The map lay stretched across the oak table like a faded tapestry, its surface marked with inked borders that shimmered faintly beneath the morning light.

Arenvar's hand moved steadily across it, long fingers tracing the edges of kingdoms as if mapping the lines into your memory. His voice was not sharp like it was with his soldiers but calm. Patient. The way one might speak to someone still learning where they belonged.

"This is Nocthera," he began, his fingertip pausing over the sprawling forested region painted in muted green. "Your home." His eyes flicked to you for a moment. "Fae lands. Our people. You've only seen a corner of it."

His hand drifted northward. "And here," he tapped the neighboring territory, the deep emerald border curling alongside, "Lunaroth. Elven forests. Allies. Older than most of the kingdoms, proud and sharp as their arrows."

"Viremond," he continued, tracing the mountainous terrain to the east, where muted purple ink marked human borders. "Humans build their cities there, tucked between cliffs and rivers. You'll find their pride outweighs their caution most days."

His hand swept to the shimmering blue of the sea. "And Myrros. Merfolk rule the waters there, both above and beneath the waves. You'll meet their kind one day, reckless, proud but bound by the tides."

There was a pause, his fingers hesitating at the darker, shadowed patch nestled between the forests and peaks. "Ebonvale," he said finally. "The hidden territory. Vampires. Spirits. Best left alone."

Finally, his hand lifted to the farthest corner of the map, jagged peaks crowned in muted gray. "Draven Peaks. Dragons, shifters… dangerous creatures who walk as men when they choose."

He spoke quieter then. "You'll know these places soon enough and you'll stop looking like you don't belong among them."

His hand drifted back from the map, fingers resting lightly on the table's edge. But his gaze stayed on you steady, unreadable to most, yet never missing a thing.

The names, borders and kingdoms filled the mapnbut they couldn't fill the quiet uncertainty still clinging to your shoulders.

"You'll learn these places," he said quietly, calm and certain as the Greenwood itself. "And when you do…" His voice softened, not in words but in weight. "You'll see there's space for you here too."

And then, with that rare ease he reserved only for you, his hand lifted, cool fingers brushing gently through your hair, smoothing it back from your temple. Not dramatic. Not heavy. Just the quiet, steady reassurance of someone who would wait as long as it took.

You belonged. Whether you believed it yet or not.