The cool late morning air carried the crisp scent of autumn, mingling with the faint aroma of roasted coffee from a nearby café. The square in front of the House of Commons was quiet, with only a few people walking purposefully toward the grand yet unassuming building. The stone pavement, worn smooth by history, stretched beneath Mira's feet as she stood near the entrance, pulling her coat tighter against the breeze.
Then, she heard a familiar voice.
"Mira."
She turned swiftly.
Standing a few steps away, dressed in his usual tailored coat, was Harrison Larkspur. His composed diplomatic demeanor softened the moment their eyes met. Without hesitation, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him.
"Dad."
His arms tightened briefly around her in return, a quiet but firm embrace. Though he had never been an overly expressive man, his presence was always grounding. When they finally stepped back, he took a moment to study her.
"You look well. More serious than usual. University life must be shaping you."
Mira let out a small laugh. "Or just stressing me out."
Harrison smirked, then glanced around at their surroundings. "The place suits you. But I imagine you haven't had much time to explore."
"Not really. Between classes and… everything else, I barely have time to breathe."
He raised an eyebrow. "Everything else?"
Mira hesitated for a split second, but there was no avoiding it now. Her father was perceptive—he'd sense if she was hiding something. So, she sighed and admitted, "I have a debate coming up. A big one. And my opponent is…"
She trailed off, suddenly second-guessing how to phrase it.
Harrison's eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. "Your opponent is…?"
Mira exhaled. "The smartest genius in the university."
Her father's expression remained unreadable for a moment. "Oh? And what's his name?"
"Adrian."
There was a pause.
Then, Harrison blinked. "Adrian… Vale?"
Mira flinched at the exactness of his reaction. "Wait—you know him?"
Her father let out a short laugh of disbelief. "Know him? Everyone in academic and political circles knows of him. That boy's been making waves since he was a teenager. Neuroscience, cognitive science, biotechnology—his work has even influenced discussions in governance and security."
Mira groaned. "Great. So he's even more famous than I thought."
Harrison shook his head, amused. "And my daughter has decided to go to war with him."
Mira crossed her arms. "It's not 'war.' It's just a debate."
Her father gave her a knowing look. "I can already tell it's not 'just' a debate."
Mira exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "Okay, maybe it's a little more than that. But I can't back down now. I just—" She hesitated before admitting, "I don't know if I can actually beat him."
Harrison studied her for a moment before nodding slightly. "Well then, let's get you some perspective."
At that, he gestured toward the grand entrance ahead of them. "Come. Eleanor is waiting."
Mira straightened, forcing herself to focus. Whatever doubts she had, she wasn't going to let them stop her now.
With that, father and daughter walked toward the doors of the House of Commons, stepping into a lesson in governance that Mira would not soon forget.
❧
Inside the House of Commons, the air was thick with quiet urgency. Though the building itself was not grand in the way of palaces or cathedrals, it carried a presence—the weight of history in its halls, the steady pulse of governance in the voices that echoed through its corridors.
At the far end of the hallway, a woman waited for them.
She stood with the ease of someone used to both authority and scrutiny. Short silver-streaked hair framed her sharp features, and though her posture was relaxed, there was a quiet energy about her that made people take notice.
"Harrison."
Her voice was warm but firm, a mixture of familiarity and professionalism.
"Eleanor," Harrison greeted in return, shaking her hand before turning to Mira. "This is my daughter."
Eleanor studied Mira with interest before extending a hand. "Mira Larkspur. I've heard about you."
Mira shook her hand, unsure of what exactly Eleanor had heard, but nodding politely.
"Shall we?" Eleanor gestured forward, leading them deeper inside.
As they walked, Mira absorbed everything—the quiet conversations behind heavy doors, the framed portraits of past leaders, the occasional passing of officials who carried themselves like they had no time to waste. It was a different world, one she had studied in textbooks but had never stepped into so closely.
They paused at a balcony overlooking a chamber, where discussions were taking place. Mira leaned slightly against the railing, watching the movement below.
Eleanor glanced at her. "What do you think?"
