The Devoured Sons: Book One: Echoes of The Solemn Veil

Chapter Two - The Academy

Forgive me; I tend to wander through philosophical weeds that grow far above my head. I'm not the subject of this narrative; I'm only its messenger. The message—well, there's no delicate way to phrase this—is a grim warning. But as with most alarms sounded in advance of catastrophe, they often go unheeded lest the calamity's weight presently bears down upon the listener. Even then, man can quite easily persuade himself that his eyes and ears are false prophets of doom when they're shrewdly hidden beneath a veneer of hope, whispering desire's soothing lullaby.

Regardless, I present this story to you—you who shall preside over it as judge and jury. Most will scoff and declare with the utmost certainty that this tale is ridiculous and altogether implausible. "How could such a thing happen?" they'll ask. "And why should I believe these scribbles written by some unknown author who writes as he does? Who is this 'Slevin' character, anyway? If he had any real wisdom, I would already know of him. Surely, this villain doesn't consider himself more intelligent than every mind and government devoted to Artificial Intelligence, does he? If he considers himself so, he is clearly mad, and I will not succumb to the delusions of some narcissistic madman."

More intelligent? No. A narcissist? Not at all. However, I do possess a wealth of wisdom's eldest child, despicably orphaned in "modern" society: experience.

If you've read to this point and have yet to slam these pages to the ground in disgust, nor have you tossed them toward a fiery death, then perhaps you're not one of "them." Perhaps some gnawing curiosity or flirtatious desire begs your patience. In that event, having thus far demonstrated the capability to entertain thoughts and ideas without immediate rejection; I invite you to continue with me on an unbelievably authentic journey. Let's begin, shall we?

Following my experience at The Hector, the frequency of my rooftop appearances dwindled. My sense of accomplishment soon became a somber tombstone, memorializing the end of my kingdom and the death of my growth. "No, Slevin, one can always grow," I tried to convince myself, "even in the harshest elements. Did not life itself spring from the most unforgiving environment? Did not the poetic rose climb from the cruelest concrete sidewalks of history?"

Some days, the soothing lullaby won. Others, my conscience wasn't so lucky. But what was left? All of my ten-square-mile world's answerable questions had been very much answered. Every square inch of Nashville had been committed to memory. Travel between districts, not to mention the city-states themselves, was strictly prohibited for people like me. No, Nashville only promised a perpetual, monotonous life of comfort through labor and servitude.

Anyone who dared to pose a hint of dissatisfaction would immediately be met with poison-laced arrows of ire. "Isn't that enough?" the swooping buzzards would cry as if they battled for fresh meat. "And with everything our Benefactor has done for us? For everything he's given us? What nerve! Don't you know how dangerous it is outside the Aegis?"

"Danger has yet to dissuade the traveler with an adventurous heart!" I'd wish to cry out. No matter the size, a life inside walls is still a prison to such a spirit. So, I accepted a prison of my own choosing—my apartment —rather than the one chosen for me. Perhaps it was an attempt to tame the untamable. Maybe it was penance for depression among the happy. Regardless, my apartment window became the lonesome lens through which I found myself more and more content to view the outside world.

I might have continued down this lost highway, peering out my window with no dreams of the future until I was forced to begin work. Soon after, though, the most prominent building in my line of sight had to be taken down and rebuilt. In its absence, a view of The Academy presented itself atop a grass-covered plain beyond Nashville's steel gates. It was nothing new. I'd seen it many times from scattered rooftops. However, the academic colossus offered a new question to which I had yet to receive an answer. "What secrets?" I asked myself, granting it an undeserved mysteriousness. "What wise secrets lay hidden behind The Academy's walls?"