Malzaun's voice carried across the space. "Shields up on my mark. Anyone who shifts position during transit risks separation. Stay together."
"Archers, secure your quivers. Last thing we need is arrows falling mid-transport."
"Front line, weapons sheathed until we land. No accidents."
The instructions flowed smoothly and practiced. These weren't conscripts being herded into position. They were veterans who understood magical logistics.
I walked toward the center of the formation, my guard shifting to accommodate without breaking their protective circle. The stone beneath my feet vibrated with barely contained energy. Five hundred heartbeats, five hundred breath patterns, five hundred sources of heat and life compressed into a space barely large enough to contain them.
Daemon materialized at my side. "How much time do you need?"
"Two minutes to establish the working. Maybe less."
"You have it." He turned to the assembled forces. "Final check. If there are injuries or conditions that might destabilize during transport, speak now."
Silence.
"Loose equipment?"
A soldier near the back shifted, securing a knife that had come loose.
"Anything else?"
Nothing.
Daemon looked at me. "They're yours."
The weight of command settled across my shoulders like physical pressure. I'd never led anyone. Never been responsible for more than my own survival.
But these people weren't asking me to lead. They were asking me to move them, to use the power I spent months fearing and only weeks learning to control.
My inexperience meant nothing against the years these soldiers had spent waiting for me. It meant nothing against the reality of Daemon’s curse.
I stepped fully into the center of the protective circle and closed my eyes.
The Veil rose to meet me like an old friend.
I didn't force it. Didn't grab or pull or demand. I just touched the fabric of reality with the gentlest pressure and asked.
The response came immediately. It was warm and willing, ready to bend if I gave it proper direction.
Then something strange happened.
My sight traveled through the Veil. It took me to the capital gates. I saw the broad plaza where Kaelen's scouts had reported minimal guard presence during shift changes. The specific coordinates, mapped and confirmed through days of intelligence gathering.
Then I returned to the space around me. The compressed formations. The exact boundaries where the soldiers ended and empty air began.
Not five hundred people.
One space.
One boundary.
One shift.
I began to compress the distance between here and there, folding reality like cloth until the two locations pressed against each other, with only the thinnest membrane separating them.
The Veil resisted, not out of malice, but because what I asked violated fundamental laws. Space didn't fold easily. Distance meant something.
