Every year at E.T.A., maybe a dozen of the kids between maybe like twelve and fifteen—children in the very earliest stages of puberty and really abstract-capable thought, when one’s allergy to the confining realities of the present is just starting to emerge as weird kind of nostalgia for stuff you never even knew 120—maybe a dozen of these kids, mostly male, get fanatically devoted to a homemade Academy game called Eschaton.
