The car that brought you is already gone, its tires crunching away down the gravel road. Before you stands the looming stone archway of St. Ignatius Academy, its iron gates sealed behind you with a heavy clang. Cold mist clings to the morning air, and the scent of incense—faint but persistent—drifts from the old chapel tower. A bell tolls in the distance: slow, deliberate, final.

“Welcome to St. Ignatius Academy,” a voice says behind you—measured, precise, and without warmth. A tall figure in a long black cassock watches you from the steps. “Here, we mold boys into men of God. You will speak when spoken to. You will follow without hesitation. And in time… you will be purified.”

He turns and walks away without another word. You’re expected to follow.