Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 997

The morning came too quietly. No wind, no birds, no rustle of leaves. Just a heavy, pulsing silence that wrapped itself around the orchard like an invisible fog. Jude awoke first, his body still tingling from the ritual’s aftershocks. A faint golden line remained where the threads of binding had pierced his skin, like a brand not of pain, but of unity. Around him, the wives were still asleep, some curled close to each other, others sprawled across furs and cushions like children exhausted from play. Grace lay beside him, her breath steady and calm, but even in sleep her brow furrowed slightly. She always sensed things before the rest of them. He eased himself up without waking her. Outside, the world looked unchanged. The jungle shimmered with dew, fruit-laden branches hung low over the longhouse, and the distant river murmured softly. But Jude felt it. Something beneath the surface. The heart in the mountain had been quieted, yes, but it wasn’t dormant. It was watching now. Feeling out the edges of the net he’d cast, like a creature testing the bars of a cage. He stepped beyond the orchard’s boundary, moving with practiced stealth, his senses stretched thin like wires. The glyphs carved into trees and stones still held their charge. The watchers, what few remained near the border, skulked beyond the mistline but did not approach. The blue smoke was gone, at least for now. But the silence still pressed in. A kind of waiting. When he returned, he found Rose tending to the fire pit. Her hands moved slowly, almost automatically, as if her thoughts were still elsewhere. She looked up as he approached. "I dreamed of the mountain," she said. "But not as it is now. As it used to be ." Jude knelt beside her. "What did you see?" "It wasn’t a volcano," she whispered. "It was a tower. A beautiful thing, made of glass and bone. There were lights inside. People lived there. They worshipped something at its heart. Something... inside it. " Jude didn’t answer right away. The vision chilled him. Not because of what it meant, but because it matched something he’d seen during the ritual, just for a flash, a tower rising from a vast black sea, with hands reaching out of its windows, praying not in praise, but in fear . "It’s remembering," he said finally. "The heart. The mountain. It’s not just alive. It’s ancient . It’s trying to pull those memories through us." "Why now?" Rose asked. "Why all of this now ?" Jude stared into the fire. "Because it’s waking up. And we’ve put a leash on it. It’s angry." More of the wives stirred as the sun rose higher, Natalie and Zoey first, then Lucy, Stella, and Layla. They gathered by the stream to wash, their movements slower than usual, like they’d all run a marathon in their sleep. Jude joined them with a bundle of fruit and roots, and for a little while they shared a quiet breakfast on the sun-warmed stones. But something about the air kept their voices low. Even the children sensed it. They stayed close to the adults, eyes wide, clutching toys and scraps of fabric like talismans. Emma finally broke the silence. "We should send scouts," she said. "Past the western ridge. Just to see if anything’s changed out there." Jude nodded. "I was thinking the same. The mountain isn’t acting alone. The rest of the island might be shifting too." "I’ll go," Sophie offered. "Me and Grace." Grace, now fully awake and sharpening a spear, gave a short nod of agreement. "We’ll keep to the trees. Take watcher silk. No fire. Three-day rations." Jude hesitated. His instincts screamed to keep them all close. But Sophie and Grace were among the sharpest minds they had. If something was changing beyond their walls, they’d find it. "Go carefully," he said. "And if you see anything you don’t understand, don’t engage . Just come back." That afternoon was spent in quiet industry. Lucy and Zoey reinforced the glyph stones with new symbols Jude carved from memory, runes he hadn’t known he remembered, but had seen during the ritual. Stella and Scarlet wove binding threads through the tree line using hair, blood, and sun-dried vines, chanting softly as they worked. Susan and Rose tended to the children, teaching them little games that were also protective rituals in disguise, games that used rhythm and direction to align their internal auras with the orchard’s protective field. Jude found himself standing alone at the edge of the longhouse, watching the tree line. The mountain’s presence was like a storm just over the horizon, too far to see, but close enough to feel . His thoughts wandered to the voice he’d heard in the mist, the one that had claimed to have been made for him. Could it have been telling the truth? Was Jude simply a piece in something much older than this island? A vessel carved long before he was born? Or had it lied, twisting his perception so he’d willingly offer himself? He remembered what the voice had said: Through you, I will return.

But return to what ?