Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 975

Chapter 975: Chapter 975

He turned to her. "But it’s not mine."

Zoey shook her head. "It is now."

Jude didn’t answer. Instead, he took her hand, and they walked back to camp together.

Over the next few days, the watchers returned often, but never crossed the new trail. Instead, they hovered at its edges, silent, patient. Jude could feel the island shifting, subtly, like a current beginning to pull.

Susan was the first to suggest it out loud. "They’re leading us to the mountain, aren’t they?"

Grace didn’t answer, but her gaze lingered long on the trail.

That night, as Jude sat beside the fire with Stella and Natalie curled against him, he watched the mist dance along the trees and knew a choice was coming. One that would test everything they’d built. One that might demand sacrifice, or reveal truth.

But not yet.

For now, he kissed Stella’s forehead, pulled Natalie closer, and let himself drift in the warmth of their breathing.

The island would wait.

But not forever.

Mist hung lower that morning, clinging to the grass like a secret unwilling to lift. Jude sat on the wooden steps of the main house, elbows on his knees, watching the shapes of the orchard slowly emerge in the pale gray light. The air was still damp with night’s breath, and the smoke from the early cooking fire rose in a sluggish coil, as if reluctant to rise and join the sky. Behind him, the rhythmic movements of someone sweeping echoed quietly, soft bristle against wood, measured and steady. It was Natalie. She liked her mornings like this, orderly, quiet, purposeful.

She stepped beside him with a wooden cup of warm water and honey, not saying anything as she handed it to him. Her fingers lingered against his for just a second longer than needed. He looked up and smiled at her, brushing a bit of hair behind her ear. She smiled back, kneeling beside him and wrapping her arms around his waist from the side, her head resting against his ribs.

"It’s too quiet today," she murmured.

He nodded. "They’re watching again. But they’re not moving."

"I don’t like it when they change rhythms."

"Neither do I," he said, taking a sip from the cup. "But it’s the island’s nature. Stillness before movement."

"And us?"

He looked down at her, her eyes half-lidded with that mixture of worry and sleepiness, and kissed her temple. "We move. We always do."

By the time the sun was breaking through the topmost canopy, the rest of the house had begun to stir. Zoey and Stella emerged carrying baskets of dried herbs. Lucy and Rose followed them, whispering and giggling, likely over something Susan had said during dreams. Jude stood, stretched his back, and turned toward the center yard where the day’s plans would take shape.

There had been subtle shifts since the offering ceremony. The watchers had remained near, often visible in the corner of one’s eye, their presence like a breath on the skin. But now, their silence was a little too pronounced. Emma had said it first, two nights ago: "It’s like they’re waiting. Not just observing, but anticipating."

They decided to act. If watchers were expecting something, Jude would provide it, not out of submission, but curiosity, control, intention. A journey was planned. Not deep into the mountain, not yet, but farther than they’d dared since the last surge of smoke and strange dreams. Past the ridge where the old shipwreck sat half-swallowed by earth, toward the vine-snarled trail that bent north along the island’s edge.

He gathered the ones most comfortable in the wild, Layla, Stella, Rose, and Grace. Scarlet volunteered to stay behind and coordinate defenses, though no threat had touched them in weeks. Still, no one questioned caution anymore.

They left after breakfast, equipped lightly: spears tipped with sharp bone, woven packs for samples, cords and flares dipped in phosphor paste. Jude carried the watcher tokens in a satchel across his chest, their soft clinking now a familiar heartbeat.

The terrain past the shipwreck was strange, older. The trees seemed taller, their trunks wider, bark thick and flaked like ancient skin. Moss grew in spirals. Even the light changed, filtered by dark violet leaves and jagged shadow. It was cooler here, despite the climbing sun.

"Do you hear that?" Grace whispered.

They paused. Jude tilted his head. There was a hum. Not sound, more like a sensation, a pressure against his bones, pulsing softly, like the orchard glyphs but more distant, older.

"Same as what we felt near the mountain," Layla said. "We’re on a path."

"But where does it lead?" Rose asked.

"Where they came from," Jude replied.

They followed the sensation like a faint breeze, letting it tug their senses forward. After a time, the trees parted around a massive stone, sunken into earth and bound by blackened roots. Glyphs marked its surface, strange ones, foreign even to their growing lexicon. Jude stepped forward, touching the symbols with bare fingers. They were warm.

Stella crouched beside a nearby root, brushing away moss. Beneath it, a second stone lay, nearly buried, its surface cracked but similarly etched.

"These are older than the watchers," she said. "This is something... different."

"We need to mark this spot," Jude said. "And return with the others."

But as he turned, mist rolled in with sudden speed, obscuring their backtrail. He tensed, spear raised. The others formed a circle. From the mist, a watcher form emerged, tall, spindly, eyes flickering with pale blue light. It didn’t move. It only stood at the edge, then another appeared behind it. And another. Six total, spaced evenly, unmoving.

Grace whispered, "They’re guarding it."

"Or warning us," Jude said.

He stepped forward, slowly, raising one of the tokens. The watchers did not retreat. Instead, they raised their arms in unison, slow, deliberate, and pointed not toward him, but the stone. Then all faded at once into the mist again.

Silence stretched long after they vanished.

"We need to go," Layla said.