Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 973

Chapter 973: Chapter 973

As they neared the summit’s plain, thunder rumbled, a deep sound from the mountain’s center. They steeled themselves.

The summit dais waited. They stepped onto the dais. The watchers formed rings beyond. The wives placed tokens once more: bread, heart-lace, feather, ribbon, petals, fern. The watchers glowed with each offering.

Jude stood and spoke: "We reach the summit again. We stand with memory holders, watchers, land, island. We hold deep union today, not for ceremony, but for living memory." Grace placed her hand on his. Scarlet gave the staff; Serena pressed arrow; Zoey placed stone; Susan laid fern.

The watchers glowed; the dais pulsed; the mountain hummed; clouds parted to reveal a single star overhead. The breast-shaped island carried their presence. The watchers drifted closer and then upward, shaping a spiral in sky.

Jude took Grace’s hand; together, they led a quiet chant, voices rising until they resonated in stone. The watchers mirrored light pulses. After the final chord, silence, but deep, full silence.

When they descended, the summit team was changed, roots deepened, hearts firm. The orchard welcomed them with watchers lining each tree, spirals almost complete.

At dusk, all wives gathered again under the fig-glyph tree. Candles lit between saplings, watchers floating close. The summit team brought down a single boulder, pulled from the summit plain, laid at the tree’s base. From it they carved six faces: watchers, wives, island guardians.

Scarlet lit candles embedded in the sculpture. Watchers glowed more brightly, drifting near the figures. The wives embraced around sculpture, children’s arms looping theirs.

Jude touched the watchers’ shard and said: "We carry memory in stone, flesh, heart, land."

Grace added softly: "We are the story now."

The watchers pulsed together in rhythm with wives’ breathing. The orchid glowed once more in center.

They stood in silence until darkness deepened.

Weeks passed. The watchers became integral to daily life, visible guides carrying watchers’ light to help water saplings, guard stew pots, ensure children played safely. The wives cultivated herb terraces while watchers glowed beside. The orchard hummed not with tension but with unity.

One morning, Jude woke to find watchers arranged along the spiral path, lighting blossoms. He realized the watchers no longer needed human herald, they had learned to care. He told wives. They made a feast at the base of sculpture, children running weaving ribbons between stones.

That night, watchers floated through camp, gentle forms of mist that drifted near sleeping families, reminding them they were never alone.

Months later, hunters brought meat from deeper forest trails, gardens bloomed with new shapes, watchers shaped moss against trunks, scars on earth tucked with seeds. Jade morning found watchers silent witnesses of their lives.

In the twilight beneath faint lanterns, Jude and Grace lay together beneath the fig-glyph tree. Watchers shimmered above in welcome, sculpture glowing at their feet. They spoke in quiet rhythms.

"We built carriers for memory," Jude said, voice low.

"And memory lives," Grace replied, voice warm.

They kissed, long and steady, petals falling around them.

Outside of human sight, watchers wove spiral shapes into night sky, drifted into mountain’s rumble, listened to the sea beyond.

The world had shared its stories.

And they, twelve wives, two children, one man, watchers, mountain, orchard, carried the spiral forward.

Memory would carry on.

Mist lifted like gauze from the orchard, curling around the fig trees as morning unfolded with the hush of damp leaves and the hush of soft, bare feet brushing through dew. Jude moved silently beneath the boughs, a woven basket looped over his arm, breath slow, steady. From the canopy above, filtered gold light trickled through, catching on old glyphs carved into trunks and fluttering ribbons faded to pale blue and green. He stopped, crouched to inspect a sapling’s roots, still firm, still strong, and brushed away a small clump of mold gathering beneath. His fingers lingered on the soil. The pulse of the earth here was different. Calmer, but listening.

A faint crunch of footsteps approached from behind, slow and familiar. "You always wake before the birds now," came Susan’s voice, low and warm. She stepped beside him, her red hair damp with orchard mist, a clay jar of water hugged close to her chest.

"I sleep less," Jude replied, standing and brushing soil from his hands. "But dream more."

Susan tilted her head. "More dreams of the watchers?"

He nodded. "And something else. Something beyond the mountain. It’s like...a call. But it’s soft. Not a threat. Just... patient."

Susan looked toward the thick clouds forever hovering above the mountain’s shadow. "Then maybe it’s time we go further."

"Not yet," Jude said. "We still don’t know why the watchers haven’t crossed into our home. Their stillness lately isn’t silence. It’s waiting."

Susan glanced down at the basket. "Need help with the mushrooms?"

Jude smiled. "Always."

The two worked quietly, collecting pale fungi and bright green clusters of moss from shaded trunks. Overhead, birdcalls returned to the canopy, and from deeper within the grove came the familiar sound of distant laughter, Sophie and Natalie, gathering berries for preserves.

The camp was alive by the time Jude and Susan returned. Rose and Lucy hung damp linens near the southern stones, where the morning sun was strongest. Stella and Zoey sat near the firepit grinding roasted nuts, while Layla and Scarlet carved new shapes into the totem logs that marked the eastern boundary. Serena was boiling tea, the scent of wild mint and citrus bark curling upward in tendrils of steam. Grace stood beside her, her arm around Emma’s waist, both watching the twins, Laurel and Raven, draw symbols in the dust with sticks, mimicking glyphs they’d seen etched into the watcher stones.

Jude placed the basket near the drying herbs and kissed Grace on the cheek. She smiled at him in return, eyes tired but kind. "We were talking," she said, gesturing to Emma, "about trying to draw watchers out again tonight. But not with names. With memory."

Jude raised an eyebrow. " What? Memory?"