...Makes You Stronger

There’s a silence that only comes when even the prison stops watching you.
Not a silence of peace, but the kind that settles just before a confession.

The walls don’t glow. The floor doesn’t shift. The door doesn’t creak.

It just waits.

Like it already knows what I’m about to remember, and is giving me the decency to say it myself.

Akito had fallen asleep minutes ago, curled up on the opposite wall.
He’d asked me, quietly, if I thought that he would fail his judgement.
I told him I didn’t know.

That was a lie, but not the one that put me here.

The one that did started long before this cell. Before the glowing halls. Before the voices.

It began in a classroom I used to love.

“Ms. Aeris!”

The children spoke in unison. They were always just as happy to see me as I was them.
However, there was a student in particular that stood out.

He never joined in with the class, nor would he intentionally exclude himself.
It’s as if no one acknowledged his existence.

“Please be seated for roll call, then we’ll begin today’s magic lesson.”

My own words sound so foreign to me.
I haven’t used magic ever since I got here. I’m not sure if I can.

I called out each student’s name one by one, and each one would reply with some variant of ‘here’, except for him.

“Everett?”

Even though I knew he was there, I wanted to hear him say something.
But silence is all that followed.

As a failsafe of sorts, I had hoped another student might have spoken on his behalf.
But as always, only silence.

He was also an elf like me.
I guess that’s why I was able to see so much of myself in him.

I wanted to nurture him to a point where he could be happy and self-sufficient, and not just… alone.

These memories of mine couldn’t stay long. The prison wouldn’t permit it.

Just on cue, my own mind was forced to shift. Almost like someone standing behind you with a TV remote, changing the channel.

I was now in a lone trial room.

The only public judgement is when your job is decided.
All the rest is kept private.

“Aeris Faelan,”

The voice boomed throughout the room.

“Before we pass your judgement, it is customary to ask: ‘Do you know why you’re here?’”

Of course I knew. They told me.

“It’s because I’m some sort of liar. Is that it?”

I should’ve known it wasn’t that simple.

“You believe your charges to be true and just, then?”

The bellowing voice followed with what I knew was sincerity.
But even if I weren’t born an elf and able to read emotion, I’d still find their tone patronizing and needless.

“Hm… Based on your behavior as monitored by the guards, this coldness and hostility isn’t like you.
I bet even poor Everett would agree.”

They were right.

This isn’t me. I’m just fed up with this judgement nonsense.

But even still…

“How dare you speak his name!

If you’re so smart and powerful, then tell me, what would you have done?!

If you know me so well, then tell me! What should I have done instead?!”

The only people I have ever found myself capable of being so harsh with,
of not caring whether I made them happy,
of not worrying if I’d make things worse,
were myself, and this stupid place.

Without so much as hesitation, the voice picked up again.

“You should’ve done more. You should’ve been better.”

I tried to speak out in anger once more,
but before I could, guards were summoned to escort me out.

“You have failed the qualifications to begin your proper judgement.

I pray it doesn’t go like this again when next you’re called.”

The voice grew more quiet.

But I still caught every word.

I find myself back in the present, observing the three solid walls around me, and the fourth being bars. 

I can't fall asleep, not after that trip down memory lane. 

"But I guess this place doesn't care for time, and day won't come unless I wake up. Isn't that right dumb prison?" I let out a small laugh at that.

It seems talking aloud to yourself is a trait that's picked up in life and not something you're born with.

"I wonder where he learned it from?"

The cell stays quiet. The bars say nothing. But somehow, I already know the answer.
Maybe we both learned it the same way.

By surviving days that were too quiet, and nights that didn’t end until you spoke just to remind yourself you were still there.

Maybe strength isn’t something that's loud or proud. Maybe it’s just this. A whisper in the dark. A breath that says, I’m still here.

I pull the blanket over my shoulders and lie back down. The stone floor doesn’t get warmer, no matter how long you lie on it, but somehow, tonight it feels less cold.

I don’t try to force myself to sleep. I just let the silence breathe with me.

Still here.

That boy, Everett, used to sit in the back of the class with his hands folded on the desk, never quite looking up. I used to think, if I could just say the right thing, if I could just be warm enough, maybe he’d open up.

But now I wonder if I ever heard what he wasn’t saying. I wanted so badly to see myself in him, to protect him from my own past, that I forgot to listen. To see him as who he is.

He didn’t need another mirror. He needed someone who’d already faced what they saw in themselves. To prove that it's possible, that it gets better.

And I… I never tried to teach him that.

Maybe that’s what strength really is. Not saving someone, not being the answer. Just standing your ground long enough to become someone worth leaning on.

I roll onto my side and rest my head on my arm. My hair falls in front of my face, dry now, since I haven’t used magic in so long. The old me would’ve conjured a breeze or a flame just to fill the space. Just to prove I could.

But this me just breathes.

Strength isn’t the fire. It’s what stays behind after the embers cool.

Still here.

I try to picture Everett if he were still alive today, what he’d think if he saw me like this. Not as a teacher, or a person, or anything grand. Just a tired woman in a quiet cell trying to figure herself out.
Would he recognize me?
Would I?

“Maybe not yet,” I whisper. “But I’m still trying.”

And that has to count for something.

All my life I thought strength was found in being unshakable. In not hurting others. In fixing things before they ever fell apart.
But that wasn’t strength. That was fear dressed up in a pretty lesson plan.

The truth is, the strongest people I’ve known weren’t the ones who had all the answers. They were the ones who broke and kept going. Who stood back up after being crushed by what they couldn’t control.

It doesn’t matter how many times you fall.

"All you need to do is get up one more time than you’re knocked down."

That’s what makes you stronger.

Not magic. Not perfect kindness. Just the decision to keep breathing. Even when it hurts.

Even when the air feels too thick to swallow and the world’s too quiet to stay in.
Even when you’re alone and the only voice left is your own.

You breathe.

You stay.

You whisper to the dark, I’m still here.

And if you’re still here… then maybe you haven’t lost yet.

Maybe there’s still a way forward. One breath at a time.

I close my eyes, not to run away from the memories, but to hold onto the parts of them I’m finally ready to face.
If tomorrow is cruel, I’ll meet it with quiet defiance.
And if tomorrow is kind, I’ll meet it the same.

I let out one last breath and tuck my chin under the blanket. Solemnly vowing to be better, to truly help, to truly teach. To not allow Akito to falter in the same ways I have.

“I’m still here,” I whisper to no one.