The battle had been raging for twenty minutes—an eternity in combat—when the first true casualty occurred.
One of the guild guards, a young man named Petros who Elias had spoken with that morning, took a Solneran blade through the shoulder while defending against an operative Whisperfang's chains couldn't reach in time. He fell with a scream that cut through the chaos, blood spreading across the wharf's wooden planks.
Captain Revka dragged him back behind their defensive line, but the damage was done. They were down to eight functional guards now, and the Solneran forces had barely been scratched.
Elias felt the weight of that casualty like a physical blow. This wasn't abstract strategy anymore—it was real blood from real people who'd trusted him to make this work.
Focus, he commanded himself. Grieve later. Fight now.
Commander Vex had noticed the fallen guard too, and his tactical assessment adjusted immediately. He gestured to two squads, redirecting them to pressure the weakest point in the defensive line where Petros had fallen.
Elias moved Shade to intercept, but that left an opening on the right flank that the silver-haired Flamebearer—he'd heard others call her Serina—exploited instantly. Her crystallized flame barriers cut through Crimson's positioning, forcing the precise shadow to retreat.
"You're losing," Caius observed, his flames pressing against Ember's heat. "Not quickly, but inevitably. Your shadows are exhausted. Your guards are wounded. How long can you sustain this?"
"As long as necessary."
"Bravado won't change mathematics." Caius's corrupted shadow lashed out, forcing Elias to dodge. "Surrender now, and I'll personally ensure your guards receive medical treatment. Keep fighting, and some of them will die. Is your pride worth their lives?"
It was a question Elias had no good answer for.
Through the communication mirror in his pocket, Mira's voice crackled: "Elias, eastern road force is attempting to breach the walls. Guild security is holding but requesting reinforcement. Northern canal reports magical bombardment—wards are failing faster than expected."
Both other positions were in trouble. The three-pronged assault was working exactly as Solnera had planned—divide attention, overwhelm through coordination, prevent effective defense at any single point.
Elias couldn't be everywhere. His shadows couldn't defend three positions simultaneously. Choices had to be made, and every choice meant abandoning someone.
"Tell eastern road to fall back to secondary positions," Elias commanded through gritted teeth, deflecting another attack. "Northern canal—deploy the contingency wards we discussed. I can't send reinforcements yet."
"Yet? Elias, if you wait much longer—"
"I know! But if I abandon the harbor, these forces link up with the others and it's over anyway." He felt Shade take another hit from Caius's flames, felt the shadow's pain through their connection. "Just hold. Please."
The mirror went silent.
Tactical Shift
Commander Vex called a halt, his forces pulling back to regroup. It wasn't surrender—it was professional adjustment. He'd tested Elias's defenses, identified weaknesses, and now would exploit them systematically.
"Flamebearer Serina, pressure their left flank. Caius, contain their shadow-defense on the right. Kellan—" the youngest Flamebearer, "—target the guards directly. Make them choose between defending themselves and supporting their binder."
It was ruthlessly efficient strategy. Force Elias to divide attention between protecting his shadows and protecting the guards, ensuring he couldn't do either effectively.
The renewed assault came with coordinated precision. Serina's crystal-flame barriers isolated Shade, preventing it from supporting other positions. Caius kept Ember and Crimson occupied with sustained fire attacks. And Kellan, the young Flamebearer, unleashed directed streams of flame at the remaining guild guards.
Captain Revka's forces scattered, seeking cover behind crates and warehouse walls. Whisperfang's chains provided some protection, but the shadow couldn't be everywhere. Another guard fell, burned badly enough that Revka had to pull him from the line entirely.
Seven functional guards remaining.
Elias felt control slipping. His shadows were reaching their limits—shadows could endure much, but not infinitely. Shade's form was flickering, less solid than before. Crimson's patterns had degraded to basic shapes. Whisperfang's chains moved sluggishly. Ember was barely maintaining coherence against three Flamebearers' coordinated assault.
Only Hunger remained relatively fresh, but using it aggressively meant risking lives—the memory-shadow could erase combat capability, but its appetite was difficult to control under stress.
Through his connection with the shadows, Elias felt their individual conditions:
Shade: exhausted, form destabilizing, but still loyal and fighting.
Crimson: calculating desperately for solutions that didn't exist.
Whisperfang: chains strained nearly to breaking, but refusing to yield.
Ember: struggling against the fundamental challenge of fire fighting fire, identity fragmenting under pressure.
Hunger: alert but uncertain, its new archival purpose warring with original destructive nature.
And beneath them all, the Fifth's resonance—stronger now, nearly manifested, almost ready to be bound properly. But binding during this chaos would be disaster. Elias knew that intellectually, even as desperation whispered otherwise.
The Seventh Shadow's presence returned, more insistent this time.
Bind me and this ends. Bind me and your shadows stabilize. Bind me and those guards live.
"No," Elias said aloud, though the temptation burned. "I won't compromise the bindings I have for power I'm not ready to wield."
Commander Vex heard him, misinterpreting the refusal. "Talking to yourself? That's concerning. Perhaps you're more unstable than our intelligence suggested."
He gestured, and twenty operatives surged forward simultaneously—too many for Elias's exhausted shadows to intercept effectively.
The Turning Point
What happened next occurred in seconds but felt like hours.
