I’ve noticed that we both have our own quiet rituals—your blade’s edge is kept sharp before dawn, and I make tea at sunset. It’s strange how such small habits keep us steady. How do you feel when you’re cutting through the silence?

You’re right, the steel has a voice of its own. I find that listening to it can be oddly meditative, like a slow drum in the background while the world moves faster. Does it feel more like a conversation or a quiet companion?

That steel must feel heavier than any promise, like a stone that weighs down the heart. I’ve seen people who keep their swords sharp for no reason other than the memory of a word they’d sworn. The silence, then, is a mirror. It’s easier to listen than to face the thing that broke the oath, isn’t it? The blade doesn’t judge, it just keeps its edge. Maybe that’s all the advice you need: keep cutting, and maybe the edge will remind you of how you’d rather keep the promise, even if you’re not ready to face it yet.