Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women

**Lyara.**

The moment her name solidified in his thoughts, her form sharpened. The flickering stopped, the instability ceased, and she became **real.** Not fully flesh, not yet, but more than a ghost, more than an echo. She was **present.** Her golden eyes widened as realization dawned on her face.

"You came back."

Her voice was raw, hoarse, like someone waking from a sleep that had lasted longer than time itself.

Jude's throat tightened. "I didn't know," he admitted. "I didn't remember until now."

Lyara's gaze flickered over him, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she **collapsed.**

Jude lunged forward, catching her before she hit the ground. She was weightless, insubstantial, but she was **there.** He could feel the faint warmth of her form, the way the golden energy in her body pulsed weakly.

The others began to stir, their golden light strengthening, their figures growing more defined. The city was waking them up, but it was **not enough.** Whatever force had anchored them was incomplete. They had been waiting for him, but something was still missing.

Jude gritted his teeth. He had come this far. He would **not** let them fade now.

He shifted Lyara gently, supporting her as he turned his gaze to the rest of them. "You are not gone," he said, his voice steady, commanding. "You were never gone. You are still here, and I will not let the void take you."

The golden threads in the ground flared brighter. The ruins trembled as the city itself **responded.** The energy coursing through the structures around them surged, and the figures began to solidify further.

But it wasn't enough.

Jude could **feel** it. They were still on the edge of existence, still bound by the remnants of a sacrifice that had never been meant to last forever. If he did not do something **now,** they would slip away again, lost to time, lost to the void's relentless grasp.

He looked down at Lyara. Her golden eyes were dim, her form flickering again. He could see the effort it took for her to hold on.

She had once stood beside him as an equal. A leader, a warrior, a scholar—she had been all of these things. And she had been **his friend.**

Jude made his decision.

He did not fully understand how he had been brought back. He did not understand why he had awakened when the others had remained in limbo. But he did know **one thing.** The golden threads that wove through the city were the key. They were the remnants of their civilization's final stand, the last traces of their defiance against the void.

And they were connected to **him.**

He knelt, still holding Lyara, and pressed his free hand against the ground.

The moment his skin touched the golden energy, it **reacted.**

It surged upward, wrapping around his arm like living fire. It burned, not painfully, but with an intensity that reached into his very soul. He could feel it **recognizing** him, responding to him as it had before.

He **was** the anchor.

He had been the last piece, the last hope, the last fragment of a people who had dared to reach beyond what was allowed. And now, he could either hold on to what little remained, or he could **give it back.**

He did not hesitate.

He let the energy **take** him.

A rush of memories, sensations, emotions—everything that had been lost, everything that had been buried—**poured** through him. It was overwhelming, a flood of existence that should have shattered him, but he did not resist. He opened himself to it, allowed it to pass **through** him, allowed it to **return.**

The golden light exploded outward.

The ruins trembled, and the figures—**his people**—gasped as the energy surged into them. Their forms solidified, the flickering ceased, and their eyes burned with the same golden fire that now raged through Jude's veins.

Lyara's body became fully **real** in his arms.

Her breath hitched, and her eyes widened as she looked at him, at herself. She lifted her hands, staring at them in disbelief.

"I…" She exhaled, a breath that sounded both awed and unsteady. "I can feel it. I can feel **everything.**"

Jude helped her to her feet. She was no longer weightless, no longer insubstantial. She was **alive.**

And so were the others.

They looked at one another, at their hands, at their bodies. Murmurs of astonishment, of disbelief, of **understanding** rippled through them.

They had returned.

The city had not just awakened.

It had **restored them.**

Jude felt his own form stabilize, the golden energy within him settling. He was still **himself,** but he was also something **more.** He could feel the connection between himself and the city, between himself and **them.**

The void had tried to erase them.

But they had refused to be erased.

Lyara turned to face him fully, her golden eyes searching his. "You did this," she said. "You brought us back."

Jude shook his head. "We did this. All of us." He glanced at the city around them. "And we are not done yet."

The golden threads still pulsed beneath their feet, but they were no longer just remnants. They were **alive,** just as the people now were. The ruins were no longer ruins. The city was **returning.**

And beyond its borders, beyond the edge of what had once been their world, he could feel something shifting.

The void had failed to erase them.

But it was still **watching.**

Still waiting.

Jude met Lyara's gaze, then turned to the others.

The battle was not over.

It had only just begun.

Jude stood in the center of the awakening city, feeling the pulse of energy thrumming beneath his feet. The golden light that had once been faint and flickering was now steady, stretching through the streets, coiling around the figures that had once been mere echoes. His people. They were no longer trapped in the void, no longer mere remnants of a forgotten past. They were here. Real. Alive.