Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 968

Chapter 968: Chapter 968

Jude stepped to the edge. One figure stood in the fog.

Not a watcher.

Tall. Robed in ragged cloth. Head bowed. Its hands were human. But its presence was cold. Alien.

Jude called softly, "Do you come in peace?"

The figure didn’t answer. It raised its head. Eyes like empty wells stared back.

Not peace. Not war. Return.

Then it turned and vanished.

The fog rolled back.

Jude stood still for a long time.

When the sun finally broke the sky, he gathered the wives.

"It’s coming," he said. "Not a watcher. Something older. It knows us. It spoke."

Emma crossed her arms. "What did it mean? Return to what?"

"I don’t know," Jude said, "but we’re not alone here. The watchers were the island’s whisper. This thing, it’s the memory buried beneath."

They looked at each other. Twelve wives. One family. One truth.

They would hold the orchard.

And they would face what came next together.

The morning air carried a cold stillness that felt unfamiliar. Jude stepped outside and found the orchard empty save for dew and the distant hum of birdsong. The watchers were gone, every soft shimmer vanished without a trace. In their place, the mist felt dense, hesitant, as though uncertain about reclaiming its territory. Grace joined him quietly, holding two cups of tea she had carried in from the kitchen. He accepted one and took a careful sip.

"They didn’t return," she said, voice low.

He nodded, watching droplets balance on ribbon-tied saplings. "Something else has come," he replied. "And it’s erased their presence for now."

She pressed his arm. "Then let’s gather everyone."

Jude led the way toward the firepit where many of the wives were already gathering, Lucy and Zoey pouring sweet tea, Scarlet and Serena shifting firewood, Stella and Rose flanking the children. The morning light glinted across their faces, alert and concerned.

Jude cleared his throat. "They’re gone. The watchers haven’t returned since dawn. But I saw something last night." Faces turned. He continued: "At the eastern edge, a figure came out of the mist. Tall. Human hands. Robed. It spoke without words: Return. Then it vanished."

Whispers broke out. Susan frowned. "Return to what?"

Jude shook his head. "I don’t know. But I believe this is the memory beneath, older than watchers, older than the mountain’s caretakers. We need to be ready."

Scarlet stepped forward. "If it comes again, will you speak to it?"

Jude straightened. "Yes."

Grace placed her hand on his chest. "With me."

The wives nodded. A pact formed in the hush of dawn, they would discover what this visitor meant together.

---

They spent the morning preparing. Fruit, bread, water, bowls of tea warmed with spices, woven ribbons, clay tokens carved with watchers’ glyphs, anchors of presence. Each wife wrote a vow onto parchment fragments: "We remember." "We honor." "We stand together." These they rolled and tied to ribbons.

By midday, the group stood at the orchard’s eastern border, the mist climbing into the sapling rows. Jude carried parchment-bound vows while Grace held the clay markers. The children watched from behind, urged back by Susan and Rose, while Layla and Stella flanked them, steady.

Jude stepped onward and spoke: "We recognize the watcher guardians and respect them. We call to whichever awakened memory that came forth last night and promise to honor its reason for coming." He let the vows ripple in the fog as he released them, small paper boats floating along ribbons tied to saplings.

Seconds passed. Then one. Then another.

From the gray haze, a figure emerged again. Tall. Robed. Its hands were pale. Its face hidden in the folds of its hood. It paused just beyond the sapling where the ribbons ended. The totem’s breeze lifted, though the air was still.

Jude held his breath. Grace grabbed his hand.

The figure lifted an arm: slow, deliberate. It traced an arc over the parchment as if reading. Then it dropped its hand. From its robes, a single piece of black cloth drifted down, landing at Jude’s feet. The figure vanished before anyone could move.

Grace picked up the cloth. It was soft, worn. A spiral rune had been inked on it, not watcher glyph, not human, but something deeply familiar: the same glyph buried in the mountain’s inner chamber.

Jude knelt, tracing it. "It came for our words," he whispered. "It responded."

Scarlet picked up the black cloth and tied it to the ribbon on the nearest sapling. "A token for memory?"

Grace glanced at Jude. "We need to uncover its meaning."

Jude nodded. "We go deeper. But we don’t go alone. Tonight we hold vigil here, lit by lanterns and fire, and we speak aloud everything we remember and everything we promise."

Another hush. Then a ripple of agreement.

---

That evening they prepared a ritual circle at dusk, lanterns hung on ribbons, glyph-stones circled, baked bread broken and shared. The wives gathered in a large spiral pattern, six pairs, Jude and Grace seated at spiral’s heart.

Instead of choral chant, they each spoke aloud: memories of hope, of pain, of first days in this new world. They called the watchers by name, acknowledged their gifts. They spoke to the unknown figure: of welcome, of remembrance, of shared story.

Jude said, "We are not just caretakers. We are part of the memory. We will not run from what we do not understand."

Grace followed: "We remember roots and growth and all that came before us. We stand at the edge but not afraid."

One by one, the wives concluded with personal promises: to teach the children the island’s stories, to honor the watchers in every harvest, to remain bound as a family even when called away.

After silence, Jude opened his hand, held it palm-up. Grace placed a wrought vine bracelet in it. He squeezed her fingers, and from the edge of the mist a whispering wind blew lantern light into movement.

No figure appeared, but the air pulsed.

Serena stepped forward and scattered bread beneath the lanterns. Attuned watchers’ glyphs carved in the stone glowed faintly. The mist recoiled slightly, as if bowing.

They waited. Night deepened, lanterns burned low, and the orchard remained hushed.

Then Grace leaned in and kissed Jude’s cheek. "They listened."

He exhaled. "I think they did."

They held each other. The wives watched. The watchers remained just beyond.