The Unspoken Trial Part I

The way he woke up this morning had frightened me. I saw it in his eyes, even if it was for a moment, it was unforgettable. Akito had his eyes. Of course, after a second or two it was like a mask was drawn to cover them, that look of melancholy slipping neatly into place. I may not know a lot about Akito, but I do know those eyes. And I will not let the same fate befall him.

I reach out to the wall trying to sense him on the other side, he’s asleep. Although I swore myself off from using magic since I got here, it seems I made an exception for him. I start on an incantation that will allow me to enter his mind but just then the bracelet began to grow heavy. There was no time to dwell on that though, I continued my spell until a mental doorway appeared. And when it did, I chose to step inside.

At first, I thought the prison was showing me something else. A test, perhaps, or a punishment for trying to tamper with its inmates. The walls shifted and brightened unnaturally. Instead of cold stone and flickering lamps, I stood above a world humming with strange energy. Light without flame buzzing in long rods above narrow halls, their glow steady and unbreathing. Windows taller than me let in a gray light I knew well, rain pattering, washing the world, but the water traced down glass so smoothly, so perfect, it looked unnatural.

I hovered like a ghost, unseen and untouched. Yet every sound pressed against me. Shoes squeaking against floors too polished to be stone or wood. The sharp hiss of a door opening without hinges. The clatter of… something, metal scraping on metal, followed by a shrill chime. And the words, snippets of voices, fast, clipped, meaningless to me, but familiar enough that I knew their cadence carried no warmth. This was not the world I knew, there was no magic.

And then I saw him.

A young boy with slouched shoulders, heavy steps, hair falling into his eyes. He looked, no, he was, Everett. My heart seized. It was Everett, alive, just as I remembered him in his worst moments, and I almost laughed at the cruelty of it.

He walked with the same quiet surrender. The same little stumble in his step as if gravity clung to him harder than to others. My breath came fast, and I whispered to myself the patterns I remembered. He’ll turn back at the door after realizing he’s the first one here, claim he’s forgotten his water bottle. He’ll linger near the threshold, waiting for someone else to step through first. He’ll falter, because he always falters.

And when the moment came, I thought I was right. He slowed at the door. My chest lifted. “Yes! Everett you’re back, you’re alive. I was so worried…”

But then he didn’t turn back. He didn’t linger. He just walked on, straight through, never once hesitating. Not only that, but he wasn’t the first to arrive either.

I frowned. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t him.

Still, I excused it. A small difference. Memory warped easily, and this world was strange enough to make anyone act differently. It was Everett, it had to be. So, I kept watching.

He sat at a long table surrounded by clamor, papers and pens scattered in front of him. My chest swelled, aching with familiarity. Everett always dragged his feet when it came to tasks, but he would still try, furtive little attempts masked under quiet diligence. I whispered another prediction, trembling. He’ll raise his hand, then lower it when someone else speaks first. He’ll chew his pen, waiting for courage that doesn’t come.

But Everett didn’t raise his hand. He didn’t chew his pen. He simply lowered his head onto the desk and drifted into sleep.

My breath caught.

This wasn’t Everett. Everett never slept in class. He wanted to be better, even when he couldn’t. He tried, even when he failed. This imposter didn’t try. He didn’t even pretend to care.

The dissonance rattled through me, but I clung to my delusion. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he had been up late studying, the way Everett sometimes had. Maybe I was mistaken. The eternal halls like to mess with people so maybe it’s showing me this false reality as a punishment or something. That had to be it.

And then came after school, I was delighted to see Everett stay behind. I was worried for a second that the cruelty of this place would show me a version of him that had no aspirations. I saw as Everett made his way to a room marked in a language I couldn’t read but based on what was inside the classroom, I guess it was a cooking club. It was nice to see Everett trying new things, not giving up after being unable to find a place in a different club.

The assignment for the day seemed simple, too simple. They were to cook a dish in pairs, on one hand this was a great way to promote teamwork and bonding between classmates, but it also didn’t really seem all that challenging, especially since they had weird fire plates that had better control over intensity than a student would.

He stood beside the girl as if tethered there by accident. She already had her sleeves rolled up, her eyes bright with determination. The assignment seemed simple enough, cut, stir, season, heat. A pair’s work, a bond-building exercise. My heart clenched. Everett would have stepped back here, not out of laziness but to give her space, to watch, to correct only when needed. That was his quiet strength, he wanted others to succeed.

