Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 948

Chapter 948: Chapter 948

That night, no one slept easily. The book pulsed on the table, unread but aware. The faceless girl did not visit Jude in dreams. Instead, he dreamt of a vast hall of mirrors, each one reflecting a different future. In one, he was alone in a city of rust. In another, he was sitting in this very room, laughing with his wives as the orchard bloomed into endless spring. In the final mirror, there was no reflection, just the sound of waves crashing and a ribbon floating downward like a falling star.

When morning broke, the house was filled with quiet purpose. No one had to ask what they were doing. They would read the book. Together. Carefully.

They took turns deciphering the spiral script, with Ashra guiding the pronunciation and Jude anchoring the visions that bloomed from each page. They learned of the First World, where the girl had walked alone for centuries, carving reality with each step. Of the Silent Devourers, god-creatures that turned dreams into extinction. Of the creation of the island, not as a paradise, but as a cage. A place to bury the girl when her dreaming grew too dangerous.

And most horrifying of all, they learned that the gods had not vanished.

They had merely slept, waiting for the girl’s story to fade. Waiting for her to be forgotten. And now, because Jude had remembered her, had spoken to her, had seen her, she was awakening again.

By the fifth day, the orchard began to shift. The watchers were no longer just passive shapes in mist. They whispered as they passed, snatches of broken sentences, memories not their own. The vines that grew along the house hummed at night. And near the volcano, a light began to pulse from within the stone pedestal.

Scarlet was the first to speak the fear aloud. "They’re coming back, aren’t they? The gods."

Jude didn’t lie. "Yes. Not all. But some. Drawn to the pulse of memory. And to us."

"Then we have to prepare," Serena said. "We’ve fought monsters before. We’ll fight again."

"It won’t be like before," Jude said quietly. "They won’t come with claws. They’ll come with questions. And choices. And the promise of undoing everything we’ve built."

"But they don’t know us," Layla said. "They don’t know what we’ve become."

Jude looked at her, love and pride and dread mingling in his chest. "No. They don’t."

Over the next few days, the wives crafted a defense, not of weapons, but of memory. They etched their names and Jude’s into every tree, every wall. They burned old clothes in offerings, whispering each moment of love and grief into the smoke. They braided their hair with ribbons soaked in blood and honey, binding memory to flesh.

At night, Jude held each of them close, sometimes in shared silence, sometimes in slow, aching lovemaking that felt like carving their names into eternity. With Susan, he spoke of first days and fresh fish and laughter by the water. With Rose, he remembered the quiet nights of poetry and the way her fingers always found his pulse. With Serena, there was fire, burning need and old wounds healing with each kiss. With Layla, it was whispers in the dark, promises that bent but never broke. With Natalie, it was the comfort of silence and long stares that needed no words. With Zoey, it was mischief and breathless laughter. With Lucy, it was gentleness, safety, the warmth of hands on skin. With Stella, it was wind and boldness, claiming each other in the shadow of chaos. With Emma, it was steadiness, a grounding, a tree in storm. With Sophie, it was songs hummed into his neck, soft confessions at dawn. With Grace, it was all of it, past and present, the thread that held them all. And with Scarlet, it was intensity, a challenge met and mastered in the dark, teeth and tenderness.

By the tenth day, the sky split.

A tear, not of light, but absence, formed above the mountain. The earth didn’t shake, but the air did. Birds fell silent. The orchard bowed, as if in reverence or fear.

Jude stood beneath the tear, arms open.

He spoke aloud: "We see you."

From the tear descended no god. No monster.

Just a voice .

"What will you remember when we are gone again?"

Jude answered without hesitation. "Each other."

The tear pulsed. "And if offered power? Perfection? Paradise?"

"I will choose love," Jude said. "Even if it ends."

The sky hummed. And then, a whisper.

"Then you may continue your story."

The tear sealed itself. The orchard sighed.

And the faceless girl appeared one final time, standing at the edge of the circle, holding a single ribbon.

Jude walked to her.

She placed the ribbon in his palm.

It bore no spiral language. Just one word.

Begin.

He nodded.

And she vanished.

In the days that followed, the land settled. The watchers grew quiet but remained near. The volcano returned to sleep. The house felt lighter, the orchard more alive than ever.

They did not know if the gods would return again. But they knew they would remember. They would choose each other, every day.

And their story would not be forgotten.

The wind had shifted again, carrying with it a scent that Jude hadn’t smelled in years. It wasn’t the humid brine of sea air, nor the earthy richness of the orchard after rain, it was something crisp and sterile, like crushed metal and glass, something out of place on the island. He stood at the eastern ridge alone, watching the treeline ripple as if something invisible moved beneath the canopy. Behind him, the house lay hidden in golden dawn mist, quiet, untouched for now. The ribbon still hung from his belt, the word "Begin" stitched in thread that shimmered subtly when caught by the light, though the faceless girl had vanished as if she’d never existed.

Jude turned and made his way back to the others. Their days had fallen into a rhythm again, but it was a different kind of peace now, not one born from comfort, but from vigilance.