The meeting with the Copper Street Collective took place in a warehouse that smelled of wool and machine oil. Twelve representatives sat around a makeshift table constructed from shipping crates, maps and ledgers spread between them.
Garris opened the proceedings without ceremony. "We've compiled a list of planned resistance actions for the next ten days. As agreed, we're submitting them for your assessment before implementation."
He slid a document across to Elias. The list was extensive—work slowdowns at specific docks, 'accidental' delays in Solneran shipments, strategic rumors planted in markets, even a few instances of minor sabotage disguised as equipment failure.
Elias studied each item carefully, Crimson hovering over his shoulder, analyzing logistics and probable outcomes. After several minutes, he looked up.
"Items three, seven, and eleven are too risky."
The textile merchant who'd opposed coordination previously bristled. "On what basis?"
"Item three involves delaying a shipment of Solneran medical supplies. That crosses a line—people could die if medicines are held up, and Solnera would have moral justification for harsh retaliation." Elias pointed to the next item. "Seven suggests spreading rumors that Solneran merchants are adulterating their goods. That's not resistance, that's defamation. It'll provoke legal action that could expose the whole network."
"And eleven?" Garris asked.
"Sabotaging warehouse equipment. Too obvious, too traceable. Solnera isn't stupid—they'll investigate, find evidence, and you'll lose people to arrest or worse."
The shipping manager frowned. "So we just accept Solneran operations continuing unimpeded?"
"No. But you modify the approach." Elias pulled out a pencil, making notes on the document. "Item three—instead of delaying medical supplies, target their luxury goods shipments. Same economic impact, no moral complications. Seven—rather than spreading false rumors, simply ensure accurate information about Solneran business practices reaches consumers. Truth is more powerful than lies anyway. Eleven—don't sabotage equipment. Just be extremely meticulous about safety inspections. Everything by the book, completely legal, but time-consuming enough to create delays."
The representatives exchanged glances. Several nodded slowly, recognizing the strategic refinements.
"These modifications preserve your resistance goals while reducing risk of retaliation I can't defend against," Elias continued. "That's the coordination you agreed to—not me controlling your actions, but helping you act smarter."
"What about items six and nine?" another merchant asked. "Those involve actions in the Industrial Quarter. Can you actually protect that area if Solnera responds?"
It was a fair question. Elias consulted mentally with Crimson, which had been mapping the Industrial Quarter's layout during their recent training sessions.
"Six is a slowdown at the Northern Foundry. That's close enough to my tenement that I can respond within minutes if needed. Nine is in the Southern Mills—that's further, maybe ten minutes response time depending on obstacles. Both are manageable, but for nine, I'd recommend having fallback positions identified in case you need to evacuate workers quickly."
Garris made notes. "We can arrange that. What about coordination during actual incidents? How do we alert you if Solnera retaliates?"
"I'm working on communication protocols with the guild. Once those are established, I'll provide you with emergency signals. In the meantime—" Elias gestured to Shade, which flowed forward across the table. "My primary shadow can extend tendrils throughout the district. If you're in danger, create disturbance loud enough to attract attention—break something, shout, ring bells. Shade will sense the disruption and alert me."
"That's imprecise," the textile merchant objected.
"It's better than nothing. And it's what's available now." Elias met her gaze steadily. "I'm doing my best to protect people while also maintaining my other obligations. That means accepting imperfect solutions until better ones emerge."
The woman's expression softened slightly. "Fair enough."
They spent another hour refining details—timing of actions, coordination between different merchants, procedures for aborting plans if situations changed. It was tedious work, but Elias found himself appreciating the process. This was what functional resistance looked like: not dramatic gestures, but careful planning and risk mitigation.
As the meeting concluded, Garris pulled Elias aside.
"You handled that well. Better than I expected, honestly."
"Why? Because I'm nineteen?"
"Because you're powerful. Powerful people often assume force solves everything." The old merchant's expression was approving. "You're learning that sustainable resistance requires more than just strength. That's rare."
"I'm learning a lot of things I never expected to need," Elias admitted. "Most of them boring."
"The important things usually are."
The Union Meeting
That evening, Tam led Elias to a cramped office above a shipping warehouse where five dockworkers' union representatives waited. They were all older men with the scarred hands and weathered faces of people who'd spent decades hauling cargo.