Mira hesitated. "It's... different from what I imagined. Less dramatic, more—" she searched for the right word, "methodical."
Eleanor smiled. "People expect politics to be grand speeches and sweeping decisions, but most of the time, it's quieter than that. A slow negotiation. A balance of interests."
Mira thought about that for a moment. There was something reassuring about the way Eleanor said it, something that made the chaos of it all seem more structured—like an invisible mechanism at work.
Mira let her gaze linger on the chamber below, absorbing Eleanor's words. An invisible mechanism at work. She had always imagined politics as a battlefield of ideologies, but here, behind the scenes, it felt more like a delicate balancing act—one that never truly ended.
As they stepped away from the balcony, Eleanor guided them down another corridor, her pace unhurried.
"You know," Eleanor began, glancing at Mira, "when I first started working here, I thought everything had to be a fight. Every policy, every debate, every negotiation—it felt like a battle to be won or lost."
"And now?" Mira asked, curious.
Eleanor smiled faintly. "Now I see it more like a dialogue. Sometimes a frustrating one, sometimes slow, but a dialogue nonetheless."
Mira nodded, considering the thought.
They continued walking, passing framed documents lining the walls. Some were historic agreements, others were letters from past leaders—reminders of the countless conversations that had shaped the country.
Harrison slowed his pace beside his daughter. "It's not always about who is the loudest, Mira."
She glanced up at him.
"Sometimes it's about who listens best," he continued.
Mira tucked that thought away.
❧
Eleanor led them outside and across a quiet courtyard, toward another building. This one was simpler, with none of the grandeur that Mira might have expected.
"This is where the Prime Minister works," Eleanor explained as they stepped inside. "He's away on business, but I can show you around."
The hallways were quiet, the atmosphere professional but not imposing. As they entered the office, Mira was surprised by how modest it was—no extravagant decorations, no overwhelming display of power. Just a large desk, shelves lined with books and reports, and a few carefully placed personal items.
She ran her fingers lightly along the edge of a wooden table, feeling the smooth surface.
"Not what you expected?" Eleanor asked, watching her.
Mira shook her head. "I thought it would be… grander."
Eleanor chuckled. "Most people do. But real work isn't done in grand halls. It happens in places like this—simple, practical, focused."
Mira turned toward the window, looking out at the city beyond. "How do you balance everything? Different opinions, different demands… How do you make sure the right voices are heard?"
Eleanor leaned against the desk, crossing her arms thoughtfully. "By remembering that no single person has all the answers. Governments don't make perfect decisions—they make the best decisions they can, given the information they have. And when they're wrong, they adjust. That's why we have debates, opposition, public discourse. It's an ongoing process, not a final answer."
Mira exhaled slowly, letting the words settle.
Harrison smiled at her. "It's a little like what you're doing, isn't it?"
She looked at him, puzzled.
"Your studies," he clarified. "You don't just learn facts. You challenge ideas, refine your arguments, adjust your understanding. Governance works the same way."
Mira thought about that. The idea of governance as a constant process, rather than a fixed system, made it feel less distant—less like something controlled by an unreachable elite and more like something shaped by the people within it.
Eleanor checked her watch. "Shall we continue? There's one last place I think you'll find interesting."
Mira straightened, ever mindful of her manners. "I'd love to see it. Thank you for taking the time to guide us today."
"It's my pleasure," Eleanor replied warmly.
They exited the Prime Minister's building, stepping into the crisp afternoon air. The streets here were quieter, the government quarter orderly and composed. They walked for several hundred meters, passing well-maintained greenery and stately, understated buildings, until they arrived at what appeared to be an ordinary modern structure.
❧
As Mira stepped through the entrance of the National Archive & Research Library, she was immediately struck by its grandeur. The main hall stretched high above her, its vaulted ceiling supported by carved wooden beams. Large, arched windows allowed natural light to flood the space, illuminating the endless rows of tall bookshelves that lined the walls.
