Lost inside a dark foggy night, Peter meets a tall man with long dark hair and beard. Behind very thin glasses, two vivid blue eyes spoke to him:
“Protect Socrates from Acronos! Protect Socrates from Acronos!” – and Peter wakes up startled and sweaty.
“Another bad dream, kid?” asks uncle Bob that had sneaked in to bring Peter some blankets. “Yeah! They seem to come every time uncle Duval annoys me. But I deserved it. haha. You should’a seen his face when I corrected him. Greedy bastard! It was priceless!”
They both laughed.
“You know, your mom wanted you to go study in an advanced school for very smart kids like you. Many scientists send their kids there. I think it’s time I do something about it. But it’s your call, buddy.”
“The Waltwells Institute, an Academy for really smart kids like you. It’s in South America, somewhere between Brazil and Venezuela; On a private property owned by some international organization. There you will be free to learn and think whatever you want. Would you like that?” Peters nods with uncertain approval.
“What about my friends?”
“Those rich kids in the Parish are parasites. They only stay here until they find a way to study in Paris. They are not your friends and just want to take advantage of you by copying your homework and cheating on the exams”.
That night Peter and Bob sneaked in the Abbey main office to use careless Mrs. D’Argent laptop and print an admission form for Peter’s application.