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.
"That is absurd."
"Yes."
