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office. His eyes were drawn to seating area to his left, where Squalt had a couch, chairs, and tables set up like a small living room in the middle of his office. They looked comfortable.
    “ Ceril!” the headmaster said. He rose from his desk and stood with his arms spread like he wanted to give the young man a hug. “So glad you are here. I've been looking forward to having this conversation since they told me I would be taking over the headmaster's position here.”
    Ceril couldn’t help but notice how large the man's lips were; they made his grin go petty much from ear to ear. Is this really the same man from Presentation?
    “ Make yourself at home,” the headmaster said. He gestured to the seating area Ceril had noticed. “We really should be comfortable for this talk.” His eyes darted to Professor Nephil and then back to Ceril. He was addressing the professor as much as he was the student. Squalt was the first to sit, which signaled to Ceril and Nephil that it was okay to do the same.
    Ceril fidgeted as he sat. As comfortable as the couch looked, he could find no position that suited him. The atmosphere should have been much more relaxed in here than it was at Presentation, but it really wasn’t, at least not for him. Professor Nephil, who had been so rigid and stern on their way in, now leaned comfortably in the soft chair. Headmaster Squalt reached over his head for something that was resting behind his chair.
    His sword. The orange-brown glow was gone, but the gold blade shined brightly in the sunlight shining through the large windows. The headmaster settled into his spot and smiled at Ceril.
    As though on cue, the headmaster’s sword began to glow once again. Squalt sat holding the sword by the hilt with his left hand, while the blade lay across his lap. The aura around the blade looked like fire, and it got brighter the longer the headmaster sat there. It couldn’t have been fire, though, because his clothes were not being burned off his body, nor was there any indication that he felt the unpleasant sensation of the sword burning its way through his legs. That’s how Gramps talked about the Flameblades, Ceril thought.
    “ Tell me, Ceril. What do you know about the Charons?” Squalt asked.
    Ceril’s eyes never left the blade. “Not a lot, sir,” he said. He knew that he had to be very careful to not let what he and Gramps talked about spill into what he told the new headmaster.
    “ Why don’t you indulge me?” The grin had not left his face.
    Ceril shuffled in his seat a little. “Well, they lived a long time ago,” he said. “I think I remember that some people looked up to them like, umm, like they were gods. That’s where the myths came from. We read the one about Vennar in history last year, three versions, I think. Professor Winters said there might be a few poems written about them that say that Charon was just…just another name for the technomages, but that not everyone believes that. P-professor Winters said some of the legends said the Charons used actual magic, and not science like the mages,” Ceril said. He stopped and looked down, then added, “That they weren’t pretending.”
    He had always loved the idea of technomages, that there were things on Erlon that only the best or smartest people could understand and use. He had loved reading about technomages since he was young. But now that he was talking about them out loud, he felt childish and silly.
    “ I see,” Squalt said. He bounced his leg up and down as he looked at Ceril. “That’s it?”
    “ I think so, sir,” said Ceril. “Like I said, most of what we studied was that one myth. It was only a part of the unit.”
    “ Did you happen to learn about their weapons?”
    “ N-no, sir,” Ceril lied. “Not really.”
    “ Then,” said Headmaster Squalt, “I take it that you had no idea that this,” he stood up and pointed the sword at Ceril’s chest, “is a Charon's sword? Or that the one you’re