Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 990

Chapter 990: Chapter 990

Then the visions snapped away. Jude gasped. The wives were glowing, their stones burning white-hot. The watchers sang, not with sound, but with light, forming rings above each wife’s head, glyphs spinning faster than eyes could follow.

Zoey stepped onto the slab. "I remember drowning," she whispered. "I remember thinking I would never feel again."

She raised her hand. A shard of the watchers’ mural burned in her palm. "But they pulled me out."

She pressed it to the slab.

The glyphs flickered, some sputtered out.

Sophie followed. "I remember being alone so long, I forgot how my voice sounded."

She placed a ribbon, soaked in dye from the orchard flowers.

More glyphs vanished.

Grace stepped forward. "I remember the world ending. And I remember the first time Jude smiled at me after."

She laid a stone wrapped in moss.

Each wife followed, speaking a truth they once buried, placing it on the slab. And one by one, the glyphs died.

Until only one remained, at the very center.

Jude knelt before it. "I remember thinking I had to become a god to matter."

He drew the shard from his satchel, the one he hadn’t shown anyone.

It wasn’t from the watchers. It was from the island itself. A smooth black scale, once part of the shell that lined the great crab-creature’s back.

"I was wrong," he said. "You matter when someone remembers your truth. Not your power."

He placed the scale.

The final glyph flared once, blinding gold, then shattered into dust.

Silence.

Then, a great exhale from beneath the slab.

Not a groan. Not a threat.

Relief.

The watchers bowed, lowering their heads to the dust.

The mountain stopped trembling.

The wind returned.

And with it, laughter.

Childlike, unburdened, drifting in on air that smelled not of ash, but of citrus, and sea, and warm soil.

Scarlet wiped tears from her face. "It’s over."

Grace touched Jude’s hand. "Not over. Healed."

The slab cracked gently down the middle, revealing only earth beneath. No beast. No gate. Only soil. Waiting to grow.

They walked down together. The watchers followed, not as guards, but companions. At the base of the mountain, the children came running, arms flung wide, their laughter echoing what the wind had brought. The wives embraced them, kissed their cheeks, held them tight.

Jude stood beneath the fig tree as dusk fell. The watchers moved through the orchard like stars returning to the sky. He looked down at the memory shard in his hand, the one with every wife’s name still etched into it.

He placed it at the tree’s roots and whispered, "Remember this. We chose to heal."

And the watchers did.

So did the island.

Mist lingered at the orchard’s edge as the first fireflies awakened, drifting like tiny lanterns through purple dusk. Jude stood barefoot by the well, the weight of last night’s defeat still settled in his chest, even as laughter from Laurel and Raven ricocheted through the orchard grass. Grace stood beside him, blue dress shimmering slightly in the soft light, her hand resting gently on his hip. Their wives formed a circle beyond, their usual place in moments like this, but tonight, no ribboned lights glowed along the saplings. Instead, a single wreath of moss and petals crowned the wellstone, as if in tribute to what they’d passed through.

When Laurel slipped from Raven’s hand to trail after fireflies, Jude scooped her up. The child’s fingers reached instinctively toward the soft light. "They remember, Papa?" she asked.

Jude blinked. "They do, sweetheart."

The well glowed faintly in response. Grace rested her fingertips against it, feeling warmth pool through stone, as if their covenant lived deep underground. She turned to him, the glow reflected in her eyes. "What do we become now?"

Jude carefully placed Laurel back. "We live fully. Without shadows guiding us. We carry the story inward, out into the open. We invite the island to remember with us."

Together they walked back to the circle. The wives came forward, voices soft and in unison: "We remember. We live. We heal." They held hands, their faces open, firm in love.

Jude lifted his voice, not in ceremony but in breath. "Tonight, we unsettle memory again, this time toward celebration, not centering. The watchers no longer need us to hold, so we set them free into night’s song."

Fireflies flickered more densely. The watchers, few and distant, rose from the orchard boundary and moved toward the sky, drifting in pale lines that scattered into constellations overhead. They left behind glowing ribbons tangled in treetops and draped across boughs like ghostly blossoms. The wives exhaled in unison.

Then laughter rose, loud and full, from children and adults caught in this new moment. They danced in firelight barefoot, their shadows warming the night. The watchers blinked back once, then ascended into darkness.

They lingered by firelight with flatbread and sweet root porridge, hands held. Every face glowed, some with tears, others with that raw laughter that leaves warmth long after echoes fade. Jude and Grace shared a look: they had bridged the old world and something new, but the path ahead still formed in star-sharp promise.

By dawn, they began anew. Ribbons were carefully removed and reused in future offerings. Glyphs were softly rubbed with honeyed water to seal them gently. The shrine at the broken bridge received new symbols of liberation: willow branches cut by scarlet knives, seed bundles wrapped in white cloth by Susan. The watchers pulsed in blessing as the shrine became sanctuary for release, not binding.

That afternoon, Jude and Grace led a small group to the cove where memory-banner tapestries waited. Scarlet and Serena carried them between them; Layla and Emma followed with poles to mount them. At the cove’s edge, they tied banners between driftwood masts, tethering cloth to sky, knots to child and wife alike. The watchers gathered offshore, glowing in choral light across water.

Grace stepped forward and spoke the vow: "We remember with freedom." She untied a ribbon and let it swirl into the current. The watchers responded with arcs of light. Now scripts of rebirth replaced those of burden.