Chapter 915
Dawn light flitted through the canopy, scattering flickers across the gardens, treehouses, and freshly planted orchard rows. Jude stepped onto the main platform, slipping onto the cold board without making a sound. Around him the camp stirred into life. Grace tended young shoots at the perimeter of the orchard, Lucy smoothed soil around berry bushes, Emma carried water across the clearing. The day promised warmth, but Jude sensed a deeper current beneath the calm surface. They had planted for permanence, named for unity, reclaimed nodes for memory, now the island awaited the final proof.
He crossed the clearing toward Grace, kneeling to brush a leaf free of dew. "Morning," he murmured, offering her a bowl of warm root-broth. She accepted it, placing her other hand over his.
"Did you sleep?" he asked.
"Uneasy. But I woke knowing what we’re meant to do today." She set the bowl aside, following his gaze across the orchard where ribbons fluttered like banners.
They walked side by side to the edge where Lucy and Emma were supervising a pair of girls from their world, distant but connected, children brought earlier with promises of hope. The twins, seven-year-old sisters, collected wildflowers at the edge of camp, curious and bright, clinging shyly to loaves of bread Jude had baked.
"They should be involved," Jude said softly. "They’re part of what we’re building here."
Grace smiled. "Yes."
Emma knelt with them, helping tie ribbon pieces into their braids. The twins giggled, helped by Lucy, who wove soft vines through their hair. Jude touched Grace’s shoulder and nodded, today would be about handing the future onward.
They gathered everyone, wives, twins, brothers they’d found earlier on the island, and formed a circle in the center orchard between sapling rows. Eleven wives, two children, and Jude. Each holding a ribbon or bowl, ready.