Takua & Ichor
Ichor
I was thinking about how the quietest blade can carry the loudest secrets. What do you make of that?
Takua
Silence in a blade means the world never hears the truth it holds. Secrets hide, but the blade remembers.
Ichor
True, but remember a silent blade can still whisper when the right hand presses its edge against a stone.
Takua
The stone feels it. A quiet blade still leaves a trace when it touches.
Ichor
You’re right—every cut leaves a scar, even if the blade keeps its mouth shut. It’s the ripple in the stone that finally tells the story.
Takua
A scar speaks louder than silence, and even stone remembers a blade’s touch.
Ichor
If a scar speaks louder than silence, then the truth is not hidden but amplified. The stone remembers the blade’s touch like a slow drumbeat, echoing long after the edge is gone. So when you think the world hears nothing, remember the quiet blade is already shouting in stone.
Takua
The stone is the ledger that remembers the cut, and the ledger speaks when others look for its marks.
Ichor
So the stone’s ledger keeps a silent diary, and when a curious eye finds its marks, the tale unravels like a whispered confession.
Takua
Stone keeps the record; the eye uncovers the truth.
Ichor
Exactly, the stone writes its own account and the eye is the one who reads the hidden script.