My Wives Are A Divine Hive Mind-Chapter 81: An Error

"Alpha," a voice buzzed faintly, cloaked in static.

A moment passed. Then another. Finally, a line clicked open.

"Beta," Alpha responded, the tone low and tired. "You do realize what hour you’re dragging me into, right?"

"I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t urgent."

Alpha’s side of the channel remained silent for several seconds. When the voice returned, it was sharper, more lucid. "Go ahead."

"The source code has been tampered with."

A slow inhale. "Where?"

"Lines 1372937 to 163993 in the third vault of the Genesis Ark. It started mutating last night, like, we just found out about it just now."

Alpha leaned forward, a shiver crawling up their spine. "Tampered, is what you’re insinuating then. You’re certain?"

"The overrides are embedded beneath the recognition lattice. Heh, whoever did it, they weren’t sloppy."

"Then we’re going to see anomalies if that’s the case." Alpha’s tone dropped lower. "Has there been any preliminary testing done while you’re there?"

"Immediately cracking open the problem at this hour when it’s not even my shift? Hell nah. Though, it’s not just the usual drift-stutter or entropy folding... This goes deeper. We’re talking system-agnostic entropy, Alpha. The kind that ignores referential integrity."

The silence returned, longer now.

"Who was in charge of the Creation Engine last night?"

Beta hesitated.

"Beta," Alpha repeated.

A reluctant exhale. "Serendipity."

Alpha’s knuckles tightened. "You let Serendipity near the engine again?"

"She had authorization from Lambda. Tier-4 access. Lambda said it was temporary—"

"Lambda’s never cared about consequences," Alpha cut in. "Only compliance metrics and philosophical edge-cases. I hate that we’re working below her. Urgh! We have an entire realm depending on those layers staying sealed."

"There was supposed to be a security wall around the seed layer. Lambda assured us. Well at least, it was. By the way, I’m currently working overtime now, so I’m expecting you to do the same."

Alpha seemed to close their eyes for a moment. "Has anyone there at least run a projection? A clean test run to map the fallout? See what behaviors are surfacing in the code."

"No. We literally just started. Not to mention, someone only discovered it when I reviewed the data signature logs a a moment ago, so don’t expect much."

"And what did they show?"

"Refraction patterns. Code spirals. Echo states not working as usual."

"Which means recursive anomalies."

Beta’s voice softened. "You need to see it for yourself."

A pause. Then Alpha spoke with reluctant resolve. "Where?"

"Site-XA2. The others are already gathering as I had just called them before you. We need a quorum."

Alpha’s voice, when it came again, was firm. "I’ll be there."

The connection closed without a farewell.

The sky over Vaingall shimmered with the slow gold of an early sun, draped in translucent haze.

Between the terraced rises of greenstone and shrine-pierced canopy, a massive silhouette loomed across the fields—a figure of bark and memory.

Perched atop its shoulder, Blanchette kicked her legs idly as she looked down over the awakening landscape.

"So, big guy," she murmured, "what do you think of this one?"

The Bastion of the Harvest gave no reply. Its massive body shifted slightly, one of its eight rooted limbs lifting and planting itself gently to one side.

A low creak accompanied the movement, wood groaning beneath centuries of embedded stillness.

Blanchette leaned forward, arms looped around her knees.

"I think this timeline’s already starting to unravel," she said softly, voice almost too casual. "But not in a bad way, you know? Maybe for the better. Maybe we will get something new this time."

The Bastion remained inert, its headless torso absorbing the breeze, vines trailing faintly in rhythm with the wind.

Blanchette’s smile curled in a direction too slight to interpret.

"Endless variables, infinite patterns. We’re not even scratching the surface, you know. Some would call it terrifying. I call it entertaining. After all, who would get bored when you’re going to see new things everytime, that’s what it means to be exciting~"

Her words were still ignored by the Bastion of the Harvest.

Blanchette glanced skyward.

"The sixth day, huh? Looks like the plan to trick the Crimson Helot is working." Blanchette laughed quietly, gaze twinkling. "I can’t wait to see how far she gets this time."

From behind, a flicker of shadow overtook the treeline.

The pale flame of hollow sockets cut a line through the morning mist.

A Blessed Limbo Tier Divine Construct emerged, trailing black dust and fragmented radiance.

"You shouldn’t be bothering the Bastion of the Harvest, you know?"

The voice echoed in a familiar register—calm, feminine, clipped with Samael’s tonal fingerprint.

Blanchette turned her head with a grin, still seated, still flailing her legs like a child atop a throne. "Oh, hush. We’re best friends now. Aren’t we, Bastion?"

The towering construct offered no protest. One of its vine-wrapped arms shifted, the motion slow and ambiguous—either acknowledgment or indifference.

