My Wives Are A Divine Hive Mind

The grand chamber into which Noirette and Blanchette were unceremoniously thrust was a marvel of arcane architecture, a vast, echoing hall that blended the austerity of a courtroom with the opulent intrigue of an auction house.

The floor beneath their feet was a polished expanse of obsidian marble, veined with glowing threads of enchanted silver that pulsed like living arteries, channeling unseen energies through the room.

At its center rose a circular platform, elevated slightly above the surrounding floor, where the two sisters now stood bound and exposed.

This platform was etched with intricate runes that hummed faintly, forming a containment ward that shimmered with a subtle, iridescent barrier—strong enough to hold even the most elusive of prisoners, yet transparent to allow full view from all angles.

Encircling the platform were tiered balconies, stacked in a spiraling ascent that reached toward a domed ceiling adorned with illusory stars and swirling nebulae.

These balconies, carved from dark wood reinforced with metallic filigree, served as viewing platforms for the assembled spectators.

Each level was lined with ornate railings, behind which stood or sat figures cloaked in shadows, their gazes fixed downward like judges presiding over a spectacle of sin and curiosity.

The air was thick with the scent of incense and ozone, the residue of countless spells cast in this hallowed space.

Spell formations layered the entire chamber, illusions that warped perception, making it impossible to accurately count the number of observers—shadowy duplicates flickered in and out of existence, multiplying forms and faces until the mind rebelled against the task.

Protective wards hummed along the walls, suppressing unauthorized magic, though Noirette and Blanchette, as Shallow Ones, could still sense the faint tug of their Malleable Essence, that intangible void-born power that bent reality through will alone.

Yet, the chains binding their arms and torso—cold, ethereal links forged from sanctified silver—and the crosses pinned to their garments, glowing with holy restraint, nullified even that.

They could feel the potential stirring within, but it was locked away, as if their very essences were muffled under a heavy shroud.

"This is certainly a new experience," Noirette mumbled as she wryly smiled.

Every figure in those balconies shared one unifying trait.

Atop each head rested a witch's hat, the classic silhouette of a tall, conical crown tapering to a sharp point, balanced on a wide, flat brim.

Some hats were plain black felt, others embroidered with arcane symbols or adorned with feathers that whispered secrets to the wind.

Noirette, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd despite the bindings, quickly discerned unique traits among them. One witch, perched on the lowest balcony, had a body composed entirely of flickering fire elementals—her form danced like living flames, her hat's brim singed and curling from the heat, yet never fully consumed.

Another, higher up, was outlined in a brilliant, absorbing glow, her silhouette reminiscent of a black hole's event horizon, drawing in stray motes of light and leaving voids in the air where her presence lingered.

These were no ordinary spellcasters. At least, in this bastion, or even continent, they were a coven of extraordinary beings, each a master of some esoteric art, gathered in what Noirette surmised was the heart of the Resilient Mother.

Before Noirette could whisper her observations to Blanchette, the atmosphere shifted.

A hush fell over the chamber, broken only by the faint crackle of magical wards.

From a raised podium on the central balcony, a witch stepped forward.

She was a striking figure, her shoulders bare of arms, yet a pair of telekinetic puppet limbs floated beside her, gesturing with eerie precision.

These arms, crafted from polished porcelain and jointed with golden hinges, clutched a scroll that unrolled itself in the air.

Likewise, matching the theme of witches, her hat was oversized, its brim drooping like wilted petals, embroidered with runes that glowed faintly blue.

With a voice that echoed through the hall, amplified by unseen enchantments, she began the proceedings.

"Behold, the accused! Two intruders who have breached the sanctity of the Resilient Mother without identification or official registration. They employed undetectable arts to infiltrate our midst, pilfering sustenance from our stalls and eateries while cloaked in invisibility!"

A murmur rippled through the balconies, and from one of the upper tiers, a witch with wild, thorny vines twisting through her hair shouted down, her voice laced with indignation. "Is that it? The Mage Court is convened for these two pitiful thieves?"

The outburst drew sharp glares from several figures. An elder witch, her form shrouded in tattered robes that seemed woven from storm clouds, her hat crumpled and weathered as if battered by eternal gales, leaned forward from her seat. Her face was etched with deep lines, like cracks in ancient stone, and her eyes glowed with the faint flicker of lightning.

"Silence your tongue, Elowen," she commanded, her voice a low rumble that carried the weight of thunder. "Hush if you will, if there is any complaint that rose through your throat this early into the event."

With no further interruptions, the witch with the telekinetic arms continued, her puppet limbs gesturing dramatically as she read from the scroll.

"These sinners possess a unique and strange means of enacting spells, defying our wards and evading detection except from the Holy Guardian herself. As the members of the Mage Court, we must uncover the truth of their methods." She turned her gaze upon Noirette and Blanchette, her floating hands ushering them forward with an invisible pull. "Introduce yourselves to the court."

Noirette, her chains clinking softly as she shifted, met the witch's eyes with a defiant spark. "And if we choose not to comply?"

The witch's porcelain arms crossed in mid-air, her expression unchanging. "Then you shall be fed to the core that sustains the Resilient Mother, your essences fueling its eternal march."

