Elias woke on the morning of the second day to find Tam standing in his doorway.
The former dockworker looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot, cap twisted in his scarred hands. Shade had let him through the wards—a decision it must have made on its own, recognizing someone from Elias's past who meant no harm.
"The door was open," Tam said, which was a lie. "I knocked, but... I figured I should just come in."
Elias sat up slowly, his body still recovering from the strain of maintaining Hunger. Mira had fallen asleep in the chair by the window, her head tilted at an angle that would leave her neck aching.
"What are you doing here, Tam?"
"Checking on you." The older man entered fully, though his eyes tracked each shadow nervously. "Word on the docks is that something happened two nights ago. A Solneran operative found in his apartment, alive but... broken. And people are saying you did it."
"People say a lot of things."
"They also say you've got three days before the Flamebearers move. That true?"
Elias didn't answer, which was answer enough.
Tam pulled up a crate and sat down heavily. "Listen, I know we're not... I know things changed when you got involved with all this shadow business. But you saved Ren from drowning once, remember? Pulled him out of the canal when he was drunk and stupid. You didn't have to do that. You did it anyway."
"That was different. That was simple."
"Was it? You risked your neck for someone who couldn't save himself. That's what you did then." Tam leaned forward. "And I'm thinking maybe you need someone to do the same for you now."
The words settled into the room like stones into water. Elias felt something crack in his chest—not breaking, but fracturing along lines that had been forming since he'd bound Hunger.
"I don't know if I can be saved, Tam. I don't know if I should be."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Tam's voice was firm. "You made a hard choice. Maybe it was the wrong choice, maybe it wasn't. But it doesn't define everything about you. You're still the kid who shared his lunch. You're still the one who noticed when others were hurting."
Mira stirred in her chair, waking. She blinked at Tam in confusion before recognition set in.
"Who's this?"
"A friend," Elias said quietly. "From before."
Tam nodded to her. "Miss. I'm Tam. I worked the docks with Elias before he..." He gestured vaguely at the shadows. "Before all this."
"Before he became powerful enough that everyone wants to control or kill him," Mira finished. She rubbed her neck, wincing. "Why are you here?"
"To remind him he's still human."
The three of them sat in silence for a moment. Outside, Grimwald's morning bells began to ring—factory shifts starting, market stalls opening, the city's mechanical heart grinding forward.
Finally, Elias spoke: "I brain-damaged a man. Intentionally fed my shadow on his memories until there was nothing left. He's alive, but he can't speak, can't remember his own name. And I did it because I was desperate and afraid and running out of time."
"You did it to survive," Tam said.
"That's a justification, not an excuse."
"Maybe. But survival matters, Elias. It matters to people who care about you. It matters to this city, whether the city knows it or not." Tam stood. "Solnera wants Grimwald. They've been worming their way in for months, buying influence, planting agents. You're one of the few people standing against that. So yeah, maybe you made a brutal choice. But the alternative was letting Caius burn through this city unopposed."
Elias wanted to believe that. Wanted to think his actions served some greater purpose beyond simple survival. But the memory of Davos's vacant eyes made it hard to feel heroic.
"I don't know how to face Caius," he admitted. "Six shadows should be enough, but I don't feel ready. I don't feel in control."
"Then don't face him alone."
"What?"
Tam spread his hands. "You've been doing this by yourself—making decisions, binding shadows, fighting battles. But you're not the only person in Grimwald who has a stake in this. There are people who'd help if you asked."
"I don't have an army, Tam."
"No, but you have connections. That merchant who approached you in the marketplace? The Copper Street Collective? They owe Solnera no loyalty. And I know for a fact the dockworkers are tired of Solneran ships getting priority berths while locals wait. Get people talking, organize a little, and suddenly Caius has a city that won't cooperate with his plans."
Mira sat up straighter. "He's right. I've been focused on intelligence gathering, but there's a whole layer of political resistance we haven't touched. If the common people make Solnera's presence uncomfortable enough, Caius can't operate as freely."
Elias looked between them. "That would take time. Coordination. I have three days."
"Then we'd better start now," Tam said.
