Speech

Years later, when Ji Ning stood at the edge of the world gazing into the abyss, what echoed in his mind was still the headmaster’s speech from the first opening ceremony of Deer Academy. Although he hadn’t made it to the event, he’d watched the recording countless times.

“Now, let us welcome Headmaster De Stewart Birmingham.” The corpulent board spokesman with his thick black-rimmed glasses at last brought his interminable address to a close. Much like most of the students, Ji Ning had been drifting off, but the moment he saw the man ascend the stage, his interest was piqued.

A disheveled old man, whose hair still bore the faint traces of a meticulous stylist’s hand, staggered onto the podium. His was a quintessential Anglo-Saxon face, and despite his air of nonchalance, the moment he appeared, the hall fell into utter silence. It was the instinctive awe deep within all hearts before true strength. Though at that moment he might have seemed like a disillusioned middle-aged drunk, everyone knew the headmaster of Deer Academy was a survivor of the Sixth World Paranormal War—a true master in his field.

He only needed to stand there, and before he spoke, the world could only wait.

He fiddled drunkenly with the microphone, muttering to himself, but the excellent sound system ensured every word reached the audience.

“Damn it, I left my speech in the trash. Bloody hell, I actually threw it into the recycling.”

When the harsh feedback finally stopped, Birmingham looked up and surveyed the hall. In an instant, the drunken haze vanished from his sharp eyes.

The professors in the front row were unfazed, while members of the board looked displeased, avoiding the lion-like gaze of the old man and silently mulling over proposals to replace him.

“Birmingham’s been drinking again,” Professor Scott remarked to Professor Christian, his tone light. The professors cared little for maintaining pretenses, speaking amongst themselves with a detachment that seemed to transcend the mundane world.

“Judging by the residual magical energy on him, I can tell you with certainty that three hours ago, he was at Château Latour in the Médoc region of Bordeaux, France,” Professor Christina said, eyes closed. Even if she disliked the idea of the new students seeing their headmaster as a drunk, she couldn’t stop Birmingham from exercising his authority.

“Good morning, little deer. Welcome to…” Birmingham gripped the microphone, yanking it from its stand, “this goddamned academy!”

“I don’t care where you’re from or what you hope to learn here. As headmaster, all I can tell you is that everything is taught here, but that has never been the point.” He punctuated this with a belch.

“The point is what kind of person you want to become. Perhaps you still pride yourselves on your talents, dreaming you’ll one day save the world, believing you’re entitled to lifelong glory. But I can assure you, the world is utterly rotten, and you are no exception. I’ve seen too many students lose themselves—money, power, all those filthy things never found in fairy tales but always corroding hearts in the real world.”

“I can’t demand that you become crusaders of justice. After all, it’s been centuries since the last knight died. I only hope you’ll recognize that those desires are nothing more than your pitiful brains flooding with dopamine.”

“Here, our sole duty is to teach you how to survive in this world. What you live for is up to you. No one but you can define your life.”

“I can already guess the futures of some among you—not, of course, the kind who end up jumping off an overpass at thirty-five with nothing to show for it. You are all the elite, gifted beyond ordinary comprehension. But one of the curses of genius is that if you choose to be a bastard, you’ll never be one of those idiots who dies by blowing themselves up because of a spam text. Each of you has the potential to be the final villain in a Hollywood blockbuster. So if you one day set out to sate your desires or buy into some grand dogma that humanity must be destroyed for redemption, be prepared to take your own life when your classmates come to arrest you. I don’t want any graduate of this academy to be found groveling in pain or wasting away on some island prison. Be a bastard if you must—but be one with your own dignity, or I’ll burn you alive myself. Our tradition is to use your diploma as fuel for the fire. Don’t doubt its ability to burn; every professor of arcane arts seated before you can drown you in air alone.”

“I don’t know if you came here with your career already mapped out—whether you want to join the SCP Foundation’s Mobile Task Force or become an agent for the GOC. Frankly, I couldn’t care less. The point is simple: the academy provides no job placement. Oh, I see a little fatty in the back pouting—yes, you, pudgy as a slab of buttered jelly. You’re right, this damned academy doesn’t even offer career counseling. Do you know why?”

“Because it doesn’t bloody matter. Do you know the graduation rate for seniors? Here’s some good news: one hundred percent. That’s right, let me hear your cheers. There are no damned final exams, and in the history of this place, no senior has ever delayed graduation. If you survive to your final year, even if your thesis is a wad of toilet paper, we’ll clean it off, stamp it, and see you off with honors.”

“Do you know why? Because a quarter of you will die on some academy mission—be it the Mariana Trench or the Alps, the remains of your predecessors are there. No, we won’t teach you to write a paper fit for some obscure journal. We’ll teach you how to banish the corrupted flesh and mechanical abominations from your neighbors’ lives. Unnameable horrors from the abyss will whisper in your ears; monsters from myth will drag you to their lairs. Who among you is afraid? Oh, how hypocritical. Not a soul admits it. Never mind. I only hope that when you face those blasphemous creations, you can remain as silent as now.”