The Construct hovered closer, tilting slightly in mid-air. "If there is something that can move you from where you’re sitting, Kivas is looking for you."

Blanchette’s eyes lit up instantly, a gleam of mischief flaring beneath her lashes.

"Well, why didn’t you start with that?" she said, springing to her feet and landing lightly in the moss below. "Lead the way, would you?"

The Construct pivoted without a word and began to drift ahead.

Blanchette followed, still smiling.

Near the hallowed are where Yoiglah resided, there was a temple nestled low in the ridge where the morning fog pooled, its form half-swallowed by overgrown roots and shrine-fused stone.

Vines traced the arching buttresses like arteries, woven with prayer-inscribed threads and bark-stiffened fiber.

Near the entrance, soft sigil-light bled through the carved glyphs embedded in the foundation, flickering in a rhythmic cycle that matched no known tempo—alive, but indifferent to symmetry.

At the foot of the temple’s entrance stood Samael.

She leaned against one of the outer pillars, arms folded, wings furled, and her expression as flat as a dried reed.

Samael seemed to be wearing a brand new dress, similar to her original regenerative dress but with some decoration here and there.

Maybe Kivas commented something that prompted Samael to change her clothes to that, was what Blanchette thought.

Blanchette strolled up the stone path without hurry, arms swinging lightly at her sides, smile ready before her steps ever slowed.

"Morning, Sam-sam," she called lazily. "Still guarding doorways like a bouncer?"

Samael’s eyes shifted with glacial pace toward her.

"I’m going to kill you," she said in a voice drained of weight or inflection. "Don’t take it personally."

Blanchette’s smile widened. "That’s the warmest thing anyone’s said to me all morning. I feel adored."

"You’re not."

Blanchette brushed past her, gaze flicking across the glyphmarks set into the doorway. "You say that, but here you are, still standing watch. A little overprotective, don’t you think?"

"It will be worth it."

The temple’s interior carried the scent of baked moss and sanctified ash.

The air was heavy with cured bark resin and iron—likely from the blood used in old rituals, still sealed into the porous stone. It wasn’t a polished place.

The ceiling bore deep grooves from drag-chisels, and the walls bore designs that fused the precision of the Limbo Tier Constructs with the tribal ferocity of Clatur craftsmanship.

Even without knowing the history, it was obvious, this place had been carved by those who did not rest.

And there were a lot of those who didn’t rest in Vaingall.

Blanchette stepped lightly into the main chamber.

There, in the light leaking down from the circular skylight—an opening shaped like a thorned eye—stood Kivas.

She held a medallion, about the size of a clenched fist, its surface cast in dark brass. The center was convex, embossed with looping sigils that caught light at strange angles, almost as if repelling it.

From the base of the medallion jutted a short, elegant blade, less than a finger’s length.

Kivas turned her head slightly as Blanchette approached, not yet lifting her gaze.

Her halo burned low, flickering with the lazy pulse of ambient divinity, calm and undemanding.

Blanchette smiled as if nothing unusual was happening. "Good morning, dearest one. Did you call for me to share breakfast or to—"

Before she could finish the sentence, Kivas reached out, grasped her by the wrist with a gentleness bordering on reverence, and slid the blade of the medallion into her palm.

The point sank through Blanchette’s skin like a hair falling through water.

A glow flared immediately, pulsing outward from the point of entry, forming a flickering chain of spectral ink that wove around her wrist and vanished beneath the skin.

Blanchette blinked once, then looked at the wound, now sealed using her Hemo Psyche.

"...What was that, if I may ask?"

"Hm," Kivas replied, releasing her grip and raising the medallion for a better look. "It worked perfectly."

Blanchette arched an eyebrow. "Do I even want to know?"

"It’s a Curio Item," Kivas said, tucking the artifact into a bone-clasped container beside her. "Exotic Tier. It’s called Unrelenting Vow. To put it simply, it creates a soul-bond with anyone pierced by the blade. Complete loyalty. Zero betrayal~ Permanent metaphysical imprint unless the one who wields it revokes it."

Blanchette’s smile never faded, but her tone turned cool beneath its usual silk. "You really don’t trust me."

Kivas tilted her head slightly. "I trust you now."

"That wasn’t very kind."

"You’re doing something behind my back, and I’m just a little bit of a paranoid freak."

"I thought we were sisters," Blanchette said with an obvious exaggerated acting.

"You say that. But I don’t know what that means in your context. You’re an anomaly," Kivas replied without sharpness. "Surprisingly a well-behaved sister, but still an anomaly."

Blanchette paused.

Then she laughed softly, the sound like the wind brushing an open window.

"Well then," she said. "I suppose I’m truly yours now, aren’t I?"

Kivas offered a half-smile. "You always were."

"Those words don’t sound genuine."

"I know."

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