Chapter 328: Chapter 328

Finally, the hallway suddenly widened into an enormous circular open area, like the inside of a planet’s core. Suspended above the floor was a gigantic floating star-forge. Molten rivers of cosmic metal flowed from the ceiling. They twisted around in elegant bands — turning into blades, armour pieces, celestial gears, artefact fragments before dissolving and reforming again in new shapes.

None of them were real. Not yet. This was the predictive workshop. The Future-In-Forging. Charmeine stopped. She turned her head slightly toward the forge.

"This is a mirror of Athena’s forge. The real one is in Olympus. This one reflects the possible outcomes before a weapon is actually forged."

Azrail whistled softly under his breath.

Again, no tone, just a direct fact. Azrail stepped closer to the edge railing, watching how the liquid metal twisted into a spear that looked like lightning in solid shape, then it shattered, then it formed into a chain of feathers made of tungsten-white flame, then into a gauntlet, then into an axe, then into a ring, then into a staff.

Azrail spoke quietly.

"This is not just a smithing prediction system. This is a divine causality calculator."

Charmeine’s head turned a fraction, her gold-blue eyes briefly flicking to him:

"You are correct. You are the first outsider to identify it in one glance."

He smirked slightly under his hood. This was the kind of thing he was good at. And Charmeine had noticed. Exactly as needed, they walk again. She resumed walking. Azrail followed. The hallways felt endless yet organized. Every turn introduced a new segment, a chamber related to Hera’s multi-thousand-year power branches.

Sectors dedicated to diplomacy. Sectors dedicated to punishment. Sectors dedicated to growth — that one Charmeine silently moved past faster. Azrail pretended he didn’t notice. Charmeine finally speaks more. As they entered a quieter, darker passage, Charmeine’s voice came, softer now. Less robotic. More human.

Azrail looked at her.

"Most men never get permission to even stand here. You will be received today because Hera dictates that Olympus’s political evolution demands cooperation."

Azrail chuckled lightly.

"She only trusts me because she thinks she can strangle me later if needed."

Charmeine paused. Then said.

"...Yes. That is also correct."

She wasn’t joking. She wasn’t mocking. She was just stating reality. Azrail respected that. The best lies are built on accuracy.

They emerged into a courtyard. Trees made of golden glass grew here. Leaves shimmered like thin slices of polished sun. Fruit hung translucent spheres filled with liquid radiance, like bottled dawns. Women sat beneath the trees, meditating, training, levitating objects, writing sigils mid-air.

Every single one of them stared at Azrail. Some with curiosity. Some with mild hostility. Some with silent measuring interest. Azrail ignored them all politely. Charmeine walked slowly here. This was a core area. Every step she made, her wings slightly unfolded in micro-angles.

"These trees," she said, "store the excess divine emotions of the faction. We harvest them before they overflow."

Azrail blinked. The source of this content ɪs n0velfire.net

"You harvest emotion for fuel?"

"Yes. Hera’s faction runs on devotion and resentment both. Both are useful fuel sources."

Azrail raised his eyebrow.

Charmeine answered immediately. Nearing the end of another route. Charmeine finally stopped in front of another arch, this one closed by a shimmering, liquid-starlight veil. Inside was nothing visible, just pure white emptiness.

"This is your final restricted zone for today."

Charmeine looked at him.

"There are things only Hera can show you. Not me."

Azrail stared into the white. A faint voice whispered from inside a woman’s laugh, soft, seductive, ancient. He listened quietly. Then he turned back to Charmeine.

"So, that’s all for today?"

She shook her head slightly. Her voice was very slightly warmed by only a degree.

"We still have ten minutes. I will show you one more thing."

Azrail’s eyes sharpened. He waited. She walked a little closer to him, half a step. The starlight ceiling dimmed around them, isolating them from the rest of the courtyard. Charmeine gazed up at him, her eyes no longer blank, but now holding a subtle, analytical focus.

"You have one hour before meeting Hephaestus."

"For the remainder of that hour, I will be your personal contact. If you require anything inside Hera’s faction, you will come to me."

Azrail tilted his head.

"That is quite the privilege."

"No. It is a containment method."

She said it without hesitation.

Her eyes for the very first time held the faintest ember of something like quiet rebellion under the surface, but not directed at Azrail.

"If you misbehave — I am the one ordered to eliminate you."

Azrail smiled quietly.

Charmeine’s reply was instant, clean, honest:

"Then we will work well together."

That was the true beginning.

Charmeine did not walk immediately. For a moment, she simply stood still in front of that veil of white emptiness — as if mentally deciding the next path. Then, without any grand gesture, she turned slightly to the left and began walking down a different corridor, a narrower one, darker, more condensed.

The marble here changed colour gradually from white to cream to muted amber, until eventually the floor shifted to obsidian slabs traced with glowing, liquid silver runes. This area felt heavier. The ceiling lowered slightly, and the walls pulled inward by small degrees. This wasn’t a space meant for crowds. This was a space for specific, elite access.

There were fewer people here. And the ones present did not even glance. Not even sideways. Because the ones here had no luxury of curiosity. Their minds were entirely buried in work, and their work was reality itself.

Azrail felt it. This was not an exhibit section like before. This was the core functioning region of the faction, the door. Charmeine stopped before a plain triangular frame — no door, no barrier, no runes. But the air shimmered horizontally like heatwave distortion.

Charmeine extended her hand. Not a dramatic gesture. Just a simple, clean lift of her palm, fingers relaxed. Silver starlight passed from her palm into the air-distortion. The distortion broke silently like thin glass being shattered.

And the space beyond the triangular frame opened. Azrail’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"...so this is not guarded by force. It’s guarded by perception lock."

Charmeine did not praise him for recognizing it. She simply replied.

"Correct. Come inside."

They stepped through.

Azrail stood still for a moment. The first reaction was involuntary. This place... was too big to belong inside a building. It was a cathedral made of stacked memories. Thousands of floating layers — shelves? Screens? Projections? It wasn’t clear. Each one hovered horizontally in mid-air, like transparent sheets of thin golden membrane, with words and images flowing across them continuously like ink poured into water.

This place was not static. The records were alive. Every memory pulsed like a heartbeat. It was a living, breathing ocean of information — and yet, absolutely silent. No scratching, no humming, no mechanical noise. Just the pure, quiet pulse of recorded history.

Azrail looked around slowly.

"...this is the most dangerous place you’ve shown me."

Charmeine said, without moving her eyes from ahead.

"This is the most important place I am permitted to show you."

They walked forward, feet making zero sound on the polished black glass floor. Azrail sensed raw danger. Information is the most fatal weapon. And Hera was a Goddess of Marriage, Oaths, and Dominion. She recorded everything.

Not just events — but the internal truths behind social interactions.

This was not a library of facts. This was a library of consequences. Charmeine continued.

"Every alliance, every betrayal, every attempted influence... every seduction, manipulation, and power-shift is recorded here. Hera specialises in tracking the power dynamics that run beneath relationships."

Azrail very slowly exhaled.

"So this is the real throne, not Hera’s actual throne."

Charmeine’s lashes lowered by one millimeter.

"...you see things accurately. Yes."

Azrail turned his head to her.

"Hera’s control isn’t because she is the strongest. It’s because she always knows where the next knife is coming from."

Charmeine looked at him now, directly her gold eye reflecting a thin line of icy respect.

"That is exactly how Hera conquered goddesses centuries older than her."