Elias didn't leave his tenement for three days.
The binding of Hunger had taken something from him that rest alone couldn't restore. He sat by the window most hours, watching Grimwald's fog shift through the streets below while his six shadows arranged themselves around the room in configurations that changed every few hours.
Shade stayed closest, pressed against his legs like a loyal dog that sensed its master's illness. Crimson had retreated to the ceiling corners, its geometric patterns simplified to basic shapes. Whisperfang coiled in the far corner, chains barely moving. Ember flickered weakly near the cold fireplace, its molten light dimmed to embers. And Hunger...
Hunger crouched in the darkest corner, wrapped in Whisperfang's chains, watching Elias with those empty eyes that held nothing but appetite. Even restrained and bound, its presence gnawed at the room's atmosphere. Small things had already started disappearing—the memory of what he'd eaten for breakfast two days ago, the name of a childhood teacher, the exact color of his mother's eyes. Nothing catastrophic, but the erosion was constant.
Mira came and went, bringing food that Elias barely touched and news from the streets that he struggled to focus on. She'd taken to sleeping on his floor, wrapped in blankets, unwilling to leave him alone with Hunger. Smart girl.
On the third evening, she sat across from him with her arms crossed.
"You look terrible."
"Thank you for the observation."
"I'm serious, Elias. You're gray. Your hands shake even when you're sitting still. And you haven't changed clothes in three days." She leaned forward. "The binding damaged you."
"All bindings have costs."
"Not like this. Your other shadows—they took memory, or emotion, or required specific conditions. But Hunger is actively feeding on you, isn't it? Even bound."
Elias wanted to deny it, but lying took energy he didn't have. "It's hungry. That's its nature. I'm keeping it from feeding on anything important, which means redirecting that hunger toward... less vital things."
"And that requires constant attention. Constant will." Mira's mismatched eyes were hard. "You can't sustain this. Not and face Caius in four days."
Four days. The deadline had crept closer while Elias sat in his room, too exhausted to train, too drained to plan.
The Codex lay on the table between them. It hadn't opened since the binding—unusual for it. When Elias touched the cover, he felt resistance, as though the book was sulking.
"What does it say?" Mira asked.
"Nothing. That's the problem." Elias pulled his hand back. "I think... I think I pushed too fast. Bound too many shadows without fully mastering the previous ones. The Codex warned me about balance, about harmony, but I was so focused on gaining power before Caius arrived that I didn't listen."
"So what do we do?"
"I don't know."
The admission hung in the air. Elias, who had defied the Silent Choir and rejected the Crimson Guild's offers, who had stared down a Flamebearer without flinching—he genuinely didn't know what to do next.
Hunger shifted in its corner, chains rattling softly. The sound made his teeth ache.
Corvan's Visit
The pale-eyed man appeared sometime after midnight, stepping out of shadows in the corner where even Shade couldn't sense him approaching. Mira jerked awake with a gasp, but Elias barely reacted. He'd felt Corvan's presence for the last several minutes, a cold spot in his awareness.
"You've bound the Sixth," Corvan said without preamble. "I can feel it from three streets away. That thing radiates wrongness like a corpse radiates rot."
"Thanks for the encouragement."
Corvan moved closer, studying Elias with clinical interest. "You're dying. Slowly, perhaps slowly enough that you haven't noticed yet, but dying nonetheless. That shadow is consuming more than memory—it's feeding on your vitality, your essence. Give it another week, and you'll be a husk."
Mira stood. "Then how do we stop it?"
"You don't stop Hunger. You feed it properly." Corvan's pale eyes shifted to the crouched shadow. "Right now, it's taking small bites from everything because Elias won't let it have a proper meal. Like trying to satisfy a starving man with crumbs. It prolongs the agony but solves nothing."
"What kind of meal?" Elias asked.
"Significant memory. Substantial enough to sate it for weeks, maybe months." Corvan tilted his head. "The question is: whose memory are you willing to sacrifice? Yours? An enemy's? An innocent's?"
The choice settled over the room like ash. Elias understood immediately what Corvan was suggesting. Let Hunger feed completely on someone—erase hours or days or weeks from their mind—so that it would stop gnawing at everything around it.
"I won't do that to an innocent person."
"Then use the guilty. Grimwald has no shortage of criminals, corrupt officials, people whose memories might be better forgotten anyway." Corvan's expression remained neutral. "Or you can continue as you are, growing weaker while Caius grows closer."
"There has to be another way."
"There isn't." Corvan moved toward the window. "Shadow-binding requires hard choices, Elias. You've been making them since you touched the Codex—betraying Shade to bind Whisperfang, exposing yourself to fire for Ember, releasing that abomination for Hunger. You can't suddenly develop a conscience because the choice is uncomfortable."
Before Elias could respond, Corvan dissolved into shadow and was gone.
Mira broke the silence. "Is he right?"
"I don't know." Elias pressed his palms against his eyes. "Everything's... blurred. I can't think clearly. Can't remember what I decided an hour ago half the time."
"That's Hunger. It's eating your ability to think." She knelt beside him. "Elias, listen to me. You have to make a choice. Feed that thing properly, or find a way to unbind it before it kills you."
