Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women

Chapter 954: Chapter 954

A field of white grass under a sky with two moons. In the center, a tree with black bark and crimson leaves. Beneath it, a man neither young nor old, dressed in shadow, with Jude’s face. Not smiling. Not angry. Just watching.

When they all awoke, the memory was intact, perfectly shared between them, like it had been carved into their minds.

Sophie was the first to speak. ”It wasn’t a dream.”

”No,” Jude said quietly, fingers pressed to his temples. ”It was an invitation.”

They gathered after breakfast in the wide clearing behind the house, the same place they’d used for training, for rituals, for dances on clear nights. This time, there was no music. Only tension.

”We can’t ignore this,” Rose said, pacing. ”Something is asking for us. Again.”

Zoey frowned. ”But is it the same force from the Vault, or something else entirely?”

”They’re connected,” Jude said. ”The Vault, the mountain, the dream last night. It’s a path. A sequence.”

”Then what’s next?” Lucy asked.

”We find the tree,” Stella said before Jude could answer. Her eyes had the distant clarity again. ”It’s not a place on the island. It’s in between. A space we can only enter once we’re ready.”

”And how do we do that?” asked Layla.

Jude looked at the book. ”We follow the pattern.”

He showed them what had appeared overnight, the map inked in glowing gold on one of the new pages. It showed the island not as they knew it, but as something layered. The surface they lived on, the world below it, and another space entirely, marked only with a symbol none of them could read, but all of them somehow understood.

That night, they began the ritual.

It wasn’t written anywhere, not clearly. But they pieced it together, scraps from dreams, memories from the Vault, instincts that surfaced with the rising moon. They drew the symbols in the dirt, bathed in moonlight, dressed in simple linen robes they’d dyed with crushed blue petals. Jude stood at the center of the circle, the wives forming a ring around him, hands joined, eyes closed.

The wind changed.

So did the air.

It felt like inhaling the breath of something eternal.

Jude closed his eyes. Let go.

When he opened them again, the world was gone.

He stood alone in the white field.

The grass swayed though there was no wind. The two moons cast no shadows. The tree waited in the distance, its black bark drinking in the light, its red leaves whispering secrets in a language he didn’t yet understand. He walked toward it, barefoot. The ground was warm beneath his feet, humming faintly with every step.

At the base of the tree, the man stood. His own face, but not quite. Taller. Paler. More ancient. Eyes like still water. He didn’t smile.

”You came,” the other Jude said.

”I had to.”

”You’re close,” the man said. ”But not complete.”

”What am I missing?”

The man didn’t answer. He pointed.

Jude turned and saw them, his wives, each standing at the edge of the field, still in their robes, looking as lost and awestruck as he felt. But they were here. They’d crossed with him.

The other Jude spoke again. ”You were never meant to walk this path alone. That was the gods’ mistake.”

Jude stepped toward the tree. ”What is this place?”

”A memory that hasn’t happened yet.”

He turned to the others, gesturing for them to come closer. One by one, they joined him. Scarlet stood at his left, Susan at his right. The others formed a ring around the base of the tree, just like before. But this time, there was no ritual. No chant. Just breath. Presence.

The tree opened.

Not physically. It split along its bark, revealing not wood or roots but a tunnel of light. Jude didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside.

And the others followed.

The world beyond the tree was... impossible.

They floated, bodiless, moving through constellations that bled into memories. They saw the island as it once was, before monsters, before division. They saw the gods not as omnipotent beings, but as flawed architects, desperate to protect a reality spiraling toward collapse. They saw the fragments, gifts scattered across worlds, each meant to awaken what had been dormant for too long.

They saw themselves.

In every age. Every shape. Every form.

Fighting. Falling. Loving. Dying.

Each life was a thread, and they were the braid.

When they came back, bodies returned, breath returned, it was dawn again. The ritual circle lay empty. The house waited in the distance.

But now, each of them bore a mark, simple, faint, somewhere on their skin. The same symbol from the tree.

A covenant.

They didn’t speak of it that morning. They didn’t need to. The silence between them was richer now, full of shared understanding. They had crossed another threshold. There would be more. There would always be more. But they were ready.

Or, at least, as ready as they could be.

By midday, the sky had changed again.

A new star had appeared.

Bright. Close.

Not a star at all.

A structure. Slowly descending. A tower of metal and memory, shaped like a thorn, crowned with fire.

The spiral was no longer just a dream.

It was coming to them.

And this time, they would not run.

They would meet it.

Together.

Night had long since blanketed the orchard in velvet darkness, stars blinking between the gaps in cloud cover as the firelight danced across the assembled faces. The embers hissed softly, casting long shadows behind each of them, yet the mood remained warm, intimate, touched with something sacred. Jude sat at the center, his arms resting across his knees, eyes flicking from one wife to the next. Grace lay curled beside him, her head on his thigh, humming faintly under her breath, some lullaby she half-remembered, one she used to hum when Laurel was a baby. The others clustered around the fire in quiet companionship, leaning on one another, the silence filled only with the occasional spark from the logs or the deep inhale of someone drawing the comfort of smoke into their lungs.