Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 976

Chapter 976: Chapter 976

"We will," Jude agreed. "But I’m not leaving without one of these glyphs copied."

Using charcoal and paper from his satchel, he carefully sketched the clearest markings. He didn’t know what they meant, but they held weight, like a memory buried deep in language itself. When he finished, the four of them hurried back toward the orchard. Mist chased them, swirling at their heels until they passed the shipwreck. Beyond that point, it vanished as if it had never been.

The rest were waiting.

The moment Jude stepped into the central yard, the energy shifted. His wives gathered around, their faces lined with concern. Sophie touched his arm, then looked at the others. "What did you find?"

"A stone," he said. "Marked. Watched."

He unrolled the sketch onto the table. Susan and Emma leaned in, frowning. Scarlet, arms folded, asked quietly, "Same language as before?"

"No," Emma said. "It’s... older. This is root-glyph. The language that birthed the watchers’ symbols. Maybe even the language that shaped the island."

Jude looked at her. "Can you read it?"

"Only parts. This, " she pointed to a triangle with a line crossing it, ", is a warning glyph. And this curl beneath it... it might mean containment."

"We think it’s a sealed place?" Lucy asked.

"Or a kept thing," Emma said. "They were guarding it."

That night, they met in the orchard again. But this time, no ceremony. No offerings. Only presence.

Jude lit a single torch and stood at the center, his wives encircling him in silence.

"I believe," he said, voice even, "that we’ve been speaking to something that is only a piece of what lives here. The watchers are an echo, a shaped response to something greater. Something ancient. Maybe benevolent. Maybe not."

He looked around at each face, twelve women, twelve hearts, each one bound to him not just by need or love but by truth, by choice. He had led them here, but they had made him leader.

"I’m going back to the stone tomorrow. I need five to go with me. The rest stay here and keep this place safe. We may be opening something. I won’t do it alone."

There was no hesitation. Zoey stepped forward. Then Rose. Then Lucy. Then Serena. Then Grace.

He nodded once. "At sunrise."

That night, Jude lay with Grace in the loft, arms wrapped around her bare form, the lantern throwing soft gold against the ceiling above them. She rested her head on his chest, fingers tracing idle lines across his ribs.

"You feel it too," she whispered. "It’s calling you."

"I don’t know if it’s a calling or a trap," he admitted. "But yes."

"You won’t open it, will you?"

"Not yet," he said. "I just want to know if it’s what I think it is."

"And what do you think it is?"

"A piece of the god that made this island."

Grace lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "If it is, then maybe this place was never meant to be a prison. Maybe it was a sanctuary."

"Or a vault."

She kissed him. "Whatever it is, we face it together."

They didn’t sleep much. Neither of them could. They watched the stars through the slats of the roof, their hands never parting. Outside, the orchard glowed faintly, and beyond it, the watchers pulsed with light, closer now. Not in threat, but anticipation.

Morning came in silence. The five women who’d volunteered waited by the fire, packs ready, weapons sharp. Jude hugged each of the others, touching his forehead to theirs, promising safety, love, return. Then they set out again.

The mist came sooner this time, but it parted around them instead of clinging. The watchers did not appear. The stone lay as it had before, half-swallowed, ancient. Jude approached it and knelt.

He reached into his pack, pulled out a flat disk of carved bone, one of the original tokens made from a monster’s spine. He pressed it to the glyph-marked surface.

A low tremor passed through the ground. The glyphs pulsed blue. The trees nearby shifted, leaves turning toward the stone. Jude looked back. The others stood ready, but still.

The glyph cracked down the center.

Mist surged around them, but this time, it was warm. And within it, a voice. Not words. Not sound. A presence. It touched Jude’s mind like a breath across old memories, stirring something buried deep, something not his.

A vision came: an island afloat on a sea of stars, its heart beating in rhythm with the cosmos. A god sleeping within. Dreaming of life, of watchers, of protectors. A god betrayed. Sealed.

He gasped, falling back. Grace caught him.

"What did you see?" she asked, voice sharp with fear.

He looked up at her, eyes wide.

"I saw what this island was meant to be. And what it’s become. And I know now why they chose me. Why they let us live here."

He stood, breath shaky.

"We’re not just survivors. We’re caretakers. Guardians of what remains. And maybe"

He looked back at the stone, now glowing softly.

"maybe redeemers."

Mist still clung to the orchard as Jude opened his eyes to the faint chirr of distant birds and the rhythmic sound of Grace’s breathing beside him. Her arm rested across his chest, bare skin warm with sleep, and her fingers lightly curled into the fabric of his shirt. The earth beneath their woven mat was cool, scented faintly of ash and blossoms. He turned his head slowly, brushing his lips to her forehead. She stirred but didn’t wake.

Outside the shelter, low voices passed like river water, Susan and Layla, likely. Someone cracked a bundle of sticks, preparing for the morning fire. The quiet rituals of their daily rhythm had already begun, seamless and sacred. Jude slowly slipped out from beneath Grace’s arm, careful not to wake her. She mumbled something, eyes fluttering briefly, and he leaned down to kiss her again before pulling on his boots and stepping outside.