Noirette glanced at Blanchette, who stood serene beside her, her pale features betraying no fear. Blanchette gave a subtle nod, signaling for Noirette to proceed.

Taking a steady breath, Noirette straightened as much as her bindings allowed. "I am Noirette Chariot," she declared, her voice clear and unwavering. "And this is my sister, Blanchette Chariot."

A faint stir echoed through the balconies at the shared surname.

In Fathomi, where birth and growth were myths of forgotten eras, kinship was forged not by blood but by the binding of noble names—a spiritual signature that tied souls together in the absence of familial origins.

Noirette had invoked the Chariot name deliberately, weaving it into her identity when she bore the full mantle of Kivas Chariot.

Of course, that also raises another implication.

The two of them were noble, and noble are something of a special existence in itself that bore their own mysterious and heritages.

For the two thieves caught to be both nobles, it was somewhat of a wild precedent.

From a nearby balcony, a witch clad in gleaming armor stepped to the railing. Her form was encased in plates of enchanted steel, etched with protective sigils that gleamed under the illusory starlight, her hat perched atop a helmeted head like a crown of authority.

"Why did you commit these crimes?" she demanded, her voice resonant as if echoing from within a forge.

Noirette met her gaze, crafting her response with care. "We were famished, wandering the fractured lands in search of sustenance. We came upon this moving bastion, however, we are unaware of its nature or how to gain entry.

"In our desperation, we stumbled upon an unknown spell formation etched into the earth. Before we could comprehend its purpose, it activated, transporting us directly into the heart of the Resilient Mother.

"Once inside, we discovered that no one could perceive us. Temptation overwhelmed us, and with hunger gnawing at our cores, we took food from the stalls and restaurants to survive."

The armored witch tilted her head, but before she could respond, another voice interjected from a higher balcony.

"Even if they were to lie." This witch had skin that shimmered like liquid mercury, her form constantly rippling as if on the verge of dissolving, her hat adorned with droplets that hovered in defiance of gravity. "Such a spell of translocation is impossible for ones who still require physical sustenance rather than sustaining themselves through their own Hemo Psyche. And the skill to render oneself invisible to that degree—that is the mark of an Advanced Class practitioner."

Yet another witch, this one with eyes that glowed like embers in a forge, her body wreathed in faint wisps of smoke as if she were perpetually smoldering, leaned forward eagerly. "It could be a unique skill rather than a conventional spell. Such anomalies are rare, but they explain the undetectable nature."

It was clear that they didn't completely buy Noirette's story.

The chamber erupted into argument then, voices overlapping in a cacophony of speculation.

The fire-elemental witch gestured wildly, her flames flaring brighter. "If it is a unique skill, we must dissect its mechanics—how does it evade our wards?"

Another witch with a lizard-like scaly skin countered, her voice a hollow echo, "No, the translocation formation is the key; it bypassed our perimeter entirely."

"All of our wards and spell formations have been proven to be unsuitable, and we must reinforce them, that is all we can learn from this."

"Here she goes again about rewriting the bastion's wards for the hundred of times."

"Can I drink my wine now?"

The elder storm-shrouded witch tried to restore order, but the debate raged on, each participant dissecting the tale with the fervor of scholars unraveling a forbidden grimoire.

Amid the chaos, Noirette turned to Blanchette with a wry smile, her voice low enough to evade the wards' amplification. "Are the governing bodies of this bastion nothing but a congregation of spell freaks?"

Blanchette's crimson eyes sparkled with faint amusement, her composure unbroken. "It appears to be so."

Noirette nodded, piecing together the undercurrents.

The interest in their supposed "spell" was palpable, especially from those who had glimpsed their invisibility.

Blanchette's mastery of the Malleable Essence, that void-forged will that bent perception and presence, rivaled the prowess of Samael with half her Divine Constructs at command.

To these witches, it must seem an enigma worth unraveling—a power that slipped through their magical nets like smoke through fingers.

Dorose, the one who had captured them, likely played a hand in stirring this curiosity, her chains and crosses a deliberate restraint to force revelation.

The din subsided as a new voice cut through, belonging to a woman who appeared forged entirely from metal—her skin a seamless alloy of iron and gold, joints whirring softly with each movement, her hat balanced atop a head sculpted like a mechanical helm. "I detect not a single trace of Mana Psyche from either of them," she announced, her tone mechanical and precise. "It is as if their essences are voids, empty of the vital flow that powers all spellcraft."

This revelation drew every eye, the balconies alive with renewed whispers.

Another witch covered with tree-like branches, leaned forward. "Impossible. Without Mana Psyche, how could they wield any art at all?"

"They really didn't believe your story, huh, It just got thrown out of the window entirely," Blanchette chuckled. "I give them their credits."

The smoldering witch's embers flared. "Perhaps it is a deception, a cloak upon their true reserves."

The metal woman shook her head, servos humming. "My sensors do not lie. There is nothing to detect."

The elder storm witch raised a hand, silencing the murmurs.

Her lightning eyes fixed on the platform. "Answer us truthfully. Can either of you even cast a spell?"

Noirette met her gaze, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"We can demonstrate, but only if these chains that bind us are removed."