Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 971

Chapter 971: Chapter 971

After four hours, the spiral path ended at a granite boulder. The glyph on its face matched the shard, except now it glowed, humming. Behind it, a narrow cave entrance yawned. It felt alive, echoing breeze like soft voices.

Jude knelt and pressed his palm to the glyph. It pulsed. The watchers gathered, bodies close. The wives formed a line behind him. Jude closed his eyes and spoke: "We come again as memory-bearers to this place. We stand with watchers, mountain, island. We ask to pass."

He placed the shard into the glyph. A tremor. Light belched outward, filling grove with gold. The stone vibrated. Behind, the cave lit from within. The watchers condensed into glowing threads that circled the entrance. Silence. Then the cave mouth shimmered like liquid.

Grace stepped forward. "We must enter together." Nods all around.

They held hands; the six wives, the watchers drifting overhead. They passed beneath the boulder, and stepped into a place that felt like memory itself.

---

Inside the cave, the air glowed with soft bioluminescent moss, casting pale green light. The stone tunnel fell away at their feet until they reached a chamber wide as a hall, and ceiling open to starlight they’d never seen until last night. Water trickled from walls, and glyphs glowed faintly in lines spiral deep along the cavern floor.

The watchers floated through skylight and tunnel, shimmering ripples over stone. The wives stepped carefully, feet echoing softly. Each touched a glyph mound with reverence. Jude held Grace’s hand.

They found a pool in the center. Water so still it mirrored the cave’s biolight and starlight above. Within it lay floating petals, blue, violet, gold, like constellations.

Jude knelt and touched the surface. A face appeared, familiar yet ancient. Eyes like stars. Beneath it the word Continue. Then water rippled and stilled.

Grace touched his shoulder. "It answers."

Scarlet added, "We continue."

---

Together, they wove ribbons, tokens, water into the pool’s edge. They spoke promise: to carry watchers’ light, to remember each day, to protect island life. One by one they brushed the water with hands.

The watchers drifted down from above, their forms pulsing in pale rhythms. One drifted into the pool, dissolving in water to float gently toward petals. The cave resonated, a deep hum through stone.

Jude watched, breath steady. The watchers pulsed in response. The starlight shifted, swirling with moss glow. The pool flashed gold.

They rose, hands still wet.

"Return to where we came," Jude said softly.

Grace squeezed his hand, mist clinging to hair.

They walked back through tunnel and boulder, the watchers guiding them, light dancing on wet rock. The forest opened gradually. The orchard greeted them with dawn. Watchers lined the spiral stones in welcoming array.

---

That evening they held feast under the fig-glyph tree. No formal ceremony; only gratitude. The wives laughed, children danced in waning light. Watchers drifted softly, branches rustling, leaves singing.

Jude stepped aside to whisper with Grace: "We went deeper than before."

She smiled. "We saw memory. We run with watchers and island."

He pressed the flower into her hand. "We keep living it."

She kissed his cheek and leaned in. Behind them, the watchers watched.

---

Three nights later, watchers no longer needed invitation. They emerged each dawn, moved with wives and children, and became part of rhythm. The spiral stones became paths lined with new growth. The cave entrance sealed, boulder glowing faintly, but the wives had memory now, living the passage, not just the place.

One night, the watchers shaped soft mist into the silhouette of the hooded figure, no longer human, but formed of mist and light, standing at orchard’s border. It bowed. It raised a shining spiral glyph. It dissolved into mist. The watchers glowed in unison.

Jude knelt, lifted his face, words hushed: "We remember. We continue."

Grace knelt beside him, she and twelve wives and two children, all part of the living memory.

In the hush, watchers drifted. The island kept breathing.

From dark presence emerged promise: story would continue, step by step, living memory carried by hearts and hands.

And so the world held them, a man, his twelve wives, two children, watchers, mountain, island, as one carrying bloom into tomorrow.

The dawn mist curled around the orchard like a living thing, soft and veiled, and Jude woke to the sound of leaves trembling in early breeze. He sat up in the hut where Grace lay beside him, her hair fanned across the pillow, breathing steady and peaceful. He slipped out, barefoot across cool grass, and paused at the old well stone. Moonlight still lingered in the glyphs carved upon its rim, faint and silver. A watcher drifted just beyond the saplings, its form nearly transparent against the mist. It held its place, motionless. Jude nodded to it quietly, feeling comfort in its silent vigilance.

When the rest of the wives gathered for breakfast, their faces were bright but edged with something like anticipation. They had been building toward this moment for weeks, deeper connection with the watchers, the mountain, the land. Yesterday’s ceremony beneath the fig-glyph tree had been powerful but incomplete, and now a new step awaited them. Lucy carried fresh bread, while Layla and Serena tended the stew over low fire. Scarlet sharpened her blade calmly but watched the border, always alert. Jude took his place in the circle, Grace by his side, and when the women greeted him, each touch was grounding.

"We go today," he said quietly, voice steady. "They’ve shaped the spiral, offered signs. Now the watchers invite us to stand with them, outside the orchard. We step together, not as explorers or seekers, but as partners."

Twelve wives nodded, children shifted on blankets, hearts steady. They had grown into this world’s mysteries.

They prepared offerings: boulders carved with glyphs, woven ribbons, petals pressed into wooden bowls, seeds from the high mountain meadows. Each wife chose something personal, a promise made tangible. Susan plucked a silver fern from the creek; Zoey brought river-smooth stones; Rose picked lavender buds; Emma sealed memories in pigment-stained bark; Scarlet tied an arrow dipped in mountain water; Sophia bound palm leaves; Serena braided herbs; Layla plucked blossoms; Grace dressed in petals; Natalie cooked bread; Lucy embroidered a cloth; Stella carried two shells; Jude carried watchers’ shard and the last of the honey bread; Grace held his hand.