My Wives Are A Divine Hive Mind

The corridor through which Noirette and Blanchette were led twisted like a vein in the Resilient Mother's colossal body, its walls lined with flickering braziers that cast elongated shadows across the stone.

The puppet body of the living hat witch moved with unnerving silence, its feet barely brushing the floor, while the hat itself hummed a faint, tuneless melody that echoed softly in the confined space.

Blanchette walked with her usual serene grace, her crimson eyes darting curiously at the occasional rune etched into the walls, glowing with latent power.

Noirette, trailing slightly behind, flexed her fingers absentmindedly, still adjusting to the freedom after the bindings.

The air grew thicker with the scent of aged fabric and arcane preservatives, a musty aroma that hinted at treasures long stored away.

The corridor opened abruptly into a vast chamber that defied the bastion's nomadic constraints.

It was a cavernous room, its ceiling lost in a haze of enchanted mist that swirled with faint colors, as if capturing echoes of forgotten spells.

Rows upon rows of pedestals stretched into the distance, each bearing a witch hat in the classic silhouette—a tall, conical crown tapering to a sharp point, balanced on a wide, flat brim.

Yet, no two were alike; some shimmered with embedded gems that pulsed like heartbeats, others draped in fabrics that shifted hues with the light.

Display cases of polished crystal housed the more delicate specimens, while sturdy iron racks supported those with bulkier adornments.

The room hummed with a subtle energy, as if the hats themselves were alive, whispering secrets to one another in the quiet.

Either that or they were actually alive.

The living hat's voice emanated from its crown, laced with a touch of pride. "Here we are, the Hat Athenaeum. You may select one each from these displays, or request the Hat Maker to craft a basic shape for you to modify later.

"Be warned, though—some hats bear the marks of their former owners. Those who returned them to the court often wove eccentric spell formations into the fabric—tricks, protections, or whims that linger."

Noirette approached the nearest pedestal, her curiosity piqued.

The hat upon it was unassuming at first glance—black felt with a subtle silver trim—but as she leaned closer, it emitted a low hiss, like a serpent stirring from slumber.

Noirette recoiled slightly, then chuckled. "This one seems lively."

Blanchette, meanwhile, had wandered to another display.

With a playful flourish, she lifted a comically oversized hat, its brim wide enough to shade a small gathering, and placed it atop her head.

The conical crown towered absurdly, defying gravity in a way that made Noirette tilt her head in confusion. "How does the cone not sink into your head? It looks like it should collapse under its own weight."

Blanchette's smile widened as she lifted the brim slightly, revealing the interior.

Nestled within was a diminutive goblin-like creature, no taller than a handspan, with wiry green limbs and a mischievous grin.

It held the hat's structure aloft with surprising strength, its tiny fingers gripping the lining. The creature peeked out, offering a thumbs-up before ducking back inside.

The living hat's chuckle rumbled again. "That one comes with its own guardian. The creature is bound to the hat—harmless, but quite the companion for those who enjoy surprises."

Noirette laughed outright, shaking her head. "A hat with a built-in resident. This place is full of wonders."

The two sisters continued their perusal, weaving through the aisles of pedestals.

One hat caught Noirette's eye—entirely crafted from translucent glass, its surface smooth and flawless, refracting the braziers' light into a kaleidoscope of colors that danced across the floor.

She touched it gingerly, feeling a cool resonance that hummed against her skin.

Nearby, another brimmed with razor-sharp blades along its edge, glinting menacingly—perhaps a relic from a more combative owner.

Blanchette paused at a hat that hovered slightly above its pedestal, enchanted to float just above the wearer's head, defying contact altogether.

"For those who dislike the weight on their scalp," Noirette mused, imagining the former owner's aversion to the mundane sensation of wearing something.

As they delved deeper, the air stirred with the sound of skittering legs.

From a side alcove emerged another member of the Mage Court—an arachne, her upper body that of a lithe woman with pale skin and eight piercing eyes arranged in a cluster across her forehead, while her lower half transitioned into a spider's abdomen and eight segmented legs, chitinous and gleaming black.

Atop her head sat a witch hat shaped like the others, its brim woven with silken threads that shimmered like dew-kissed webs.

The living hat's voice brightened. "Ah, a timely arrival. Greetings, fellow weaver of fabric!"

