shook her head. "No. But the island... wants that. Or fears that."

Ashra stepped back from the mirror. "This is how it judges what stays and what changes. It creates images. Symbols. Then decides which to preserve and which to purge."

Jude looked again at the mirror. "Then we refuse its framing. We don’t let it define us."

"How?" Zoey asked. "We can’t stop it from seeing us."

"No," Jude said. "But we can show it something unexpected."

They returned home that night with a plan.

Over the next three days, they worked. Not to hide, not to retreat, but to create. Jude gathered each wife and asked them to build something deeply personal near the heart of their home. A token. A story. A contradiction to the images the island showed them. Rose painted a mural of all of them laughing, even the moments that felt surreal. Emma constructed a circle of broken arrows, representing the beasts they’d spared. Stella built a tower from driftwood and bones, shaped like the house, but upside down.

Jude worked silently with Ashra, carving new glyphs. Not ones from the cave, or the watchers, or the will pillars, but fresh ones, born from dreams. Shapes that made no sense. That had no symmetry. Symbols that could not be mirrored.

On the fourth day, the air changed again.

The island shifted.

Jude felt it like a crack in reality, a soft thump in the air, like a heartbeat skipping.

Ashra emerged from the forest, eyes wide. "It’s building again."

They followed her north, toward the oldest part of the forest, where roots grew thick and tangled and no path remained. As they moved, the trees themselves shifted, curving away from their steps like trying to resist something deeper.

And then, they saw it.

Another structure.

Not stone this time.

Flesh.

It rose from the forest floor like a massive ribcage, pulsing gently, its surface slick with mist. In its center, an open chamber, and within it, a throne.

Empty.

Jude approached slowly, eyes narrowing. "It wants a ruler."

Ashra didn’t speak. Her hands trembled.

The wives circled the throne, staring. No crown. No markings. Just the suggestion of power, waiting to be claimed.

"This is a trap," Scarlet said. "It’s bait."

"No," Jude said. "It’s a test."

Ashra nodded. "It wants to know if you’ll sit. If you’ll become what it thinks you are."

Jude looked at the seat, then at his hands. He stepped forward, but didn’t sit. He knelt. And placed both palms on the stone floor.

"I’m not here to rule. I’m here to remember."

The throne pulsed. Once. Then receded into the earth like melting wax.

The trees shifted back. The air warmed.

Ashra fell to her knees. "You denied its story."

"No," Jude said. "I wrote a new one."

That night, they held a fire in the courtyard. No fear. No rituals. Just warmth. They ate fruit and fish, drank water from the new spring, shared memories. The fog didn’t return. No beasts approached.

Jude sat beside Layla, watching the flames. "Do you think it’ll try again?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. But now it knows we won’t follow."

Ashra stood at the edge of the firelight. Watching. Always watching. But when Jude met her eyes, she nodded.

They had passed another test.

Not by power.

But by choice.