My Wives Are A Divine Hive Mind

"How did the conclusion become that?" Noirette spoke up toward the balconies.

The witch with the porcelain puppet arms paused, her floating limbs hovering mid-gesture as if consulting an invisible script.

The chamber, still buzzing from the hour-long frenzy of hypotheses, fell into an expectant hush once more.

Her voice, amplified yet graceful, carried the weight of institutional finality. "The Mage Court has observed your demonstration, Noirette Chariot, and recognized its unparalleled novelty.

"Thus, we seek to induct you—or even your sister Blanchette, should she prove equally adept—as an apprentice member."

Noirette crossed her arms, the absence of chains feeling strangely liberating yet precarious, like standing on the edge of a chasm without a tether.

"And what if I refuse?"

The puppet arms tilted in unison, a gesture eerily reminiscent of a shrug. "Then you and your sister will be returned to confinement within our cells. Or, should the court deem it necessary, consigned to the core of the Resilient Mother itself—a punishment that equates to execution, your essences consumed to perpetuate the bastion's ceaseless journey."

A murmur rippled through the balconies, some witches nodding in solemn agreement while others shifted uncomfortably, their hats casting elongated shadows under the illusory stars.

They definitely felt like having a prime example of a great new possible member elected for execution to be nothing but a waste. Either that, they knew the intrinsic process of the moving bastion, that urged a disgust from them.

Blanchette, ever the picture of unflappable calm, let a wide smile spread across her pale features, her crimson eyes gleaming as if she had just uncovered a particularly intriguing riddle.

She raised a hand languidly, drawing the telekinetic witch's attention. "What benefits come with joining the Mage Court?"

The porcelain limbs unfurled the scroll once more, though it seemed more performative than necessary, as if to underscore the formality of the exchange. "As members, you would gain official access to the Resilient Mother and its array of facilities reserved exclusively for the court.

"This includes laboratories equipped for esoteric experimentation, libraries brimming with forbidden tomes, and communal halls for collaborative discourse. You would have dealings with the black merchants—shadowy traders who deal in rare reagents and appraised Curio Items unavailable through conventional channels.

"Our underground information network would open to you as well, providing insights into Fathomi's shifting distortions and emerging threats. Furthermore, the Mage Court's funds could be allocated for objects of research or personal projects, subject to approval by a quorum of senior members."

Noirette tilted her head, her wry smile returning as she processed the offer. It sounded less like an invitation and more like an actual proper job, but one with intriguing bars, depending on the act requirement as members.

"What, in exchange, would we need to do as members of the Mage Court?"

The witch's expression softened fractionally, her puppet arms gesturing with open palms. "The obligations are straightforward and aligned with our ethos of discovery. You must maintain at least one active project or line of research at any time, documenting its progress in reports suitable for inclusion in the Mage Court's Grand Archive.

"These contributions enrich our collective knowledge, serving as reference materials for other members, or even future members. Beyond that, no further demands—your time and ingenuity are your own, so long as they yield fruit for the court."

Noirette's curiosity piqued further, her mind racing through the web of alliances she had glimpsed in her brief time within the bastion. "I am curious, is the Mage Court related to the Foilschwert Association, or any other group in a significant way? If that information is available, of course."

The telekinetic witch nodded, her drooping hat's brim casting a faint blue glow across her features. "The Mage Court forms the core foundation of the Resilient Mother bastion, its arcane heart that sustains and propels us through Fathomi's perils.

"The Foilschwert Association serves as an external ally, providing services and Void Hunters for expeditions against anomalies and disasters that threaten our path.

"They are valued partners, but within these walls, the Mage Court wields the greatest power and jurisdiction. Our edicts shape the bastion's course; theirs bolster our defenses from afar."

Blanchette, her smile unwavering, raised her hand once more, her voice carrying a casual lilt that belied the sharpness in her eyes. "If we join, are the two of us free to exit and enter the Resilient Mother bastion at any time we wish?"

The puppet arms gestured affirmatively, the porcelain joints clicking softly. "You are not obliged to reside within the Resilient Mother at all times. Travel as your pursuits demand—as we permit no chains on the wandering scholar. However, when a session of the Mage Court convenes, as this one has today, your presence is mandatory. Attendance is non-negotiable, unless an intervening matter eclipses the severity of the session's topic in gravity and immediacy."

Blanchette lowered her hand, her wide smile stretching just a touch further, as if savoring the contours of a well-laid path. "In that case, I will join."

A flicker of surprise crossed the telekinetic witch's face, quickly masked by professional poise. "Your enthusiasm is noted, Blanchette Chariot. Yet our primary interest lies in Noirette's induction, your sister's talents. Should only Blanchette join, it equates to neither of you joining at all—the court's structure demands the unique practitioner we observed."

Noirette turned to Blanchette, a smirk tugging at her lips as she arched an eyebrow. "What should we do now?"

Blanchette's eyes remained closed in that serene, almost playful repose, but Noirette felt the subtle brush of Malleable Essence against her mind—a telepathic thread woven from the void's malleable strands, far subtler than their earlier invisibility cloaks.

It bypassed the chamber's wards effortlessly, and should be undetectable even to Dorose's holy senses, slipping through perceptions like a whisper in a storm.

"Impart your knowledge of the digitialization phenomena," Blanchette's voice echoed in Noirette's thoughts, light and conspiratorial. "Make it a subject of the Mage Court's research. They might be able to find a way for the Well of the Soul user to see them."

Outwardly, Noirette stood silent, her expression one of deep contemplation, brows furrowed as if weighing the scales of fate.

Internally, she responded along the same ethereal channel, her will threading words back with precision. "Do you truly trust the Mage Court's abilities more than those of Vaingall or the Karasu Association?"