The Copper Street Meeting
By afternoon, they'd arranged a meeting at the Broken Anvil—the same tavern where Elias had first overheard whispers about the Codex. The irony wasn't lost on him.
The merchant representative from Copper Street arrived with three others: a woman who ran a textile business, a man who managed a small shipping concern, and an elderly gentleman who seemed to be their unofficial leader.
"Voidsinger," the old man said, the title awkward in his working-class accent. "Appreciate you taking the time. I'm Garris. We've been watching your... situation... with interest."
"And concern," the textile merchant added. "Solnera's been undercutting our prices for months. Can't compete when they're subsidized by their Dominion and we're paying full guild fees."
Elias leaned back in his chair, six shadows arranged around him in a loose defensive pattern. Hunger stayed closest, still sated from its feeding but watchful. He'd learned to keep it on a short leash.
"What are you proposing?"
Garris smiled thinly. "A work slowdown. Starting two days from now, every business in the Copper Street Collective delays Solneran shipments. Nothing dramatic—just bureaucratic inefficiency. Lost paperwork, scheduling conflicts, dock workers taking their legally mandated breaks at inconvenient times."
"That won't stop Caius."
"No, but it'll frustrate him. Force him to divert attention from you toward maintaining his supply lines. And if word gets out that the Voidsinger is the one standing between Grimwald and Solneran control..." Garris shrugged. "People might start thinking about whose side they're really on."
Mira leaned forward. "You're trying to turn Elias into a symbol."
"We're trying to give people something to rally behind," the shipping manager corrected. "Right now, it feels inevitable. Solnera's rich, powerful, organized. What are we going to do against that? But if someone with real power—someone who's faced down Flamebearers and lived—if he's willing to fight, maybe the rest of us find our courage too."
Elias felt the weight of their expectations settling onto his shoulders. He'd never asked to be a symbol, never wanted to represent anything beyond his own survival. But Tam had been right—he wasn't in this alone anymore.
"Alright," he said finally. "Coordinate your slowdown. Make life difficult for Solneran operations. But understand this: if Caius realizes what's happening, he might retaliate against you directly. I can't protect everyone."
"We know the risks," Garris said. "Been taking them for months, just in smaller ways. This time, we're making it official."
After they left, Tam clapped Elias on the shoulder. "See? You're not powerless. You're just used to thinking in terms of shadows instead of people."
"People are more fragile than shadows."
"Maybe. But they're also more stubborn."
Training
With two days remaining before Caius's deadline, Elias forced himself to train properly. Not just testing his shadows' abilities, but drilling coordination, practicing scenarios, building muscle memory.
Mira served as observer, calling out situations while Elias responded:
"Flame attack from the left!"
Shade interposed, absorbing heat. Ember countered with its own molten energy. Crimson flanked to strike from an unexpected angle.
"Three operatives, pincer formation!"
Whisperfang's chains lashed out in broad arcs, controlling space. Crimson targeted the leader while Shade protected Elias's flanks. Ember provided area denial with walls of heat.
"Your concentration breaks—Hunger slips control!"
This was the hardest scenario. Elias had to split his attention, restraining Hunger while directing the other shadows. The first three attempts failed spectacularly, with Hunger lunging toward Mira before Whisperfang's chains could restrain it. By the tenth attempt, Elias managed to maintain control, but the strain left him exhausted.
"That's your weak point," Mira observed. "If Caius figures out that Hunger is barely controlled, he'll exploit it. Force you to divide attention until something slips."
"I know."
"So what's the solution?"
Elias didn't have one. Hunger was powerful—it could erase threats from memory, leaving enemies confused and disoriented—but its constant appetite made it a liability as much as an asset.
The Codex opened on the table:
Control is illusion. Even the most disciplined shadow retains its nature. Hunger will always hunger. Whisperfang will always remember betrayal. Ember will always seek fire. The skilled binder doesn't eliminate these traits—he uses them.
"Use Hunger's appetite?" Elias frowned. "How?"
Direct it. In battle, when focus wavers, give Hunger a specific target. An enemy's combat training, their tactical knowledge, their ability to coordinate. Feed it on capabilities rather than trying to starve it into submission.
