Lament for My First Life

The White Haired Mage

The morning sun shimmered through the tall stained-glass windows of the Royal Academy, scattering colors across the desks. The soft hum of chatter filled the classroom as noble children settled into their seats, polished shoes, neatly combed hair, the scent of ink and paper thick in the air.

At the far end of the room, Xylenne sat quietly at her new desk. Her tiny legs dangled above the floor, barely brushing against the wooden chair's edge. Around her were students older and taller, children of dukes, lords, and scholars, most around nine or ten years old.

And she... was only seven.

The classroom door opened with a soft creak, and silence fell almost instantly. The teacher stepped inside, tall, graceful, draped in long white robes embroidered with gold thread. His hair was the longest, silkiest white Xylenne had ever seen, falling over his shoulders like liquid snow. His face was elegant and calm, with soft blue eyes that seemed to look straight through the noise of the world.

He was, in a word, beautiful. Xylenne's heart skipped. Her jaw nearly dropped. Wait... there's more people with white hair like mine? she thought wildly. But I thought white hair was ugly, tasteless! People mocked me for it all my life! She blinked several times, trying to comprehend it. How did someone like him, someone this handsome, become a mage? And a teacher, no less?!

Her cheeks began to burn.

She clutched her face with both hands, horrified by the heat rising there. N-no! I can't be crushing on my teacher! I'm not nineteen anymore,I'm seven!

Her inner voice screamed at her. Don't be stupid, Xylenne! Stop it right now! But her eyes refused to obey. They stayed fixed on him, his sharp jawline, the calm curve of his lips, the way his white hair shimmered faintly in the light. He's like the spitting image of me if I were older and taller... she realized, stunned. Even his eyes are the same color as mine.

When he spoke, his voice was low and soft, like velvet. "It is so," he said, tone graceful, "that we have a new student joining us today. I'd like you all to be kind and welcome her." Every word was poised and perfect, the kind of voice that could silence even the rowdiest class without effort.

The children turned their heads toward Xylenne, who suddenly felt her entire face go pink. "Sir!" a boy piped up from the second row, his hand shooting into the air. "Is she your daughter?" The room rippled with giggles. The teacher didn't flinch. He didn't even smile. He simply turned his calm, ethereal gaze toward the boy and said, "We are not related." Then, with an almost imperceptible smile, he added, "But I can see why you might think so."

The children murmured, eyes darting between him and Xylenne, both pale-haired, both blue-eyed, both strangely serene in their own ways. "Wow!" one girl whispered loudly. "I never thought I'd ever see another person with white hair like the professor!" "My mom says white hair is blessed by the gods!" another boy said excitedly. "People like that have special powers!" "Yeah! My uncle said the same thing, they're born with divine abilities!"

Xylenne froze.

Blessed by the gods? she repeated in her mind, bewildered. Abilities? What are they talking about? In her first life, she'd only ever heard the opposite, that white hair was a curse, a stain, something disgusting to hide away. She'd spent her whole childhood being called "ghost girl," "freak," "unholy." And now... it was admired?

The contradiction made her dizzy. Did I live my whole first life under lies? she thought. Or... was something else going on?

The teacher raised a hand, his expression serene but firm. "That's enough," he said softly. His voice carried easily through the room, as smooth as silk. "No more interruptions. Let's begin class."

He turned gracefully toward the chalkboard, his robes flowing with the movement. "Open your books to page twenty-four," he said, his tone light but commanding.

The class shuffled to obey. Pages turned. Quills scratched. Xylenne hesitated for just a moment, glancing up one last time at her teacher, the mysterious white-haired mage whose voice could calm storms, whose face looked almost like hers, and whose presence somehow made her feel both comforted and unsettled.

Maybe... there's more to white hair than I was ever told, she thought to herself, her heart still fluttering.

Then she opened her book to page 24, her mind spinning with new questions.