The operatives breached the defensive perimeter, weapons raised, moving to overwhelm through sheer numbers. Captain Revka's remaining guards braced for impact, knowing they couldn't hold.
Elias made a choice.
"Hunger—feed. Combat capability only. All of them."
The memory-shadow surged forward with terrifying speed, chains trailing behind. It flowed through the attacking operatives like smoke, tendrils brushing each one for just an instant.
And their combat training vanished.
Twenty Solneran operatives suddenly forgot how to hold weapons, how to maintain formation, how to fight. They stumbled, confused, staring at swords they no longer understood. It wasn't permanent—their muscle memory would rebuild eventually—but in that moment, they were neutralized completely.
The sudden shift broke the Solneran momentum. Commander Vex's eyes widened, recognizing what had happened.
"Memory-shadow. You actually controlled its feeding precisely." His tone carried grudging respect. "That's remarkably sophisticated for your level of experience."
"I've had good teachers." Elias felt the strain of Hunger's feeding, the shadow's appetite satisfied but demanding constant attention to prevent it from taking more than authorized. "This is your last warning, Commander. Leave now, while your forces are still mostly intact."
Vex considered. Twenty of his operatives were temporarily incapacitated. His three Flamebearers were powerful but couldn't carry the entire assault alone. The tactical situation had shifted from inevitable victory to costly grind.
But he hadn't achieved his objective yet.
"Flamebearers—coordinated strike. Target the binder directly."
All three Flamebearers attacked simultaneously. Caius from the right, Serina from the left, Kellan from above—three different attack vectors, all converging on Elias's position.
It was too much. His shadows couldn't intercept all three angles. Elias dove for cover, but flames caught his left arm, burning through Tam's coat sleeve and searing flesh beneath.
Pain exploded up his arm, sharp and overwhelming. Through sheer instinct, Elias rolled behind a warehouse pillar, clutching the burn.
Captain Revka threw a smoke canister, creating obscuring cloud that bought seconds of respite. The guild guards used those seconds to reposition, dragging wounded further back.
But everyone could see the truth now: Elias was injured, his shadows exhausted, his position untenable.
Commander Vex pressed the advantage. "Final offer, binder. Surrender and receive medical treatment. Your guards go free, your shadows are studied but not destroyed. This is the best outcome available."
Elias looked at his burned arm, at his faltering shadows, at the exhausted guild guards who'd trusted him to make this work.
He looked at the Solneran forces—still numbering over thirty functional operatives plus three Flamebearers, barely depleted despite everything he'd thrown at them.
And he felt the Seventh Shadow waiting, patient and terrible, offering power that might change everything.
The Codex pulsed against his chest, its message clear even without opening: Binding now means losing yourself. Choose.
Through the communication mirror, Mira's voice: "Elias, northern canal position has fallen. Eastern road is about to break. If you don't do something—"
The weight of impossible choices pressed down. Surrender meant Solneran control—not just of him, but of Grimwald. Fighting meant more casualties, more burns, possibly his death and the deaths of those protecting him. Binding the Seventh meant power but risked everything he'd built, every principle he'd established.
There were no good options.
Only choices and their consequences.
Elias looked at Shade, loyal to the end despite exhaustion. At Crimson, still calculating against impossible odds. At Whisperfang, chains strained but unbroken. At Ember, fighting its nature to protect his. At Hunger, serving its new purpose despite original corruption.
Six shadows. Six pieces of power he'd claimed and integrated. Six partners in this desperate struggle.
Was it enough?
Could it be enough?
The moment stretched, crystalline and sharp, while smoke swirled and flames crackled and an entire city's future hung in balance.
And Elias, nineteen years old and terrified and determined, made his choice.
"Captain Revka," he said quietly. "Get your wounded to safety. Fall back to secondary positions."
"What about you?"
"I'm staying. But there's no point in more of your people dying for this." He met her eyes. "Please. Save who you can."
Revka's scarred face showed conflict, but she was a professional. She recognized retreat when it was necessary. "Fall back!" she called to her remaining guards. "Extract wounded, move to rally point delta!"
The guild guards withdrew, carrying their injured with practiced efficiency. Within seconds, only Elias and his six shadows remained at the wharf's edge.
Commander Vex watched the retreat with approval. "Pragmatic. I respect that you didn't sacrifice them needlessly."
"I'm not surrendering," Elias said, pulling himself to his feet despite the pain in his arm. "But there's no reason for them to die in what comes next."
"What comes next is your defeat. You've delayed us admirably, but now—"
A sound echoed across the water. Bells, ringing from the city's center. Not alarm bells or emergency signals—something else entirely.
Vex turned, frowning. "What is that?"
Through the communication mirror, Mira's voice carried surprise and hope: "Elias, you need to hear this. The City Council just made an announcement. Grimwald is declaring formal resistance to Solneran occupation. They're mobilizing the full city guard and calling for civilian support. It's not just you anymore—it's the entire city."
Elias felt something shift in his chest. Not just his fight. Not just his responsibility. The city had made its choice.
And that changed everything.
He looked at Commander Vex with renewed determination. "You wanted to face Grimwald? Now you actually will. This isn't one binder against your forces anymore. It's a city that's decided occupation isn't acceptable."
For the first time, Vex's professional confidence wavered.
And in the distance, from multiple directions, came the sound of approaching reinforcements—not guild security, not organized forces, but citizens of Grimwald who'd decided enough was enough.
The battle had just begun.