The suggestion was brutal in its simplicity. Instead of keeping Hunger leashed, use it as a weapon—but a precise one, erasing specific skills from opponents rather than their entire personhood.
"That could work," Mira said slowly. "If you can control what it takes instead of just letting it feed randomly."
"It's still taking pieces of people."
"Yes. But taking someone's memory of sword-training is different from taking their memory of language. One incapacitates temporarily. The other destroys."
Elias practiced the technique throughout the evening, using Crimson to simulate an enemy's combat knowledge. He'd direct Hunger to consume only that specific information—the stance, the strikes, the defensive patterns—while leaving everything else intact.
It was harder than it sounded. Hunger wanted everything, resisted being limited. But gradually, through repeated attempts and constant mental pressure, Elias learned to shape its appetite. By midnight, he could reliably target specific categories of memory with roughly seventy percent accuracy.
Not perfect, but better than before.
Tam's Gift
The old dockworker returned on the evening before Caius's deadline, carrying a wrapped bundle.
"Got you something," he said, setting it on the table. "Figured you might need it."
Inside was a leather coat—heavy, reinforced at the shoulders and elbows, with inner pockets sized for weapons or tools. The leather was good quality but worn, marked with the scars of long use.
"It was mine," Tam explained. "From my mercenary days, before I settled into dock work. Saved my life more than once. Figured it might do the same for you."
Elias ran his hand over the leather. It was warm from Tam's carrying, supple despite its age. "I can't take this."
"You can and you will. Consider it payment for pulling Ren from the canal. I never thanked you properly for that." Tam's voice was gruff. "Besides, you're going into a fight tomorrow night. Least you can do is wear something that might stop a knife."
"Caius uses fire, not knives."
"Then it'll be good padding when you hit the ground."
Despite everything, Elias smiled. "Thank you, Tam."
"Don't thank me yet. Thank me after you win."
After Tam left, Elias tried on the coat. It fit well—a little loose in the shoulders, but that would allow for movement. His shadows investigated it curiously, Shade running tendrils along the seams, Ember testing its fire-resistance with small flickers of heat.
Mira watched from her chair. "He cares about you."
"I know."
"So do I. So does everyone at Copper Street, even if they've never met you." She pulled her knees to her chest. "You're not alone in this, Elias. I know it feels that way sometimes, with shadows that only you can command and a Codex only you can read. But people are on your side."
"Will that be enough?"
"I don't know. But it's more than you had when this started."
She was right. Weeks ago, Elias had been nobody—a dockhand with no future and no prospects. Now he wore a mercenary's coat, commanded six shadows, and had the support of merchants and workers who saw him as something worth fighting for.
The transformation should have felt empowering. Instead, it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that the next step would be into open air.
Midnight Preparation
Elias couldn't sleep. He sat by the window, watching fog drift through Grimwald's streets, his six shadows arranged around him.
Shade at his feet, loyal and protective. Crimson overhead, calculating and precise. Whisperfang in the corner, chained and watchful. Ember by the fireplace, flickering steadily. Hunger in the darkest corner, sated but never truly satisfied. And beneath them all, the faint resonance of the Fifth, not yet fully manifested but growing stronger.
The Codex lay open in his lap:
Tomorrow, fire comes. You have grown strong, but strength alone does not guarantee victory. Remember: Caius has trained for years in Solnera's academies. You have trained for weeks in Grimwald's alleys. His advantages are discipline, experience, resources. Yours are desperation, adaptability, and the home ground.
Use all of them.
Elias closed the book gently. Outside, the city slept, unaware that tomorrow might determine whether Grimwald remained independent or fell further under Solneran control.
"We're ready," he whispered to his shadows. "As ready as we can be."
Shade pulsed reassurance. Crimson's patterns stabilized into confident geometries. Whisperfang's chains settled into quiet readiness. Ember burned steady and true. Even Hunger seemed to understand the gravity of what approached, its appetite temporarily forgotten in favor of focus.
Tomorrow would bring fire and blood, shadows and politics, the clash of desperate survival against trained elimination.
But tonight, for a few more hours, there was only the fog and the silence and a young man trying to believe he could survive what came next.