The air smelled of parchment and polished oak, mixed with the faint scent of ink and leather bindings. Scholars, students, and officials moved quietly through the aisles, some browsing books, others seated at long wooden tables, immersed in their reading. Soft-glowing lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a warm golden hue over the space.
A librarian at the front desk was assisting a visitor in borrowing a book, scanning it with a discreet digital tag before handing it over. Nearby, a group of students whispered among themselves, pointing to an old manuscript spread across their table.
Mira let out a breath. "This is beautiful."
Eleanor smiled. "This is just the surface. What you see here is a traditional reading hall—designed to preserve the feeling of a classic library. People come here to read, borrow, and study in a peaceful atmosphere. But beneath us…" She gestured toward a modern-looking terminal near the desk, where a researcher was inputting a request. "…is where the real magic happens."
Mira tilted her head, intrigued. "Beneath us?"
Eleanor motioned for them to follow her toward the elevator. "Let me show you."
As they stepped into the glass elevator, Eleanor tapped a security panel, and the doors closed with a soft chime.
The display screen above them showed their descent:
-1, -3, -5…
Eleanor began explaining.
"The library was first established nearly a century ago, but as knowledge expanded, so did the need for space. Instead of expanding outward, the architects decided to build downward, creating a massive underground archive."
"Each level has a specific purpose," Eleanor continued.
Floors -1 to -2: Public archives & digital research – These levels stored historical records, digitized books, and government documents available for public access.
Floors -3 to -4: Specialized research collections – Here, rare books, legal texts, and classified materials were kept, accessible only with special permissions.
Floors -5 to -6: Preservation and automation – A complex network of climate-controlled vaults where robotic systems maintained fragile manuscripts and retrieved books for researchers above.
Floors -7 to -8: Deep storage & AI-assisted curation – The lowest levels held the oldest and rarest records, protected by layers of security and automated indexing systems. As they passed Floor -6, Mira caught a glimpse of a robotic retrieval system in action—a mechanical arm smoothly gliding between shelves, selecting a book, and placing it onto a conveyor belt that whisked it away. Eleanor noted her interest. "These automated systems reduce human handling of fragile texts. Scholars above simply request a book, and within minutes, it's delivered to them." Mira absorbed it all, impressed by the careful balance between tradition and technology.
Finally, the elevator slowed.
-8.
The doors slid open, revealing the lowest level of the library.
The atmosphere changed instantly. The air was cooler, crisper, with a hushed reverence, as though they had stepped into the heart of knowledge itself.
Towering bookshelves spiraled around a central shaft, forming a vast, multi-tiered chamber. Each level wrapped around the core, interconnected by narrow walkways and steel staircases.
Mira stepped forward, drawn by an overwhelming sense of depth. The ceiling was impossibly high, yet far above, she could just make out a faint glow.
Eleanor placed a hand on her shoulder and gestured upward. "Look there."
Mira followed her gaze.
At the very top of the spiraling structure, positioned directly above the central shaft, was a skyhole—a carefully engineered glass dome that allowed a shaft of natural light to pierce through all eighteen floors. The light filtered down in soft, shifting patterns, casting an ethereal glow on the lowest level.
And winding up around the central core was a single, spiraling staircase, linking every floor together like the spine of a great book.
Mira's breath caught. From the very bottom, looking up, the entire structure felt endless.
She ran a hand along the steel railing, her gaze tracing the path of the staircase. The contrast was striking—above, the world continued as usual, people reading their books without knowing what lay beneath them. But down here, a silent, intricate system worked tirelessly to preserve and provide knowledge.
Eleanor's voice was thoughtful. "It's a fitting metaphor, don't you think? Governance, like this library, has many layers. What most people see is the surface—the books, the policies, the decisions. But beneath it all, there are countless mechanisms, people, and systems working to keep everything running."
Mira stood still for a moment, letting the weight of that thought settle.
Her father watched her with quiet amusement, sensing the thoughts forming in her mind.
She turned to Eleanor and gave a small, sincere nod. "Thank you for showing me this. I think… I needed to see it."
Eleanor smiled. "Sometimes, the most important things aren't the ones we see first."