Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women

Chapter 898: Chapter 900

He made the plan: Everyone forms a circle around the fire. Chairs, blankets, no food, no alcohol, no distance. If one of them slips, someone else notes it immediately and brings them back.

Midnight came. The rain fell steady. They built the fire. They sat in their circle. The watchers roamed beyond the floodlights. Each wife held the hand of another beside her.

They whispered to one another, recited memories, sang soft lullabies, read poetry, spoke truths. Each took a minute to lean in, to whisper. Then they rose, two at a time, to walk between chairs, assuring presence, confirming names.

Wind shook the canopy. Rain tapped softly on leaves.

Suddenly, a flash of blue deep in the forest. Then another. A drift of smoke. Jude heard his name, three daughters calling.

He stood, voice firm. ”Name.”

Grace called his name. ”He’s here.”

The rain paused. The forest hushed. A shape emerged, blue haze with human form. It circled the fire once, filings of ash falling from it. It looked at each face, hungry, curious, familiar.

Jude stepped forward. ”What do you want?”

The shape hovered. Words filled the circle silently: Not yours. Not ours. We are the island.

No one moved. Each held another’s hand tighter.

Jude spoke loudly: ”Then come home. If you are the island... come home. But leave my women.”

The shape drew closer, its chest glowed. Lights danced. It exhaled blue smoke. For one long beat, it touched each wife. Their faces reflected the wind’s racing.

Then it vanished in a ripple of air.

The watchers did not move.

Rain returned heavier.

Jude closed his eyes, spoke softly: ”You are home. All of you.”

He took Lucy’s hand. She took Grace’s. They sat, present. The rain washed away smoke. The watchers and fog remained silent.

Morning came.

The island sighed. Camp woke to haze and lightweight sun.

Jude gathered them. No measures, no vigil tonight. They would do normal tasks. Live as themselves.

They rose and walked together, side by side. The watchers lingered at the forest edge, distant but patient.

They felt the pause settle inside them.

They dared to smile.

The dawn mist curled between the tree trunks as Jude stepped from the shelter, the air cool enough to burn his lungs. The island seemed to hold its breath, as if watching him. He paused, inhaling the damp scent of moss and earth, trying to arrange his thoughts before the day began. Every morning felt like waking into a varnished copy of itself, edges dulled by repetition and worry. He carried a small clay cup of water from their spring, hoping its ritual might anchor him in a world that was becoming harder to grasp.

He walked slowly toward the central fire pit where most of his wives had gathered. Their silhouettes moved like reflections in water, soft, uncertain, shifting. Lucy held her braid in one hand, twisting it absently, while Grace knelt on the ground, inspecting a cluster of seedlings. Emma stood at the edge of the gathering, sharpening a stone blade, her expression folded inward. They paused as he approached; their eyes met his for a moment before returning to their tasks.

Jude offered the water from his cup, letting ripples spread through the air. ”Morning,” he said softly. Each word felt fragile. ”Another day.”

They acknowledged him with nods. Morning proceeded, silent and cautious, and even breakfast was quiet, murmured thanks, shared sips of tea, the clink of wooden spoons. But beneath it, a current pulsed, telling him that nothing was truly safe yet. The island still remembered.

After the last spoon had scraped the bowl, Jude said, ”Today, I’m going somewhere.” His voice broke the lingering hush. ”Where I’ve felt it... the thing I’ve felt before. The smoke, or whatever it is.” They watched his face as he spoke, women who had known loss, love, miracles, and terror with the same intensity. None looked away.

Emma’s voice came quietly. ”Are you going alone?”

He thought for a moment. He wanted to say yes, but when he looked at their faces, lined with hope and fear, he realized he didn’t want solitude, not yet. He shook his head. ”No. I’d like one of you to come. Someone I trust.”

Lucy stood, her eyes steady. ”I’ll go.”

Grace joined her. ”I’ll go too.”

Emma squeezed Jude’s hand. ”And I.”

Three companions stepped forward.

Natalie stepped from the circle. ”If you go beyond the arch, I want to come after you. With markers.”

Jude nodded. ”Good.”

They packed lightly: flint, clay flask, moth-blade, prepared seeds, woven cloth, water. Each item chosen as witness against the island’s forgetting.

They left as a small procession, soft footfalls over fallen leaves. The way to the arch was quiet, the morning still heavy with anticipation. Trees bent overhead like silent sentinels. Not a bird sang.

At the arch they paused. The stones stood ancient, weathered, unmoving. But the air between them crackled with memory, resistance, greeting, caution. Natalie pulled a ribbon from her pack and tied it to a low branch. ”Mark one,” she whispered. Others followed. Soon a garland of locations would trace their path.

They crossed under the stone. From here, the forest felt deeper, darker, older. Each breath pulled in history.

They walked in careful silence, but thoughts drifted around them. Jude remembered Emma’s trembling voice when she’d blacked out. Lucy’s strange comfort in foreign memory. Grace’s tears of regret after touching the fungi. They each carried the knowledge that something beyond them understood their forms, their emotions, their love for Jude, but didn’t share them. Yet they were here together again.

The trail dipped and rose. Eventually, they came to the site where Grace had vanished during the night watch. Thin blue scorch on leaves still there, as sooty as before. Jude knelt, gently turning soil with a finger. Moist, alive, and clean of dust. He pressed a seed into it, held it in place. Emma placed a stone by his side; Lucy poured water. Natalie tied another ribbon to a twig.