The work was granular, maddening, and endless. The "Interim Coordinating Council" operated from a salvaged logistics office. Regina Altureign was its unshakeable spine, allocating scarce materials, deploying teams of confused engineers, and publishing daily bulletins of stark facts. Rex Aurelian was its voice, translating logistical nightmares into "pioneering phases" and "collective breakthroughs."
Sage and Valentine were its nervous system, diagnosing the agonies of a city built for a different reality.
"The old filtration plant in Sector Six is trying to process unified Vitae," Valentine reported, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's not separating the magic; it's amplifying it. The workers report that the water is… telling them stories. Auditory hallucinations. We need to shut it down before someone tries to drink a fairy tale and forgets to breathe."
Lysander and his network, now dubbed the "Hydrologic Choir," were its immune system, traveling to sickness points. They used portable resonators to calm localized magical surges and slowly, patiently, began sketching Stillpoint Spin patterns onto the foundations of critical infrastructure, encouraging the wild Vitae to flow in harmonious, rather than destructive, paths.
Sage's role was problem-solver. His imagination, once a liability, was now a vital tool. When a power station began growing crystalline flowers that short-circuited everything, he theorized they were drawing on the energy harmonic. He had Lysander's team tune a resonator to the water harmonic nearby. The flowers wilted; the lights flickered back on, softer, gentler.
It was a constant, exhausting puzzle with a million pieces, and the picture kept changing.