He lifted his gaze to meet Arch-Harmonist Zera's eyes.
"A question I've asked myself every night since I could think. And the answer isn't found in philosophy or poetry—it's found in steel and truth."
His hands remained clasped, his posture unchanged.
"The riddle assumes that severing makes you empty. That the blade which cuts itself must inevitably shatter. But there's a flaw in that assumption, Arch-Harmonist."
He paused. Letting them lean forward—fractionally.
"It presumes the blade doesn't know what it's cutting."
Kage's voice steadied, each word measured like struck iron.
"I don't sever everything. I sever strategically. A chirurgeon doesn't cut at random—he removes the infection while preserving vital organs. A smith doesn't shatter the entire blade—he hammers out the impurities that would make it brittle."
His eyes moved between the three Elders.
