Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 956

Chapter 956: Chapter 956

They left an offering there. Jude whispered thanks. Then they turned back.

Meanwhile, Serena and Scarlet moved like hunters, low and silent along the western ridge. The watchers here felt more agitated. Once or twice, mist flickered too close for comfort. But Serena remained steady, and Scarlet matched her pace without fear.

"I feel like I’m being measured," Scarlet muttered under her breath.

"You are," Serena replied. "They’re watching how we react."

They found no glyphs, but they did see changes: trees with new splits, moss growing in unnatural spirals, a dead hare placed in the center of a perfectly flattened patch of grass.

"An offering?" Scarlet asked.

"Or a warning," Serena said. "But let’s treat it as respect."

They left their flatcakes and a strip of scarlet cloth tied to a sapling. Then they backed away, bowing low once.

When both pairs returned to the orchard, dusk had begun painting the sky with amber and blue. The others were waiting, some in quiet tension, others relaxed.

Jude gathered everyone near the fire again. He told of the stone circle, the glyph, the sense of welcome. Serena spoke of patterns and pulse, of mist too close to be casual. Grace listened with furrowed brow, then whispered, "They’re testing trust."

"And we’re passing," Susan added.

That night, they did not hold a ritual. Instead, they lived their life as normal. Cooking fish, laughing over spilled broth, playing with Laurel and Raven near the herb beds. Jude found himself watching the wives not as a leader or protector, but as someone profoundly, deeply in love. Each of them unique, vibrant, and yet a part of him now, like different notes in one song.

Later, as the fire dimmed, and the children were asleep, Jude and Layla retreated to the north edge of the orchard, beneath the old fig tree where the glyphs had first appeared years ago. Layla pressed her body to his, hands trailing down his chest, her lips brushing his neck.

"You feel different tonight," she whispered.

"How?"

"Like the island touched you. And now I want to touch you too. To remind you that we’re still here. That I’m here."

He kissed her then, slow, deep, the kind of kiss that spoke without words. Her hands found his hair, his back. They sank to the soft grass, leaves rustling beneath them. His fingers traced the curve of her spine, her sigh catching in the space between kisses. The island might have been watching, the watchers near, but all Jude could feel was her heartbeat against his, the heat of her skin, the way her breath hitched as she whispered his name. It was not lust alone. It was affirmation. That they were still human. Still flesh and love and connection.

After, they lay tangled, breath mingling with the night air. Layla played with his fingers, voice low.

"I think they understand love," she said. "Maybe not like we do. But they recognize it."

"They watched us?"

"Maybe. But it didn’t feel wrong. Just... observed. Like they’re learning what it means to be human."

Jude closed his eyes. "Then let them learn. From love."

They returned to the orchard before midnight, silent, hearts full.

The next morning, watchers were closer. Not within the orchard, but nearly. Ribbons fluttered where there had been none. Glyphs appeared overnight on the old well stone. Shapes stood longer before disappearing.

Jude understood: this was an answer.

They would keep offering peace. Keep walking gently.

The watchers were watching. But no longer as strangers. Something old was softening. Something new just beginning.

And in the middle of it all, Jude and his wives stood together, hearts entwined, ready to carry love into the unknown.

Moonlight bathed the orchard last night, silvering every leaf and sending the mist dancing in ethereal waves. Jude woke before dawn, the cold damp pressing at his skin, drawing him out of bed and into the hush of early morning. None of the wives stirred behind him. He stepped barefoot across dew-laced grass to the old well, drawn once again to the glyph that had appeared on its stone rim. It glows faintly in the moonlight, an echo from the watchers’ ritual or something deeper. He pressed a palm against it, feeling a pulse not his own. The glyph pulsed back.

Grace appeared behind him, shawl drawn tight. "You came again," she said softly.

He nodded, barely turning. "It’s calling."

She knelt beside him, brushing dew from the wood. "Good or bad?"

He exhaled slowly. "Important."

She laid her hand on his. "You don’t have to go alone."

He welcomed the warmth, but didn’t speak. She sighed and stayed until the first glint of dawn touched the treetops.

At breakfast, the wives were subdued, though their eyes betrayed understanding. Scarlet’s fingers tapped a quiet rhythm against her mug. Zoe and Lucy shared an unreadable glance. Serena stood close, ever-vigilant. Simone, no, Susan, slipped dried petals in Jude’s tea. Their quiet was acceptance, unspoken solidarity.

When they finished eating, Jude gathered them by the glyph-bearing well. "Today," he said, voice hushed but firm, "we learn what lies beneath this memory."

He split the group into two: Grace, Vivian, no, that name didn’t belong. Layla, Lucy, led north to test the watchers’ boundary. Jude, Grace, and Susan, led east to follow the glyphs that had emerged overnight. Emma, Stella, and Zoey circled west, tracking patterns in the mist. Scarlet, Serena, Natalie, Sophie, and Emma, no repetition, Scarlet, Serena, Sophie, and Rose would stay to hold space here, near the glyph and the well.

Jude, Grace, and Susan advanced east, leaving the cool morning circle behind. The forest beyond felt altered, every root, every fallen leaf seemed arranged, purposeful. They followed faint glyphs carved into mossy bark, iridescent and shimmering with dew. At each mark, Grace paused to gather petals; Susan gloved her hands to press her fingers against the rune and trace the pattern.

After an hour, the glyph trail ended at a fallen column of stone, half-sunken near a small pool.