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.

"You ask what happens to the blade that cuts itself? It becomes sharper. More refined. Tempered by deliberate choice rather than blind acceptance."

Supreme Himura's river-voice carried doubt. "But what do you preserve, child? If you cut away weakness, fear, connection—what remains worth saving?"

Kage's response came without hesitation. For the first time, something genuine threaded through his words.

"Purpose."

He let the word settle like quenched steel.

"I haven't severed my purpose. I haven't cut away my reason for drawing the blade in the first place. Every connection I've severed, every bond I've chosen not to forge—they were slag between me and what I'm meant to become."

His voice dropped, almost contemplative.

"The riddle asks if I'm purified or empty. Free or alone. Strong or brittle. But those aren't contradictions—they're grain aligned in different light."

Kage's eyes held steady.

"I am alone, yes. But I chose that isolation deliberately—not because I fear connection, but because I refuse to be bound by connections that serve others' purposes rather than mine. I am free. Not because I've severed everything, but because I've kept only what I chose to keep."

Aldwyn leaned forward. "And what have you chosen to keep, Son of Ironstorm?"

For the first time since entering the Chamber, Kage's expression softened—just fractionally.

"My mother's memory. My determination to prove the world wrong about what a bastard can become. My promise to myself that I would never be so weak that others could decide my fate for me."

He paused. Something raw entered his voice.

"The riddle asks what I fear. Here's my truth: I don't fear being alone. I don't fear being called a monster. I don't fear becoming the blade that cuts everything away."

His hands unclenched—slightly.

"What I fear is becoming weak enough that someone else holds the blade. That someone else decides which parts of me get severed. That's the wound beneath my mask, Arch-Harmonist—the terror that if I don't cut away my own weaknesses first, someone stronger will cut away all of me."

The Chamber fell silent.

"So yes—I understand the riddle's warning. I know the danger of my path. The blade that cuts itself might become nothing but edges and emptiness. But here's the alternative:"

His voice hardened again, steel returning.

"If I don't cut away what makes me vulnerable, the world will break me instead. And I'd rather be a blade that chose its own shape—even if that shape is sharp and solitary—than clay molded by others' hands into something soft and easily shattered."

Kage met each Elder's gaze in turn.

"Can the chirurgeon heal what he dissects? Perhaps not. But he can ensure the patient survives. And survival, Elders, is the first step toward everything else. You cannot forge yourself back together if you're already dead."

Arch-Harmonist Zera studied him for a long breath. When she spoke, her ordinary voice carried something almost gentle.

"And when the hundred-year cycle completes? When the storm you've prepared for finally arrives? Will your blade be strong enough to stand alone—or will you wish, then, that you'd kept more connections intact?"

Kage's smile returned—smaller, sadder, more honest.

"I don't know, Arch-Harmonist. That's the truth you wanted, isn't it? I don't know if my path leads to strength or destruction. But I know that the alternative—clinging to connections that make me weak, accepting bonds that serve others more than myself—that path leads to certain death."

His voice dropped to almost a whisper.

"So I choose the uncertain danger over the certain grave. I choose to be the blade that cuts itself, knowing the risk, because at least then I control the blade."

He straightened. Hands clasped behind his back once more.

"That's my answer. Not philosophy. Not disguise. Just the wound I carry and the choice I've made about how to bear it."

Silence stretched across the Chamber like forge-cooled steel.

Then Aldwyn chuckled—low, thoughtful, no longer dangerous.

"The boy understands the cost of his choices. That's more than most."

Supreme Himura's disapproval had softened—fractionally. "He still walks a dangerous path."

"But he walks it with eyes open," Zera countered. She studied Kage with something that might have been approval—or pity. "That makes him aware, not safe. But awareness can be shaped. Refined."

She leaned back on her throne.

"You've answered truthfully, Son of Ironstorm. The riddle was meant to expose whether you were a monster or simply a boy who's chosen a harsh teacher. You're the latter—for now."

Her ordinary voice sharpened—just slightly.

"But know this: the academy will test whether your blade, in cutting away weakness, has preserved anything worth saving. We'll see if your purpose remains sharp—or if isolation has already begun to dull it."

Kage inclined his head. "I welcome the test, Arch-Harmonist."

Aldwyn stood from his throne. His massive frame cast shadows across the obsidian floor.

"Then we have one final question before we render judgment on your entrance examination."

His hammer-voice carried weight that made the air itself seem heavier.

"Given everything you've said—your challenge to our methods, your justification of theft, your philosophy of severance—answer this:"

His eyes locked onto Kage's.

"Why do you want to enter this academy at all? If you believe our system is flawed, our values misguided, our students too weak—why seek admission? Why not forge your own path entirely?"

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