Lament for My First Life

A Noisy Professor

Morning came with the pale gold of autumn light slipping through the curtains. The air was cool and smelled faintly of rain and fallen leaves.

The maids prepared a bath for Xylenne, steam rising from the porcelain tub. They were gentle, every movement careful not to touch the white bandages around her head. One maid rinsed her hair with cupped hands, pouring warm water slowly, so none reached the wound. Another held a towel near her shoulders, dabbing lightly at the drops that clung to her skin.

"Don't move too much, little miss," one whispered. "We don't want to undo the doctor's work."

Xylenne nodded. Her reflection in the water looked small and pale, her bandaged head making her seem even more fragile. When the washing was done, they helped her out and wrapped her in a soft robe, drying her hair carefully with a linen cloth. Then came her uniform. A neat, crisp blouse, her dark blue skirt, her boots polished to a mirror shine. This morning her hair was only brushed and tied loosely with a ribbon instead of the usual styled curls or buns. The maids had agreed that pins or braids might press too close to her wound.

Once dressed, she was led downstairs where a carriage waited. A servant sat beside her for the trip to the Royal Academy, the coachman held the reins steady as the horses started down the long road. The countryside outside the window was painted with color, orange leaves clinging to the trees, yellow ones drifting lazily to the ground. The air was bright and sharp with the smell of autumn.

When the carriage stopped in front of the academy gates, Xylenne stepped out slowly. The courtyard was already full of students, their laughter ringing between the marble pillars. She took a deep breath and sighed.

This wound is nothing compared to my previous life, she thought, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The bandage tugged slightly, and pain pulsed through her temple. Still hurts though. Tomorrow was court. The thought twisted in her stomach like a knot. The Orthis better win, she told herself bitterly. If they don't... I really will be a wandering traveler.

She had lived this before, just differently. In her past life there had been no trial, no competition. The Varras had signed the papers and taken her without a fight. There had been no one else who wanted her, so the law had handed her over easily. But this time, things were different. The Orthis wanted her too, and that meant a court hearing would decide which family she'd belong to. The idea of it made her fingers tremble.

As she entered the building, she bit her thumb softly in thought, walking through the tall arched hallway. Her shoes echoed on the marble floor. I can't let history repeat itself, she told herself. This time, I'll have a say in what happens to me. She reached her classroom and slipped quietly into her seat. The chatter around her faded. Heads turned. Eyes widened. "W-what happened, Xylenne?" Eryndor asked, his face pale as he stared at the bandages around her head. Xylenne forced a laugh, waving her hand. "Oh, I bumped into the corner of a table. I wasn't paying attention." It was a small lie, but an important one. If Eryndor knew the truth, knew that she'd been hurt, thrown, shouted at, he'd probably cry. He was kind like that, too kind for the world they lived in.

Before anyone else could speak, the professor's voice filled the room. "Come to me, Xylenne." The class fell quiet.

"O-oh..." Xylenne stammered, her heart skipping.

It was always uncomfortable to stand so close to him. He was tall, with white long hair and blue eyes too soft to look at for long. The students adored him, some out of respect, others because he seemed almost unreal. To a child of seven, he was intimidating enough. But to Xylenne, who carried nineteen years of memory in her mind, he was something else entirely. She stood and walked slowly to the front, fidgeting with the hem of her uniform.

"Now," the professor said, his voice calm but firm, "what happened to your head?"

Xylenne hesitated. The silence in the room pressed down on her. Every student was staring. Even Slyvareaen, sitting near the back, had his eyes fixed on her, worry flickering behind his calm expression. "I—I hit my head on the edge of a table," she said, forcing a small smile.

The professor's expression didn't change, but his gaze shifted briefly toward Slyvareaen, just long enough for Xylenne to notice. Then Slyvareaen's brows knit together, and he glared at the professor, protective and sharp. Without a word, the professor reached down and took Xylenne's hand. His touch was gentle, but it made her heart jump. "Come with me," he said quietly.

The class watched as he led her out of the room. Whispers followed them into the corridor. They walked in silence through the long hallway, past the sunlit windows and rows of portraits, until they stopped behind the main stairwell, quiet and empty, away from curious ears.

Xylenne tilted her head up, confused. Why bring me all the way here? she thought. Does he not want the other students to know?

The morning light fell through the tall window, tracing his face in gold and shadow. His expression was unreadable, calm, but with something stirring beneath. Xylenne stared at him, her small hand still caught in his. He knows I lied, she realized. He knows what really happened. The moment hung between them, silent, close, and uncertain.