I whispered to myself, almost like a prayer: He’ll do it again. He’ll guide her hand, softly, and no one will know he carried half the weight.

The pan hissed as oil touched metal. The girl dropped vegetables in and started on unpackaging the rest of the food. Then a loud buzzing came from her pocket, she apologized before dropping in the noodles and stepped out of the room bringing a strange box to her ear. In her absence, the high flame continued raging unattended.

Everett should have moved. He would have at least reached, even if clumsy, even if late. His hand would have twitched toward the pan, or the flame, his voice stumbling through some timid advice. But this boy only stared. His arms hung slack.

The food caught fire. Smoke curled. And still, Everett froze. Not out of fear of being wrong, but out of expectation. Out of certainty. I heard his thought as clearly as if he’d spoken it aloud: She’ll fix it. Someone always does.

I waited for the shame, for the nervous laugh, the muttered sorry that always followed Everett’s mistakes. But nothing came. The food blackened, the smell spreading bitter and acrid.

The girl coughed, swore under her breath, then twisted the flame down with practiced ease. She salvaged what she could. The teacher passed by, offering praise for her composure, smiling at her alone.

And still he did nothing.

I pressed a hand to my lips, as though to keep myself from crying out. Everett would never have let it burn. He would have tried, even if the dish ended worse for it. He would have cared enough to fail.

But this boy didn’t fail. He simply let it happen. Failure requires effort. This was something lower, something worse giving up before it even began.

For the first time I felt the edges of the veil tear. Everett’s image flickered, replaced by a stranger who wore his shape but none of his will. I wanted to look away, but the smoke stung my eyes, forcing me to see.

The day ended, and he walked home. His family greeted him with the practiced warmth of a play they’d rehearsed a thousand times, smiles, and asking after friends that meant nothing, a praise that fit neatly into the lie. He laughed, answered with a small falsehood about staying late for the club, and their faces lit up as if his pretending were proof. Someone’s sister snorted at the doorway, the exact same sound I’d heard an hour before.

Then the morning came again, exactly the same. The same rain traced down the same panes in the same lines. The same squeak of shoes, the same clipped laugh. At first, I wanted to believe it was mercy, fate giving me a second chance.

At first, I told myself it was proof, proof Everett was here, that fate itself was bending so I could see him again, so I could save him this time. But as I watched him shuffle again, my chest went cold. The longer I watched, the more merciless the repetition felt. This loop was not for me. It was for him.

Because it wasn’t Everett I was watching. Not at all. To make matters worse, I think I figured out who I’ve been watching this whole time. This wasn’t an illusion made by the prison for me. It was made for Akito. It was a means to make him face his past.

It became a lot clearer when I stopped thinking of the boy as Everett. His silence had been a plea. Notice me, please. Care about me, even if I don’t say it outright, I care about all of you. Akito’s silence was a dismissal. Leave me be. I don’t care enough to try. Everett lowered his hand because he felt small, Akito never raised his to begin with. Everett wanted change but lacked the courage, Akito was content with mediocrity, satisfied just to exist.

They were not the same. They were siblings in failure, distant but alike. One clawed at the edge, begging silently to be pulled up. The other sat still, saying it was enough to have a place at the bottom.

And that was when the truth struck me like a blade.

I hadn’t helped either of them. Not Everett, not Akito. I had called my watching “understanding,” but it was nothing. I had told myself that silence was healing, that patience was care. But it was cowardice. It was easier to watch than to act. I let Everett reach out his hand, and I did nothing. As a teacher I failed to help him reach his potential by taking into account my own interests before his own. I told myself I was helping Akito grow because he smiled once, because he seemed less afraid to approach me, because he said he was fine staying here. But staying here is death. The whole point is to leave.

I hadn’t healed them. I had healed myself through them, given them the same hollow balm I had wanted, but not what they needed. I sought to understand them, to silently reaffirm for them that they were noticed, they were seen. But what they needed was a place to belong, for someone to accept them, to want them. Not to need them.

And when I realized that the world around me shook. The loop faltered. The rain stopped in midair, frozen. The smell of smoke lingered, unchanging. Time itself held its breath.

Akito’s eyes turned, slowly, as though he had finally noticed me. He blinked a few times like his memories were coming back, knowing him there wasn’t much he lost in the first place.

And in that moment, I knew I could not keep lying to myself.