Blanchette's mental reply came swift and assured. "Yes."

Noirette pressed, her thoughts laced with skepticism honed from countless deceptions in her past lives. "Why?"

Even through the telepathic link, Noirette could sense Blanchette's amusement, a faint ripple like laughter on still water. "I observed the cacophony of their debate. They are competent, frighteningly so. They teetered on the brink of concluding that you draw power from beyond your Well of the Soul, an aspect untethered to conventional essence.

"And not all of them are mere theorists, some present here rival or surpass the Karasu Association in capability in processing information."

Noirette had suspected as much, the witches' relentless dissection of her demonstration a testament to their acuity, but she probed deeper. "What makes you say that with such certainty?"

Blanchette's response flowed like a revelation half-concealed, her mental tone casual yet edged with insight. "The Karasu Association thrives as information traders: they unearth secrets, archive them in their Singularity for empowerment, wield them as tools for negotiation, diplomacy, or even as weapons in shadowed conflicts.

"Their strength lies in hoarding and leveraging knowledge. The Mage Court, however, consists of researchers—passionate freaks at heart, bound by an unquenchable thirst for unraveling the unknown.

"When they latch onto a topic, they plunge into its depths. formulating hypotheses, possibly testing boundaries, dissecting every anomaly until truths emerge. Direct their gaze to the glitches and the subtle digitalization creeping through Fathomi, and perhaps—just perhaps—they will pierce its veil where others falter."

In her heart, Noirette acknowledged the undercurrent of truth in Blanchette's words, yet doubt lingered like a shadow at noon.

Despite their deepening bond, forged in their ongoing shared adventure, Blanchette remained an enigma—a manipulator cloaked in revelations, secrets tucked away like hidden runes in a grimoire.

Noirette could sense the layers, the playful diversions, the half-truths dangled like bait.

And yet, in this moment, she felt the weight of sincerity, a rare gravity that Blanchette reserved for pivots of true consequence.

It was not blind trust that stirred Noirette, but the calculated gamble of alliance with those who hungered for the same unraveling she did.

Straightening, Noirette projected her voice across the chamber, clear and resolute. "I have decided to join the Mage Court."

The response was instantaneous, a tidal wave of jubilation crashing through the balconies.

Witches rose to their feet, hats bobbing like beacons in a storm-tossed sea.

Cheers erupted in a polyphonic roar—"Welcome, Noirette Chariot!", "A new era of spellcasting has dawned!"—mingled with cries for Blanchette.

"And to you, noble sisters!"

Festive spells ignited the air—bursts of multicolored fireworks bloomed against the domed ceiling, harmless sparks of azure and emerald that fizzled into harmless motes before striking the wards.

Another witch, her form wreathed in ethereal silk that trailed like comet tails, conjured clouds of sparkly dust that descended in glittering veils, adhering gently to skin and fabric without residue, leaving trails of effervescent light that whispered faint melodies of arcane triumph.

The telekinetic witch clapped her porcelain hands together with a resonant chime, her smile genuine and radiant for the first time. "The Mage Court cherishes talents of great potential such as yours, Noirette. Your induction promises revelations we have long pursued. Let this be the forge of wonders and limitless potential to come~"

The celebration lingered for a span, voices overlapping in toasts and shared speculations on Noirette's first project, before the elder storm witch's thunderous call for order restored a semblance of decorum.

As the illusory stars dimmed to signal the session's close, a new figure approached the platform from a shadowed alcove—a witch who moved with the mechanical precision of the undead, her skin pallid and waxen, eyes glassy and unblinking like polished onyx.

Her frame was slender, draped in a simple gray robe that hung limp, and her witch hat perched atop her head like a sentinel, its brim wide and unadorned, the conical crown etched with faint, glowing circuits that pulsed lazily.

Noirette and Blanchette fell into step behind her as she gestured silently for them to follow, her hand rising in a fluid, puppet-like arc toward a arched doorway that materialized in the chamber's far wall.

The escort's face remained a mask of vacant serenity, lips sealed, gaze fixed ahead without a flicker.

"Where are we going?" Noirette ventured, her voice echoing slightly in the now-quieting hall.

The response came not from the witch's mouth, but from the hat itself—a resonant, feminine timbre that emanated from the crown's peak, dry and laced with wry amusement. "You will know soon, inductees."

Noirette blinked, halting mid-stride as realization dawned.

The body before them was no living flesh, but an exquisite construct—a humanoid shell animated by strings of subtle enchantment, its unblinking eyes mere glass orbs reflecting the chamber's glow.

The true entity resided in the hat, a sentient artifact puppeteering its vessel with effortless dominion.

Blanchette's eyes widened fractionally, her smile twitching with delight at the eccentricity.

"You must have observed one defining trait that marks a member of the Mage Court," the hat continued, its voice modulating as the puppet body resumed its gesturing, leading them through the doorway into a corridor lined with flickering braziers.

Noirette blurted the answer without hesitation, a grin breaking through her contemplation. "The witch hat?"

"Correct," the hat affirmed, a chuckle rumbling from its fabric like distant thunder in cloth. "Every member bears their own, a showcase of knowledge and privilege, woven from essence and intent. You are being escorted now to acquire your first—and maybe tailored to your visions."

It only dawned on Noirette that this meant anyone other than the members of the Mage Court were not permitted to wear a witch hat this whole time.

"Can we modify our own hat later?" Blanchette playfully asked.

"As long as the shape adhere to the basic requirement, yes," the living hat answered enthusiastically.

"To think that I left my wives to be in a witch organization on a foreign land."

"Sounds worth it," Blanchette chuckled.