The union chief, a grizzled man named Hector, got straight to the point.
"We hear you've joined with the Crimson Guild. That true?"
"I've entered an association contract. Defensive partnership, not membership."
"What's the difference?"
"Membership would mean following guild orders and supporting their full agenda. Association means I help them defend against external threats, but I'm not involved in their internal politics or commercial disputes."
Hector exchanged glances with the other representatives. "Including labor disputes?"
"Especially labor disputes. I'm not taking sides in negotiations between the guild and unions. That's not what the association is for."
"So if the guild tried to use you as muscle during a strike—"
"I'd refuse. It's in the contract—I don't deploy for internal Grimwald politics." Elias leaned forward, wanting them to understand. "Look, I'm not naive. I know the guild has complicated relationships with unions. But I'm not their weapon. I'm their partner against Solnera, period."
One of the representatives spoke up, his voice cautious. "And if Solnera tried to break a strike using their influence? Would you consider that external threat?"
It was a clever hypothetical, probing the boundaries of Elias's commitment. He considered carefully before answering.
"If Solnera directly attacked dockworkers to break a strike—actual violence or coercion—then yes, I'd consider that external threat. But if they just offered better wages to attract workers away from a striking company? That's economics, not violence. I wouldn't interfere."
"What about indirect coercion? Threats, intimidation, pressure on families?"
"That would fall into a gray area I'd need to evaluate case by case." Elias met their gazes honestly. "I can't give you a blanket promise to support every union action. But I can promise I won't be used against you, and if Solnera escalates to actual violence, I'll respond."
Hector studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "That's fair. More honest than most politicians would be."
"I'm not a politician."
"You're becoming one whether you want to or not." The union chief's expression was sympathetic. "But at least you're trying to be straight with us. That counts for something."
They discussed specifics for another hour—what constituted violence versus economic pressure, how to communicate with Elias if situations arose, what the union's own stance was on Solneran influence in Grimwald's labor markets.
By the time Elias left, his head was spinning with complexities he'd never considered. Labor relations, economic coercion, the difference between legitimate business competition and predatory practices—it was all tangled together in ways that made clear moral positions nearly impossible.
"Welcome to actual politics," Tam said as they walked back through foggy streets. "Everything's complicated and everyone has justifiable grievances."
"How do you stand it?"
"By remembering that doing something imperfect is better than doing nothing perfectly." Tam clapped him on the shoulder. "You did good tonight. Didn't promise what you couldn't deliver, didn't refuse to help entirely. Found the messy middle ground."
"The messy middle ground seems to be where I live now."
"Could be worse places."
Medical Consultations
The next morning, Lyra arrived with the three medical practitioners she'd mentioned previously.
Doctor Harvin came first—the elderly man with spectacles who specialized in psychic trauma. He examined Elias with gentle thoroughness, asking questions about sleep patterns, concentration difficulties, memory gaps.
"You're showing early signs of essence strain," he concluded. "Not severe yet, but concerning. Six shadows bound in rapid succession puts tremendous pressure on your psychic infrastructure."
"Can it be treated?"
"Yes, but treatment requires rest—which I suspect you won't get before Solnera arrives." Harvin pulled out a small vial containing silvery liquid. "This is essence tincture. Three drops under your tongue before sleep. It won't solve the underlying problem, but it'll help your mind recover faster during rest periods."
"Side effects?"
"Vivid dreams, occasional disorientation upon waking. Minor compared to the alternative, which is progressive cognitive degradation."
Elias accepted the vial, making a mental note to actually use it. Lyra was watching with the expression of someone who planned to verify compliance.
Madam Ysolde came next—the middle-aged woman with mystical tattoos. She studied Elias's shadows with professional interest, particularly Hunger.
"That one's dangerous," she said bluntly. "Corrupted memory-shadow, barely controlled. You're leaking essence trying to contain it."
"I've noticed the drain."
"More than drain—you're burning yourself out maintaining restraints that shouldn't be necessary." She circled Hunger, examining it from multiple angles. "The shadow needs proper integration, not constant suppression. You're treating it like an enemy instead of a partner."
"It tried to attack someone I care about."
