My Wives Are A Divine Hive Mind
Chapter 64: Waiting For The Keep

Chapter 64: Waiting For The Keep

"You smell quite nice today," Samael sniffed with eyes closed.

"You had been saying that for quite a while," Kivas chuckled.

They tumbled softly into the grass, tangled limbs and laughter muffled by the moss beneath the shade of a wide-armed tree.

The forest around them whispered in faint rustlings, a distant chorus to their quiet moment of collapse after hours of travel and talk.

Samael’s hand slipped behind Kivas’ neck, pulling her into a kiss without warning—warm, firm, hungry but never rough.

Kivas blinked once at the suddenness of it, then melted, her breath catching as her hands pressed instinctively against Samael’s chest, only to find the former Endless Dragon already shifting her weight atop her.

The kiss broke with a breathless sound, and Samael’s forehead rested against Kivas’ as she grinned.

"This is my reward," Samael said with a dangerous kind of softness, the way she often spoke before giving into whims she fully intended to indulge. "For working hard yesterday."

"Mhmm, you sure did," Kivas mumbled, cheeks warm, though her expression didn’t back down from the teasing light in her eyes. "What can I do without my cheeky soulmate acting clingy every now and then~?"

"You forgot that I owned you still," Samael whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth, then the edge of her jaw, then beneath her ear where her breath could ghost against skin. "Always remember that, not the other way around."

"You certainly don’t let me," Kivas said, voice hitching a little as Samael’s fingers trailed from her shoulder to her waist and found the curve of her hip.

Her breath shivered when Samael’s hand paused there with intent, like it had every right to stay.

"I’ll say this again," Samael murmured against her skin. "I’ve conquered a continent. Burned cities. Outlived gods. But you—" her hand moved up along Kivas’ side, tracing the bandage where wings once had been "—you’re the only thing I care enough to act like this."

Kivas made a sound that was half laugh, half gasp, eyes fluttering closed as she leaned up to capture Samael’s lips in return—slower this time, letting the kiss linger with the weight of everything unsaid.

"You’re being soft," Kivas murmured against her lips. "That’s suspicious."

"Call it balance," Samael replied, brushing hair from Kivas’ face. "I tear down the world, and then I build something quiet here. How poetic is that?"

"You know, if you keep saying things like that, I might believe you actually like me."

"I’ve already said I own you."

"And that’s not romantic at all."

Samael chuckled, kissing her again—deeper this time. Their legs tangled and Kivas’ arms wrapped around Samael’s back, grounding the moment in warmth and pressure and the steady rhythm of their shared breath.

They stayed like that, lying beneath the branches, as light broke through the leaves in slow shafts. The world around them didn’t matter, not when one hand rested over the thrum of a heart, and the other held it steady.

They were at it for quite a long while.

After the mood had returned to casual, Samael tore through her spatial storage with the intensity of a beast unearthing buried prey.

Each flick of her wrist sent strange objects flying into the surrounding grass—tomes wrapped in metal thorns, a burning spool of string, three floating eyeballs held together by prayer threads, and a glass jar filled with disembodied songs.

The soil bore shallow gouges where her hands brushed too close, as if even the ground recognized that her search would not be gentle.

"What are you doing?" Kivas asked, sidestepping a fallen Curio that resembled a breathing mask made of antler fragments.

"Looking for aesthetic potential," Samael muttered. "You’re due for a makeover."

Kivas stared. "Is that your way of saying my current appearance isn’t good enough? I know that you look more like a super model than anything, but my current look with the Fateling get-up and everything is quite charming, you know?"

"It’s too humble, in terms of your progression of journey within Fathomi" Samael replied, tossing a glowing hook behind her. "You’ve outgrown the ’fresh off the arrival-point’ look. You’re not just some wandering newcomer anymore. You’re divine. Noble. And you still have a halo spinning above your head. The people of Solvish Keep are going to notice."

Kivas leaned on the handle of Royal Valor’s sheath. "So we’re not just walking in as ourselves?"

Samael didn’t look up. "This time, we’re playing a fictional personality, which means we need a mask and a myth to go with it."

"Is that why you’re digging your own spatial storage like a feral rodent?" Kivas tilted her head to find a good angle. "Also, holy moly. Those Divine Constructs you sent on a pilgrimage are really working hard with all of these Curio objects."

"They do," Samael nodded. "Being a Divine Hive might be one of my favorite ways of existing right now."

"You like the feeling of not putting the same effort as usual to achieve ten times the result."

"I love you, Kivas, you really know me well despite our short time together."

Finally, Samael’s hand gripped something dense. She pulled upward and out came a giant ember crystal the size of a helmet.

It pulsed like a trapped sunstone, waves of orange-red shimmer emanating from within.

"This," Samael said, holding it like an artifact from an ancient vault, "will be your statement piece."

Kivas tilted her head. "Statement piece?"

"You’re going to arrive at Solvish Keep not as a vagabond or some cute disaster survivor," Samael began to speak with increasing grandeur, "but as a representative of Vaingall’s usurper. A goddess’ avatar and emissary of the realm that once belonged to the Endless Dragon."

Kivas cringed at that explanation.

"Let me get this straight," Kivas said slowly. "You want me to pretend to be some high emissary of the one who overthrew the Endless Dragon... who is you."

"Yes."

