Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women

"You recognize it?" Jude asked.

She nodded slowly. "Not from my own memories. But there are stories about a place like this. A city that was burned to nothing, erased from maps, forgotten by time."

Jude's chest tightened. "Why?"

Lyara looked at him then, her green eyes darker than before. "Because it wasn't supposed to exist in the first place."

A chill ran down his spine. He stood up, glancing around once more. Now that she had said it, the feeling made sense. This wasn't just ruins, it was a place deliberately removed from history. But why? And why had they been brought here?

The ground trembled beneath them.

Jude barely had time to react before a deep rumbling sound filled the air. The ruins groaned, as if waking from a long slumber, and the silence shattered. A gust of wind rushed past them, carrying with it the scent of something ancient and restless.

And then, the whispers began.

They were soft at first, like echoes carried through the air. But they grew louder, layering over one another until it was impossible to tell where they were coming from. Words spoken in a language Jude didn't understand, yet somehow felt familiar. He pressed a hand to his head, trying to shut them out, but they only grew stronger.

Lyara gritted her teeth, her hands tightening around the hilts of her daggers. "Jude,"

Before she could finish, the ground beneath them cracked. Shadows poured from the fractures like liquid, seeping into the air, twisting and curling as they took shape. Figures emerged, tall, faceless, their forms shifting like smoke.

Jude took a step back, his grip tightening around his sword. "What are they?"

Lyara exhaled sharply. "Memories."

Jude barely had time to process her words before the figures moved. They didn't attack in the way normal enemies did, there were no weapons, no clear aggression. Instead, they reached out, their elongated fingers stretching toward him.

The moment they touched him, his vision blurred.

Flashes of something not his own surged through his mind. A war, one not recorded in any history books. A king standing on the edge of ruin. A choice that should never have been made.

Pain lanced through him, and he gasped, stumbling backward. The figures recoiled but did not disappear. They only watched, waiting.

Lyara grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Jude, focus."

He swallowed hard, forcing the images away. "They're trying to show me something."

"I don't care," she snapped. "You're not ready."

Jude hesitated. He wanted to argue, to tell her that he needed to understand, but deep down, he knew she was right. The memories, whatever they were, weren't his. Not yet.

Taking a steadying breath, he tightened his grip on his sword and stepped forward. The figures didn't move, watching him in eerie silence. And then, one by one, they faded. The whispers died down, retreating into the ruins as if they had never been there.

Jude let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The weight on his chest eased, but only slightly. Whatever had just happened, it wasn't over.

Lyara let go of his arm but didn't step away. "We need to leave. Now."

Jude nodded. He didn't know where they were going, but one thing was certain, this place held answers. And whether he was ready or not, the past wasn't going to stay forgotten much longer.

Jude moved through the ruins with measured steps, his senses sharp, every nerve on edge. The encounter with the shadowed figures left a lingering unease in his chest, a feeling he couldn't quite shake. He could still hear the whispers, though they had faded into the background, blending with the sighing wind that had finally returned. Lyara walked beside him, silent but alert, her gaze flicking between the broken stones and the distant horizon as if expecting something, or someone, to appear.

The ruins stretched farther than he had first assumed. What he had thought to be a small, forgotten place now revealed itself to be an entire city buried beneath time and destruction. The scorched buildings, collapsed archways, and broken roads told a story he didn't yet understand, but one thing was clear: something terrible had happened here.

He crouched near what remained of a fountain, its surface cracked and dry. The faint outline of a crest was still visible on the stone, a sigil of a kingdom he didn't recognize. His fingers brushed against it, and a sharp jolt ran through his mind.

The sky darkened in an instant. He was no longer in the ruins.

He stood in the heart of a city, alive and thriving. The streets bustled with people, their laughter and voices filling the air. Merchants called out their wares, children ran between stalls, and the scent of freshly baked bread mixed with the perfume of flowers lining the walkways. Towering spires reached toward the heavens, their surfaces shimmering under the golden light of a sun that felt too bright, too real.

But beneath it all, there was something else. A tension in the air, an undercurrent of something unseen. Jude turned, scanning the crowd, and then he saw them. Figures moving in the shadows, unnoticed by the people around them. They were watching, waiting.

The vision twisted. The sky turned red. Screams filled the air. Fire erupted from the buildings, consuming everything in its path. The laughter was gone, replaced by the cries of the dying. The figures in the shadows moved forward, stepping into the light. They were no longer hidden. They were part of this destruction.

And in the center of it all stood a man clad in silver and black, his face obscured but his presence unmistakable. He raised a hand, and the fire obeyed, twisting like a living thing as it swallowed the city whole.

Jude gasped as the vision shattered, his breath coming in ragged bursts. He stumbled back, his head pounding. The ruins had returned, the desolate silence wrapping around him once more.