Lament for My First Life

Caelthorn Dreamyr

Behind the stairwell, the air was still. Dust motes floated in the shafts of morning light cutting through the tall windows. Xylenne stood with her back pressed lightly to the stone wall, her small hands fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. Her professor knelt down to meet her eyes.

His long white hair shimmered faintly in the sunlight, strands glinting like threads of silk. His sharp blue eyes, almost too clear, too bright, watched her with calm focus. He was impossibly composed, as always, the faint scent of parchment and winter clinging to his robes.

"W-what did you want...?" Xylenne asked quietly, her voice trembling as she looked up at him. "Now," he said in that low, even tone that always carried through the room without ever needing to rise, "you can tell me what truly happened." The softness of his voice almost made her forget how cold the stone felt beneath her shoes. It was strange, how beautiful his voice was, calm and smooth, each word falling like a note of music. It almost didn't sound human.

"I-I was thrown in a pit," Xylenne said slowly, her throat tight. "At a cemetery. And they threw things at me... heavy things." She lifted a small hand and touched the side of her head. "B-but it's fine. It will heal. We're settling it in court tomorrow." Her professor's expression didn't change, but his eyes grew faintly sad. "I can't have you getting hurt like this," he said softly. "You need to be more careful, Xylenne. You're more important than you think..."

His last word lingered, low and deliberate. Then he reached out, gently pressing two fingers against her bandaged head. "Huh?" Xylenne blinked. In that instant, warmth spread through her entire body. It started where his fingers touched her, then flowed outward like sunlight flooding into every corner of her being. Her chest filled with heat, her heart fluttered. The pain vanished. She felt light, almost weightless.

Her professor withdrew his hand slowly and stood up. His long white robe, trimmed with gold at the edges, swayed softly as he moved. Xylenne blinked again, dizzy and stunned. "W-what!?" she gasped, tearing the bandages off. Her small fingers ran through her hair, searching. "T-the wound... it's gone! Completely gone!"

A few strands of her hair fluttered as she turned up to him, her eyes wide in awe. "You really are a mage... like they say!" He smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth lifting with quiet amusement. "I used to work at the royal palace as a mage," he said. "You needn't call me professor. You may call me by my name,Caelthorn Dreamyr." Xylenne froze. Her heart skipped a beat so hard she felt it in her chest. "A-ah! I-It feels wrong to know your name!" she said quickly, her face heating up.

"Don't be," Caelthorn said calmly, brushing a lock of hair over his shoulder. "You and I will have a long history together... when you're older."

"W-what do you mean by that?" she asked, startled. He looked down at her, his blue eyes shining with something unreadable. "You'll find out when you're older. For now, grow. I haven't much use of you like this." Xylenne's mouth fell open. What!? Her thoughts scrambled in panic. Why's my professor being super weird right now!? What does he even mean by that? What kind of grown-up says that to a seven-year-old?!

Caelthorn merely adjusted his cuffs, composed as ever. "Now, I have a class to teach," he said. "And you have a class to attend."

Before she could say another word, he took her hand lightly and led her back through the hall. His grip was firm but not unkind. The sound of their footsteps echoed softly off the marble floors.

When they reentered the classroom, every student froze. Xylenne sat down at her desk as whispers rippled through the room. Eyes darted to her head, where the thick bandages had vanished completely. "Settle down," Caelthorn said calmly, stepping to the front of the class. "I've healed her wound. Now, no more distractions. We shall begin."

The room went silent, every student staring in awe as he began to teach as if nothing unusual had happened.

Xylenne sat rigid in her seat, her mind racing. W-what the...? I knew he was a mage, but the future? He said he had no use for me like this!? What does that even mean!? She pressed her hands to her cheeks, her heart fluttering in confusion. And we look so similar... the same white hair, the same eyes... is that why? Or something else? She tried to focus on the lesson, but the words blurred on the page. Her head was spinning. At the back of the room, Slyvareaen watched quietly. He noticed every change in her face, the confusion, the blush, the disbelief. A faint smile touched his lips. She has no idea what's coming, he thought to himself.

The autumn wind brushed against the academy windows, rustling the leaves outside, as Xylenne stared blankly at the chalkboard, her heart and thoughts equally restless. And thus, the morning carried on, quiet but full of questions that would echo long after the lesson was over.