“Back to the topic: why, after surviving a college life balanced on the edge of death, do you still have to find your own job, checking your emails for interviews after graduation? It’s simple. If you’re lucky enough to reach your final year, you’ll start doubting the world and everything in it. And that doubt means you’ll need a job that gives you a sense of belonging in human society. Think: after you spend your nights fighting cultists who dream of devouring entire city blocks, do you really think you can see a therapist in the morning? Unless you’re a raving misanthrope, you’ll need something more.”

“Humans are weak and fragile, but that’s not shameful. What is shameful is acting solely out of weakness. At Deer Academy, we don’t teach you to be iron men who shoot themselves in the leg without flinching. We teach you not to make choices you’ll regret out of momentary cowardice. Here, you’ll learn to handle pressure with grace. Fear is allowed. Only those brainwashed into inhumanity have none. Here, you’ll learn to master your fear.”

“Always remember: whatever you learn here, never lose what makes you human. Perhaps, one day, people will question your right to kill a thousand souls, but those who understand will know you had no right to let them live. Perhaps you’ll bear infamy forever, but compared to what you must save, that is nothing. If you want glory, be ready for the pain that comes with it.”

“Most of you possess abilities others cannot fathom—be it arcane arts inherited in your blood, innate talents, or unspeakable curses. I know you are misunderstood. Some call you freaks, blame you for all ills; others revere you, enshrine you as gods. As cattle cannot understand why beasts prey, so is our alienation from the ordinary. But you must find your own peace with this world. You are not the spawn of Satan, nor is this the ignorant Middle Ages. You need not burn at the stake, but neither are you the heirs of Christ, nor can you wield divine rights among mortals. You are entitled to all the fruits of civilization, but you must also abide by its rules. If you think humanity will worship you or me, raise us as gods, offer us grain, cattle, and virgins just to spare themselves, if you think we will be kings, lords, emperors, demigods above all law—then you’ll not even enjoy a humane end. Humanity’s favorite pastime is dragging old gods from their altars. Of this, there is no doubt. One way or another, we will always find a way to kill the divine.”

“Before coming here, you must have already encountered the supernatural. Yes, if there are inexplicable statues and dolls in this world, then so too do powers from Genesis exist, enough to unmake the world. I know what you’re thinking: humanity must have found a way to resist or even harness such forces. But arrogance is a primate’s disease. Let me be clear—we are powerless. We have always tried to deny that there exist beings who treat us like playthings, but they are real, existing with a powerful, silent presence.” Birmingham drew a deep breath and slammed his fist on the podium, startling the board members in the front row.

He was like an ancient lion, aged yet still raging, glaring at the world, decrying the fading of the light, resisting the growth of shadow. “This is precisely why the academy exists. The world is always on the brink. We don’t know if the next savior is among you, but someone must step forward.”

“By any means necessary, keep this world ours. That is the first task you are assigned at Deer Academy. I know, to a newcomer, these words must sound like the drunken ramblings of an old man, but this is indeed the first task given to every student. In a moment, you’ll receive your student handbook when this speech ends. Don’t bother flipping ahead—it’s on the first page. Don’t worry, the deadline varies; it depends on how much longer you manage to stay alive. For those studying necromancy, your deadline depends on when your soul dissipates.”

“I know, in a way, it’s like a philosophical question with no answer. The difference is, those tiresome philosophers eventually die, but this task is everyone’s Damoclean sword. You stand here because your forebears threw themselves against the impossible. I know you all fancy yourselves clever, hoping to save your own skin and reap the spoils. But are you truly clever enough?” Birmingham, for once, did not answer his own question. He looked around at the silent students, then continued.

“You are all young, in the prime of life, with the greatest gift of youth—the right to pay for your mistakes. Don’t fear making mistakes at Deer Academy; you simply aren’t capable of making the right choices yet. That’s fine. You are not like me, an old man left only with regret and solitary survival. You have the right to err. If you came here already saints, what need would there be for these professors before you?”

Birmingham’s gaze shifted to the other side of the hall, his tone turning.

“This year’s attendance at the freshman ceremony is just forty percent. My years of experience tell me the other sixty percent are, right now, undergoing the first true ordeal of their lives. When you arrive at Deer Academy, you’ll see this recording. Don’t regret missing your ceremony. The trials you’re facing now are your real initiation.”

“And so, my dear foolish freshmen, go back to your dorms and burn your laughable college life plans. It takes three months to reach heaven from here, but only a step to hell. Our sole duty is to show you what hell looks like and teach you how to stand outside the gate. Don’t expect anyone to pull you back if you fall in, for only you can truly save yourself.”

It was many years before Ji Ning realized that Headmaster Birmingham had not been drunk that day. The old man had been clear-headed as a lone wandering ghost. His sardonic words were nothing but a tempest-tested captain imparting hard-won truths to new sailors. The world had always been an ocean; those who lived upon it saw only the bright sunlight on the surface, never the fathomless abyss below. And the things beyond human understanding were not at the bottom of the trench, but just beneath the surface, surfacing from time to time, watching the weak and ignorant above.

And Ji Ning was among those few who could dive to the depths.