Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 970

Chapter 970: Chapter 970

That afternoon, Jude walked with Lucy to prune saplings. She paused, staring at the black-cloth water bowl beneath the fig-glyph tree. "What now?" she asked.

He smiled. "We live. And tomorrow, we do it again."

She nodded, touched a leaf. "I like tomorrow."

Jude kissed her cheek, brushing her hair back. "Me too."

They gathered again at dusk to watch watchers drift over orchard. Grace and Jude stood together, each carrying flowers on their backs. The wives sat in a loose circle, children in laps. The watchers glimmered: silver, blue, gold. Their presence was gentle, supportive, like partners in a shared dream.

Jude spoke softly: "They’re here for the story. Ours. The island’s. Not gods. Not masters. Just memory."

Grace squeezed his hand. "They chose us."

He looked at the wives. "Then tonight we hold what they brought, and we pass it forward."

They placed their hands together in the center of the circle. A slow hush followed. The watchers clustered closer, light drifting into their shapes.

Jude whispered, voice low: "We remember."

Grace repeated: "We remember."

One by one, the wives echoed, names following: "We remember." The watchers pulsed once. Twice. Then drifted upward, into the trees, into the sky, into everywhere.

When only the wives remained, Jude breathed: "We are the memory."

They closed their eyes. The orchard held its breath, the watchers within, but unseen, the mountain behind, islands across distance.

And in that moment, twelve wives, two children, one man, and the land itself formed the new Chapter, living memory, unbroken, echoing into tomorrow.

Moonlight spilled across the orchard, soft and silver, illuminating every leaf like pearls scattered on velvet. Jude awoke to the smell of lavender and damp earth, Grace at his side, sleeping in the slow rise and fall of deep rest. He sat up quietly, careful not to disturb her, and stepped into the open as the world awaited. A hush lay over the orchard, the only movement the gentle sway of watchers gathering in the distance, tall, soft forms shimmering through the mist, as if watching him wake.

He returned, kissed Grace’s shoulder, then gathered Susan, Rose, and Layla to help him prepare. Today they would reinforce their bond with the watchers, to show not only they remembered but that their story would continue. The wives emerged one by one into dawn’s glow, all twelve women solemn yet radiant, carrying offerings, bread and fruit, fresh fish, carved wooden symbols, ribbons, and petals from the mountain’s high slopes. They wore simple tunics dyed deep blue and green, reflecting the island’s colors. Even the children brought tokens: Laurel with a braided strand of her hair, Raven with a smooth shell he found at riverbend.

They formed a wide circle around the oldest sapling, the fig-glyph tree, watchers standing patiently behind. Jude’s voice broke the morning stillness. "We come again to walk with watchers. We carry memory and promise." Each wife offered her token in turn. Susan placed fish; Rose laid bread; Layla scattered petals; Natalie unfurled ribbons; Stella held carved stone; Emma offered shell; Zoey wood-carved star; Scarlet feathered arrow; Grace placed her wooden heart; Serena braided hair; Lucy set stone carving; Sophie gave pollen bundle. Jude ended with a glyph shard and honey-bearing bread.

The watchers drifted closer, some stepping forward until mist brushed their forms. The orchard light shifted; birds quieted. A hush absorbed the dawn itself. Then Jude began a chant, a melody born from the rituals of memory and island leaf, layered with words of hope, gratitude, and vow. Grace joined on soft harmony, their voices weaving through gasps of rising wind. The watchers mirrored them, drifting in gentle pulses.

As the melody ended, Silence. Then one watcher stepped forward, removed formality of mist and brought presence shaped like glass. It bowed, touched the ground, and dissolved in a wave of gentle light. The watchers returned to their line. No fanfare, but an answer. The wives exhaled, embracing each other as dawn warmed the orchard.

They lingered under the fig-glyph tree until sun’s climb banished the final shadows. Then they broke bread together, laughter rising. The watchers remained at the edge, spectral witnesses. But by evening, they had closed in, circling near saplings as wives wove new ribbons. The watchers no longer lurked, they accompanied each movement.

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Over the next three days, the wives returned to ceremony at sunrise, offering tokens from harvest, songs for memory, laughter for living. In each daily ritual they felt the watchers flush with warmth, shimmer deeper, lighter. On the fourth dawn, they found something unexpected: the watchers had arranged stones in a spiral around the fig tree, matching the glyph. At the spiral’s center lay a single white flower that had never grown in the orchard before.

Jude knelt and picked it, feeling its petals warm. He turned to Grace. "They speak to us through memory, but now they gift something living." She nodded, her eyes bright with wonder.

They used the flower in a midday ceremony, weaving petals into bracelets, passing them among wives and children. Everyone wore one, symbolizing shared life.

That night, sisters and children slept beneath the fig-glyph tree in a circle. Watchers hovered nearby, hulled in gentle glow. Jude stayed up late with Grace, watching watchers find stillness in mist. He thought of the mountain, the glyphs, the rituals, the cryptic figure who spoke Return. This island had become their world, and their world had become something alive.

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The next morning, Jude gathered six wives to leave the orchard. They would follow the watchers’ spiral path outward, deeper into the unknown. Grace insisted on joining. Scarlet, Serena, Susan, Layla, and Emma joined too, steady hearts for the journey.

Each carried tokens: Grace, flower-mashed water; Scarlet, ribbon; Serena, her spear; Susan, firebrand; Layla, braided vine; Emma, journal and pigment. Jude carried the flower and watchers’ shard.

They set off with the watchers floating overhead. The spiral stones appeared again beyond orchard boundaries, each trio draped in ribbons. They paused at each to lay offerings and speak gratitude, advancing until the forest calmed and the watchers’ mist thickened to conceal everything beyond a few feet.

Only watchers moved ahead as the wives followed in pairs, hearts steady.