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[hr][hr][center][h1]Panorama Part 1 of 2[/h1][/center]
[indent]The lift shuddered and groaned its way upwards through Khia’s metallic core, its protesting sounds echoing in the cramped space around her. Selene leaned heavily against the railing inside, her gaze fixed downward through the grated floor. Below, shifting bands of light moved across her boots as successive layers of the city’s underbelly slid past. She remembered the frantic energy down there, the hum of activity and shouted voices that tended to fill the lower depths, especially after the events of the trial. But as the lift climbed higher, a profound noiselessness descended, wrapping around her. It wasn’t the kind that was comforting either; it felt restrictive as if a cage had been intentionally placed around her. It was almost as if only specific, sanctioned and exotic things were permitted to exist this far up in Khia's rigid structure, though she knew better than to hold that thought as an irrefutable truth. 

After all, she’d called this place her home for the first 17 years of her life. 

The lift continued to ascend beyond the mid-level rings, leaving behind the rusted support beams of the sector towers. Suddenly, the surroundings transformed into smooth, gleaming panels and softly illuminated guide rails, marking her entry into the privileged upper strata of Tower Caelus. Even the air changed perceptibly, Selene noted, drawing a cautious breath. It felt unnaturally clean and thin, stripped of the grit and odour she’d gotten used to, as if it had been meticulously recycled and filtered. 

When the doors hissed open, she was greeted not by the sight of the small apartment she occupied, but the imposing hallway of her childhood residence. Recognition slammed into Selene with unexpected force right then and there. For seventeen years, this place had contained her entire world. So, stepping out now felt like stepping back into a preserved yet deeply unsettling memory.

The hallway was a compression of luxury and profound paranoia. Reinforced archways trimmed in obsidian. Walls panelled in matte black alloy with narrow seams where surveillance nodes blinked like ever-watchful eyes that forced the young woman to suppress a shudder. Pale geothermal strips followed the ceiling, casting elongated shadows across the floor. True windows were absent, naturally replaced by shimmering holographic panels. These displayed an artificial panorama of mountains bathed in a simulated sunrise: a view of a world that hadn't existed for generations and, thus, a poor imitation of freedom that only emphasized the confinement that existed in this place. 

Every element, however, spoke of immense wealth deployed solely for security and isolation. For her own safety and protection, of course. 

Her boot touched the pressure-sensitive floor plating, triggering an electronic chirp beneath her feet. A moment later, the same synthetic voice she could recall stated, “Welcome, Selene,” its tone utterly flat and devoid of warmth or inflection. Though it sat near the top, the Syn family’s penthouse wasn’t the true summit—sealed lifts and hidden accessways climbed even higher, into Dominion’s most secure legal offices and council sanctums. From the entry hall, Selene looked into the tiered living space. The furniture here wasn't placed; rather, it was fused seamlessly into the very floor, immovable and impersonal. A dominant console glowed on the far wall, diligently monitoring air purity, threat levels, and even ambient sound volumes. The entire expanse felt ruthlessly engineered, designed to be scrutinized and found flawless, devoid of any trace of its former occupant: her jacket, her secret stashes of contraband sweets, the drawings she’d once scratched near the floor vent with a shattered stylus.  All evidence of her messy, youthful self had been completely erased. Vanished without a trace. 

Selene stood in the middle of the living area, unsure of what to do. Sit? Drink something? Walk the perimeter like some caged animal? Everything about the space made her feel like an intruder in a museum of her own life. 

She was still debating whether to approach the monitoring console when the near-soundless swish of a side door announced movement behind her. Her mother entered without ceremony, her steps as composed as always, but something in her appearance made Selene’s breath catch. Gone was the formal Speaker’s attire, the gleaming insignia, and the judicial mask of authority. In its place, her mother wore a purple blouse tucked neatly into tailored, earth-toned pants, still crisp, still immaculate but markedly less severe than her usual presentations. Even her hair was different: loose and flowing, like the knot that it had been in had come undone.

It was almost worse that way, Selene thought, because the change was probably intentional on her mother’s part. This was no reunion but an interrogation; that’s what the young woman told herself. 

Her mother stopped just beyond arm's reach, a calculated distance that somehow felt both too close and not close enough. The silence stretched between them, yet when she finally spoke, her voice lacked any visible strain or hesitation. 

“[color=a0b5d1]You've grown,[/color]” she said simply.

Selene felt the words like a slap instead of the warm welcome they should or could have been. It was like she was some new prototype being evaluated rather than a daughter returning home after so long. 

“[color=fff79a]You look the same,[/color]” Selene replied flatly, because it was the undeniable truth. Time seemed to have granted Corvina a profound immunity. Her features remained as defined as they had always been: the high, sculpted cheekbones, the pale olive skin flawless as polished stone, the eyes like chips of frozen metal. Not a single strand of grey marred the waterfall of her jet-black hair. If the years had touched her at all, they had done so with a sculptor’s delicate touch, preserving rather than eroding. Even in her softened attire, she radiated an unnerving permanence, as solid and unchanging as Dominion’s foundations. 

Selene felt a confusing twist in her gut at this: part discomfort, part reluctant recognition. Seeing her own reflection in Corvina’s face, inheriting so much of her mother's beauty and so little of her father’s tamer looks, was suddenly unbearable in this tense moment. As a child, Selene had fantasized that her mother existed outside time, untouched by messy human feelings that might hinder her relentless pursuit of her goals. Now, older and wiser, Selene understood the truth: Corvina aged, like anyone. She simply wielded immense power and resources to ensure the world never witnessed it.

The stifling quiet returned, broken only by the hum of the environmental systems. Selene finally shattered it, her voice laced with bitter irony. 

“[color=fff79a]I thought you’d have them throw me in a holding cell the moment I stepped off the lift.[/color]” 

She braced for a reaction; anger, perhaps, or cold confirmation. Corvina’s expression remained utterly impassive instead. 

“[color=a0b5d1]You’re not under arrest,[/color]” she stated, the words neutral and final, offering no comfort or reassurance. “[color=a0b5d1]Though, when you consider everything you’ve gotten up to, you should be.[/color]” 
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