Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 944

Chapter 944: Chapter 944

He approached, picked it up, and for the first time, put it on.

It fit perfectly.

When he emerged from the house, the rain stopped.

The air shifted. Not colder. Not warmer. Just... aware.

All twelve wives stood waiting at the circle.

Jude approached slowly, barefoot, the robe trailing over dirt and moss. As he stepped into the center, the twelve stones began to hum.

Ashra’s eyes were wide. "It’s listening."

Jude turned slowly in the center of the circle. "Then we speak."

Each wife stepped forward in turn and spoke not to Jude, but to the island. They didn’t ask for protection. They didn’t beg. They stated truths.

Rose spoke of fire and rebirth. Grace of silence and healing. Emma of animals and the forgotten sounds of joy. Natalie spoke of soil. Layla of futures.

One by one, they claimed their space.

When they finished, Jude raised his hands.

"I am not your king. I am not your chosen. I am not your error. I am Jude. I am memory. I am resistance."

The robe tightened slightly around his chest, then loosened.

The humming stopped.

Silence fell.

Then the trees shifted.

From the forest emerged creatures, not corrupted beasts, but things made of wood and bark and smoke. Not solid. Not hostile. Just present.

They ringed the circle, dozens of them, shapes vaguely humanoid, with hollow chests and burning eyes.

One stepped forward. It tilted its head.

Then it bowed.

One by one, the rest followed.

Ashra exhaled slowly. "The island accepts the story."

Jude turned. "Then we tell it more."

The spirits remained for a while, circling the structure. They didn’t speak. Didn’t touch. Just watched. When night fell, they vanished into mist, but the ground where they stood remained warm, glowing faintly.

The robe did not disappear.

Jude wore it for three days, and in those three days, no beasts approached. The fog never returned. The plants began to bloom differently, colors they hadn’t seen before. And then, on the morning of the fourth day, a sound echoed from the east.

Footsteps.

Real ones.

Jude stood on the porch as the figure approached through the trees.

A woman.

Tall. Pale. Dressed in stitched leaves and glowing moss. Eyes the color of the sea. She held no weapon, just a staff carved from black coral.

Ashra stepped up beside him and inhaled sharply. "That’s... not a spirit."

The woman stopped at the edge of the clearing. "You are the interruption."

Jude stepped forward. "You’re late."

She smiled faintly. "I was deep in the dream when you tore it open. I had to climb."

"What are you?" Rose asked.

The woman tilted her head. "Not a god. Not anymore. But close enough to matter."

"Why are you here?" Layla asked.

"To see if the story still holds," she said. "To see if the end can finally be written."

Jude folded his arms. "There is no end."

The woman’s smile widened. "That’s what I hoped you’d say."

Then she turned and walked back into the forest.

Ashra let out a breath. "That was a test."

Jude nodded. "And there will be more."

But for now, the sky was clear. The robe hung quietly on a branch. The stones stood firm in the circle. And the island, for the first time in a long time, dreamed with them.

Rain returned the next morning, not soft or mysterious but heavy, pounding, almost violent. It came in sheets, flattening the underbrush, bending trees, churning up mud in the gardens. The kind of storm that demanded attention. Jude stood beneath the eaves of the house, robe bundled under one arm, watching as branches thrashed and distant shadows moved between the trees. Something was awake again, something old. The brief peace they’d earned hadn’t dissolved, exactly, but it had shifted, as if the island was clearing its throat, preparing to speak again.

Inside, the wives moved like ghosts through the dim light, shutters drawn and candles flickering. Susan and Lucy checked the larder and sealed cracks in the windows. Natalie and Grace whispered in the hallway, voices tense. Emma stood near the door with her bow in hand, not drawn but ready, as if the storm itself might manifest teeth.

Only Layla approached him directly, her hair wet, clinging to her cheeks. "The sky’s wrong."

Jude didn’t look away from the trees. "I know."

"It’s too loud. I can’t hear the birds inside anymore."

He turned toward her, eyes scanning her face. "You felt it too?"

She nodded. "In my bones. Like something cracked."

They were silent for a moment before Jude pulled on the robe, not for protection, but clarity. When he wore it, he heard things better. Not voices, but suggestions. Echoes from the island’s deeper places. The robe settled around him like liquid, and the world hushed.

It wasn’t just rain.

Beneath it, deeper, something pulsed. Not rhythmic like a heart, but irregular, an earthquake with a heartbeat. Jude narrowed his eyes and stepped into the storm.

The water soaked him instantly, blurring his vision, but he walked steadily, following that beat. Behind him, the porch creaked. A glance back revealed Serena, Rose, and Zoey all stepping into the rain without a word. No weapons. No coats. Just trust.

He led them east, into the older trees, where the branches were too thick to let the storm in fully. The air felt hotter here, steam rising from moss-covered trunks. The path curved strangely, and soon they saw it, something new.

The trees had parted to form a spiral, unnatural and perfectly symmetrical. At its center, a depression in the ground filled with black water. Not a spring, not a pond. It pulsed.

Zoey hesitated. "It’s a gate."

Serena stepped closer. "No. It’s a mouth."

Jude stepped to the edge and peered in. The water didn’t reflect the sky. It showed the house. Then it shifted, showing the circle they had built. Then the throne, now buried. Then it showed him. Not a reflection. A version. Dressed in black, alone.