"So, basically, I’m going to be the face of the rebellion against you."

"Yes."

"And you’ll be walking beside me?"

Samael pointed to herself with a proud, simple smile. "Personal guard. Slave. Lover. Pick a title. Or take all three. Actually, I want to try making a scene to make a powerful first impression to those folks we met before."

"That’s a lot of responsibilities for one person."

"I can multitask."

"No, I mean me."

"Your task is to only exist."

"While bearing the weight of your antic."

Kivas let out a breath, more amused than exasperated, while Samael began carving the ember crystal with inhuman precision.

The ember resisted for a moment, but her fingers glided through the material like it was silk. The shape formed quickly—angular, regal, layered with thin filigree that extended like burning veins, coiling outward from a central gem set like a third eye.

"While my tone might be humorous—"

"You barely change your usual deadpan."

"This is still kind of a big deal for our foundation." Samael didn’t even glance up as she shaped it. "You do realize that Solvish Keep appearing here today isn’t random."

"Meaning?"

"They manipulated the distortion relative to their Maelnium’s influence. The Karasu Association likely influenced it to bring the Keep into Vaingall. Not for trade. Not for diplomacy, but for tactical positioning, something we don’t know yet."

"So they are already planning it for quite a while then, since it hasn’t been long since the disappearance of the Endless Dragon."

"They’ve been planning something for a while, yes," Samael said, while offering Kivas the piece that she had just been working on. "They’re not here for rumors about the missing Endless Dragon. Most likely, they want the land."

Kivas accepted the crystal accessory, holding it like a crown. "Why would they want Vaingall? It’s chaotic, unstable, and terrifying. I nearly died in six different ways before breakfast."

"Are you sure the numbers are correct?"

"That’s just an expression."

"There’s a reason this place was contested once," Samael said, her tone tightening. "One, entropy blooms here more naturally than anywhere else. Two, it’s Fathomi’s pressure point. When the world aches, Vaingall reacts quickly most of the time...

"Third—this land has history. Factions want to tap into what was buried. Essence, memory, residual architecture of collapsed gods, and many of those that I had buried."

A nearby Limbo Tier Divine Construct stepped forward, pointing up a finger and striking a nerdy pose. "Within the last five years, our Divine Hive has deflected twenty-two major attempts at destabilizing Vaingall by foreign influences. We counted eleven factions attempting stealth incursions, and five major divine-class anomalies disguised as research units."

"And that’s only the ones I noticed," Samael added. "Karasu’s presence now is them testing the waters again."

Kivas brushed her fingers across the carved veins of the ember. "And I’m supposed to act like I’m the face of the new Vaingall?"

"With posture. With grace. And above all—" Samael stepped in front of her, lowering her voice theatrically, "with a healthy dose of arrogance."

Kivas blinked. "You want me to act insufferable."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because being humble makes people underestimate your role. But being haughty makes them question who you serve. And when they realize that your myth is tied to something ancient and untouchable, they start playing cautiously."

Kivas held the neckpiece up. "This thing looks like it could power a fortress."

"It probably can."

"..."

"Don’t tell me that you can’t act like an arrogant bastard?"

"So, how do I practice being arrogant?"

Samael grinned. "By performing. Start with a greeting."

"Why do you look happy?"

"Because I get to see more of you."

"Guess I can try," Kivas straightened her spine and lifted her chin. "Greetings, commoners. I am Kivas Chariot, representative of the will that now governs Vaingall. You may kneel or burn!"

"Too comical."

Kivas coughed and reset. "Salutations. I represent the flowering rebirth of Vaingall, whose dark past is now fertilized by divine blood. My halo spins not in vanity, but authority."

"You sound more like a posh poet than arrogant."

They practiced for the next few hours.

Kivas tried different tones—dismissive, detached, motherly, divine, sarcastic. Samael adjusted her poses, her eye contact, and even the angle of her fingers when making gestures.

A Divine Construct offered suggestions for speech cadence. Another critiqued her smile as too humble.

Eventually, Kivas managed a working model of her false persona.

"I feel ridiculous," she muttered.

"You look like you rule continents."

"I’ll forget this by morning."

"No, you won’t, you said that you can’t forget."

"I hope that I miraculously forget this by morning."

And then, without warning, the sky began to ripple.

Above the canopy of Vaingall, light bent sideways, and the horizon folded upon itself. Trees hissed with unseen wind. Space thickened, then thinned, then fractured.

The distortion came, just as Samael predicted.

It surged outward from a single point, then collapsed back inwards, revealing a new vista just behind the veil—a walled settlement, framed with watch towers and ballistas, crested gates, and spires of bone-white wood.

Solvish Keep had returned.

Or in a way, arrived.

Its familiar outline rose like a buried memory, seamless, as though it had always been here.

"Right on time," Samael said, slipping her hand into Kivas’ and squeezing it once.

"Do I look absurd?" Kivas asked, adjusting the ember neckpiece.

"You look beautiful," Samael said while grinning. "You look ridiculously striking."

"Your inner thoughts spilled right after."

Kivas exhaled once and began walking. The constructs fell into formation. Samael walked two steps behind, her expression unreadable.

And so, beneath a sky tinged by residual distortion, the emissary of the new Vaingall marched toward the bastion she once entered as a vagabond. Only this time, in a new persona.