"Unbinding might not be possible."
"Then feed it." Mira's voice was firm. "And I know exactly whose memories you should give it."
The Solneran Spy
Mira had been busy during Elias's three days of isolation. She'd traced Solneran agents throughout the Industrial Quarter, noting their patterns, their safe houses, their contact points. And she'd identified one particular agent who'd been asking very specific questions about Elias.
His name was Davos, a mid-level operative who'd been posing as a merchant's clerk. He wasn't important enough for Solnera to truly mourn, but he knew enough about Caius's plans that his memories might prove useful before Hunger consumed them.
"He has an apartment above a textile warehouse," Mira explained, spreading her hand-drawn map across the table. "Third floor, eastern corner. One entrance, one window. He's alone most nights—the Solnerans don't bother much with each other's company."
Elias studied the map through the fog in his mind. "You want me to break in, let Hunger feed on this man's memories, and... what? Hope that satisfies it?"
"I want you to survive the next four days. This is how."
She was right. He knew she was right. But the thought of deliberately unleashing Hunger on another person, even an enemy, made his stomach turn.
Shade pressed against his leg, supportive. Crimson descended from the ceiling, its patterns sharpening slightly—the first sign of energy it had shown in days. Whisperfang rattled its chains, almost approving. Ember flickered brighter. And Hunger... Hunger's empty eyes fixed on him with desperate hope.
Yesyesyes, it whispered directly into his mind. Feed me properly. Let me eat. Let me be full. Please please please—
"Shut up," Elias said.
The Codex opened on its own for the first time in three days. New words appeared:
Hunger cannot be denied, only directed. The shadow-binder who refuses to make hard choices is the shadow-binder who dies. Your compassion is admirable. Your survival is essential. Choose.
Elias stood on shaking legs. "Fine. We go tonight. But I extract information from him first, before Hunger feeds. If we're doing this, we're at least getting strategic value from it."
Mira nodded, relief clear on her face. "I'll get the layout memorized. You should rest until then. Actually rest, not just sit and stare."
But rest wouldn't come. Elias lay on his cot while his shadows positioned themselves around the room, and thought about lines he never imagined crossing. The Codex had warned him from the beginning: every shadow strengthened and hollowed. He'd understood it intellectually, but experiencing the erosion of his own principles was different.
Was this who he was becoming? Someone who fed abominations on human memories because it was convenient?
Shade curled on his chest, and through their connection, he felt its steady assurance. Not approval or condemnation—just presence. The shadow had stayed with him through every choice, every binding, every compromise. It would stay through this one too.
That loyalty somehow made everything worse.
The Extraction
They moved through Grimwald's streets near midnight, when the factory workers were asleep and only the desperate or dangerous remained outdoors. Elias kept his shadows close but visible—there was no point in subtlety anymore. Everyone in the city knew what he was.
The textile warehouse loomed dark and silent. Mira led them to a side entrance she'd scouted earlier, a door with a lock that Crimson picked in seconds using precise pressure on the tumblers.
Inside, the stairs creaked with every step. Hunger followed at Elias's heels, chains dragging, its anticipation palpable. He could feel its appetite growing stronger with every floor they climbed.
The spy's door was better secured—three locks and a ward that would alert Solneran operatives if triggered. But Ember had grown sensitive to Solneran magic since integrating the Fifth. It flickered along the doorframe, mapping the ward's structure, finding the weak points. Whisperfang's chains disrupted the energy flow while Crimson again handled the physical locks.
They entered silently.
Davos was asleep in a narrow bed, a knife under his pillow and a leather satchel on the floor beside him. Elias could see the Solneran tattoo on his wrist—a stylized sun that marked him as Dominion property.
Shade moved first, flowing across the man's mouth and nose, cutting off any potential shout. Davos woke instantly, eyes wide with terror, but Whisperfang's chains had already wrapped around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the bed frame.
Elias approached slowly. Up close, he could see that Davos was young—barely older than himself. Just another person following orders, probably convinced he served a righteous cause.
"I'm going to ask you questions," Elias said quietly. "Answer truthfully, and this will be quick. Lie, and I let that thing in the corner have you piece by piece."
Davos's eyes shifted to Hunger, which crouched by the door, chains rattling eagerly. The spy's face went pale.
Interrogation
The information came quickly. Davos wasn't trained to resist interrogation, and the sight of Hunger had broken any residual courage. He spilled everything: Caius's plans, troop positions, magical resources, political agreements with Grimwald's factions.
The Flamebearer had been busier than Elias realized. He'd secured tacit support from three merchant guilds, promised favors to two city officials, and arranged for Grimwald's watch to be conveniently absent when he moved against Elias. It would be a clean operation—no civilian casualties, no property damage, just the quiet elimination of a dangerous rogue binder.
"When?" Elias asked.
"Four days. Midnight. He's targeting your tenement directly—he knows where you live, knows you're weakened, knows you've bound something dangerous." Davos's voice shook. "Please, I've told you everything. Just kill me quickly."
"I'm not going to kill you."