The arachne witch inclined her head, her multiple eyes blinking in asynchronous patterns. "Greetings to you as well, custodian of crowns. Mmm~? These must be the new inductees I have heard whispers about."

The living hat affirmed with a bob of its puppet body. "Indeed. They may require hats tailored to their unique essences, or perhaps recommendations from the Athenaeum's depths." The body that the living hat controlled then gestured to the arachne. "She is one of our Hat Maker, also an unpaid guardian to the Hat Athenaeum."

"Greetings to the both of you."

"Greetings to you too," Noirette placed a hand on her chest and bowed. The same went for Blanchette.

The arachne stepped forward on her spindly legs, her movements fluid despite the bulk of her form. She regarded Noirette and Blanchette with a cluster of appraising gazes. "Do you find yourselves in combat often?"

Noirette nodded. "Yes, more than I would prefer."

Blanchette shook her head lightly. "No, not particularly. I'm a pacifist at heart."

"That's because I'm the one who does all the combat."

"Yes, that's why you're the best sister."

The arachne's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "And do you have any preferences for your hats?"

Noirette shrugged. "I am fine with anything that can be worn."

Blanchette's eyes sparkled. "Something cool-looking would be ideal."

The arachne tapped a leg against the floor, as if drumming up a memory. "I recall a section that might hold what you seek. But, I forgot where that is."

For the Hat Maker and dedicated guardian of the place to forget, it seemed like they were quite lax around here, or so Noirette thought.

The arachne raised a hand, weaving her fingers in intricate patterns.

A spell rippled outward, tearing a portal in the air—not to a distant land, but upward, piercing the chamber's mist-shrouded ceiling to reveal the open sky.

Through it descended a colossal figure—a witch of mountainous proportions, her youthful face serene and unlined, her body cloaked in robes that billowed like storm clouds.

Atop her enormous head rested a gravity-defying witch hat, its scale matching her own, the brim wide as a village square.

The arachne addressed her upward. "Do you know which section of the Athenaeum holds the unique category hats?"

The giant witch's voice boomed like distant thunder, yet carried a gentle timbre. "From the entrance, proceed straight for three aisles, then turn left at the pedestal with the whispering feathers.

"Continue past the glass relics, veer right where the blades gleam, and ascend the spiral stair that appears only under moonlight illusion. There, in the alcove of echoes, you will find them."

"Which alcove again?"

While they were discussing the location, Noirette, still marveling at the giant's arrival, turned to the living hat.

"I realize I have not known your name yet."

The living hat's fabric rustled in amusement. "You do not need to know, and neither do most in the Mage Court. We recognize one another by deeds and distinctions."

It nudged its puppet body toward the arachne. "Tell me, do you know the name of anybody in the Mage Court?"

The arachne's eyes twinkled in unison. "I do not even know yours, or that of the one above us."

The giant witch's voice rumbled down. "In the Mage Court, we know each other by our research and traits. Such things as names are irrelevant when essences speak louder."

Noirette chuckled, her smirk widening. "The Mage Court is quite the eccentric group."

The giant witch leaned closer through the portal, her face filling the sky like a benevolent moon. "This eccentric group filled with nerds is also one of the most important and privileged in the entire continent. Merely stating your affiliation with the Mage Court of the Resilient Mother will cause most other factions to leave you undisturbed or even assist in your research."

The arachne laughed, a chittering sound that echoed from her legs. "I once sought research materials amid a war between two factions. Neither side dared touch me as I gathered what I needed—they parted like waves before a ship."

Noirette's eyes widened in genuine awe, the significance settling over her like a heavy cloak.

The power implied was staggering, a shield woven from reputation alone.

The living hat interjected. "However, the Mage Court does not accept just anyone most of the time. We maintain high requirements. In fact, this is the first recruitment we have conducted in the last hundred years."

Noirette raised an eyebrow. "Does the Mage Court even have some sort of recruitment campaign?"

The three witches responded in near-unison. ""Nope.""

The arachne elaborated. "A great candidate will often appear, and fate will lead them to the Mage Court one way or another—just as you two arrived by pilfering food from stalls and drawing the attention of the Holy Guardian Dorose."

Noirette felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck, rubbing the back of her head. Blanchette, in contrast, smiled as if relishing the memory, her posture radiating unapologetic pride.

Noirette recovered quickly, her curiosity overriding the moment. "Who is the Holy Guardian Dorose, exactly?"