"Because it only knows hunger and you've given it no other purpose." Ysolde's tattooed hands moved in complex patterns, tracing energy flows. "Memory-shadows need anchors—specific roles that channel their nature productively. Right now, it's just appetite with chains. Give it proper function, and the chains become unnecessary."
Elias thought about his recent training, having Hunger sense past events instead of consuming them. "I've started trying that. Using it for reconnaissance."
"Good instinct. Continue. And come see me in three days—I'll teach you proper integration techniques." She pulled out a small charm made of carved bone. "Wear this. It'll help stabilize your essence field, reduce the leakage."
The charm was surprisingly light. When Elias put it on, he felt immediate relief—like pressure he hadn't realized he was carrying suddenly lifted.
Finally came Marcus Thenn—the young man with nervous eyes who specialized in corruption cleansing. He approached Elias cautiously, clearly intimidated by the shadows.
"I, uh, I mostly work with minor corruption cases. Binders who touched something they shouldn't have, got infected with foreign essence. Your situation is more... advanced."
"Is that a problem?"
"Not a problem, just—I want to be honest about my limitations." Marcus's nervousness was almost endearing in its sincerity. "But I can at least check for active corruption, make sure none of your shadows are degrading wrong."
He performed a series of tests, using tools that glowed with soft blue light. When he reached Ember, the tools reacted strongly.
"This one's interesting. It's shadow-fire hybrid, right? Born from that weird resonance thing you did?"
"The Fifth's influence, yes."
"It's stable, but barely. There's constant tension between the shadow and flame aspects. Not corruption exactly, but instability that could become corruption if stressed too much." Marcus made notes with shaking hands. "I'd recommend avoiding extreme heat or darkness for prolonged periods. Keep it balanced, middle ground."
"That's actually helpful. Thank you."
Marcus looked surprised by the gratitude. "Really? Most advanced binders don't take me seriously."
"You're honest about your limitations and you actually examined my shadows instead of making assumptions. That's more useful than overconfident expertise."
After the practitioners left, Lyra reviewed their recommendations with characteristic efficiency.
"Doctor Harvin's tincture, three drops nightly. Madam Ysolde's charm, worn constantly. Marcus's advice about Ember's balance. Additionally, all three recommend you schedule follow-up appointments within the next week. Shall I arrange those?"
"Yes. And Lyra? Thank you for organizing this. I wouldn't have thought to seek medical assessment on my own."
"That's why you have a liaison." She packed her materials with practiced efficiency. "Also, Magistrate Verne wants to meet tomorrow. Solneran movements suggest they'll arrive within five days rather than ten. She wants to discuss defensive preparations."
Five days. The timeline had accelerated.
"I'll be there."
Evening Consolidation
That night, Elias sat with Mira and reviewed everything that had happened over the past three days.
"You've been in more meetings than battles," she observed. "How does that feel?"
"Exhausting in a different way. Fighting Caius was intense but brief. This is grinding—constant decisions, endless complications, always trying to find acceptable compromises."
"That's what building lasting change looks like, though. Not dramatic victories, but sustainable structures."
She was right, but Elias couldn't shake the feeling that he was preparing for the wrong things. Solnera was bringing force, and he was building bureaucracy. Would coordination and medical care matter when actual combat came?
The Codex appeared in his lap, offering its perspective:
The warrior prepares weapons. The leader prepares people. The survivor prepares systems. You are learning to be all three, though the balance is difficult.
Solnera brings force, yes. But also infrastructure—supply lines, communication networks, organizational discipline. Match their force with your own, but also match their systems with yours. Wars are won not by single combats, but by the ability to sustain operations over time.
Five days remain. Continue building. The payoff may not be immediately visible, but it will matter.
"The Codex thinks I'm doing the right thing," Elias told Mira.
"Is that comforting or concerning?"
"Both."
Outside, Grimwald's fog thickened with the evening chill. His six shadows settled into their positions—Shade at his feet, Crimson overhead, Whisperfang in the corner, Ember by the fireplace, Hunger in darkness wearing its new reconnaissance purpose, and beneath them all, the Fifth's resonance growing stronger.
Five days until Solnera arrived. Five days to finish preparations, to shore up alliances, to transform from isolated survivor into something more complex and potentially more resilient.
Whether it would be enough remained uncertain.
But for the first time since finding the Codex, Elias felt like he was building something that might last beyond the next fight.
That had to count for something.