Relief flooded the spy's face—premature relief.
"Hunger," Elias said quietly. "Come here."
The shadow moved with terrifying speed, chains dragging across floorboards, empty eyes fixed on Davos. The spy's relief transformed into pure terror.
"No—no, you said—"
"I said I wouldn't kill you. And I won't. But Hunger needs to feed, and you've volunteered."
Mira turned away, facing the window. She'd agreed this was necessary, but that didn't mean she wanted to watch.
Elias placed a hand on Hunger's shoulder—if it could be called that. Through their connection, he felt the shadow's ravenous anticipation. "Take his memories of the last three months. Solnera's plans, his training, his orders—all of it. Leave him alive and functional, but forget nothing of what he knows."
Hunger needed no further encouragement. It lunged forward, and Davos screamed.
The process was worse than Elias had imagined. He could see it happening through his connection to the shadow—memories being pulled out like threads, examined, consumed. Three months of life, experience, knowledge, all disappearing into Hunger's void. Davos thrashed against Whisperfang's chains, eyes rolling back, foam flecking his lips.
It took maybe two minutes. It felt like hours.
When Hunger finally pulled back, satiated and quiet for the first time since its binding, Davos lay still. Breathing, but empty. His eyes were open and vacant, staring at nothing.
"What language do you speak?" Elias asked.
No response. Not even recognition that he'd been addressed.
"Do you know your name?"
Nothing.
Mira turned back, saw Davos's state, and her face went white. "What did it do?"
"Took three months, like I commanded. But I think... I think those three months included basic language, personal identity, motor skills." Elias felt sick. "He'll recover eventually. Probably. The brain can relearn. But right now, he's—"
"Brain-damaged," Mira finished. "You brain-damaged him."
"I fed Hunger, like you suggested."
"I didn't suggest turning someone into a vegetable!" Her voice rose. "I thought it would just take specific memories, not—not everything!"
Elias had no defense. He'd made an assumption about how Hunger worked, about how controlled its feeding could be, and he'd been catastrophically wrong.
Hunger crouched in the corner, chains loose, utterly satisfied. Through their connection, Elias could feel it—sated, quiet, almost sleepy. It wouldn't need to feed again for weeks, maybe longer.
But the cost...
"We need to leave," he said quietly.
They left Davos in his bed, staring at nothing. Elias told himself the man would recover, that language and identity could be relearned, that maybe this was justice for a foreign spy. But the rationalizations felt hollow.
Morning Aftermath
Back at the tenement, Elias sat by the window while dawn painted the fog purple and gold. His hands had stopped shaking—Hunger's feeding had restored some of his vitality, stopped the constant drain. He could think clearly again, could remember what he'd eaten for breakfast, could recall his mother's face.
The improvement felt like ashes in his mouth.
Mira hadn't spoken to him since they'd left the textile warehouse. She sat in the opposite corner, arms wrapped around her knees, avoiding eye contact.
The Codex opened slowly, its pages rustling like a disappointed sigh:
Hunger has fed. Balance is restored. Your strength returns. But understanding comes slowly to the hasty. The Sixth required more preparation than you gave it—more study, more control, more wisdom. You rushed, and now you carry the weight of that haste.
"I know," Elias said aloud.
Do you? Do you truly understand what you've done, or merely regret the discomfort of doing it?
He didn't answer. Couldn't answer.
The Seventh Shadow stirs, aware of your growth. But heed this warning, binder: you are not ready. Six shadows strain your control. Seven would break it. Master what you have before claiming more, or you will become the monster you fear.
The Codex closed itself with finality.
Elias looked at his six shadows, spread throughout the room. Shade watched him with something that might have been concern. Crimson's patterns had regained their complexity. Whisperfang's chains moved steadily, no longer sluggish. Ember burned bright and controlled. And Hunger... Hunger slept, curled in the darkest corner, temporarily satisfied.
Six shadows. Three days until Caius moved. And Elias was finally strong enough to face what was coming—but the price of that strength sat heavy in his chest like a stone.
"I'm sorry," Mira said finally.
Elias turned. "For what?"
"For pushing you to do that. For suggesting it was the only way." She looked up, and her mismatched eyes were wet. "I was so focused on keeping you alive that I didn't think about what it would cost. Not just for that spy, but for you."
"You were trying to help."
"And look what my help accomplished." She wiped her eyes angrily. "We broke a person, Elias. Damaged him in ways that might never heal. And for what? So you could be strong enough to fight another battle in an endless war?"
Elias had no answer that would comfort either of them.
Outside, Grimwald continued its eternal routine—workers heading to factories, merchants opening shops, the city grinding forward with mechanical indifference. Somewhere in the Embassy Quarter, Caius was planning his assault. Somewhere in the shadows, other binders watched and waited. And somewhere in the depths of the city, the Seventh Shadow stirred, patient and terrible.
But for now, in this small room with six shadows and two people trying to live with what they'd done, there was only silence and the slow return of strength purchased with someone else's mind.
The Codex had warned him: every shadow strengthens and hollows.
Elias was beginning to understand how deep that hollow could go.