Coming Back as Enemy's Luna

43. MAP

= Amara =

Caryl settled into the role of my personal assistant with surprising ease. There was no awkward transition, no hesitation, no learning curve anyone could point out. One day she was simply there—efficient, observant, and already anticipating what I needed before I asked.

She was only two years younger than me, but the gap felt nonexistent when it came to competence. If anything, she often moved like someone who’d lived twice as long within the territory’s walls. Effective didn’t quite cover it. Having someone who knew every bend in the roads, every hidden passage, every forgotten corner of Veyrath was an advantage I hadn’t realized I was missing.

It made sense once she told me why.

Caryl was the daughter of a vendor—someone who had lived by routes, by trade paths, by movement. As a child, she’d wandered freely, trailing caravans and deliveries, slipping into places most people never bothered to notice. By the time she grew up, Veyrath wasn’t just a territory to her. It was a map etched into memory.

“Luna, I’ve finally got it!”

Her voice cut through my thoughts as she appeared in front of me, eyes bright with excitement, a stack of parchment clutched to her chest like a victory prize.

We were in the library. A handful of students occupied scattered tables, their heads bent low over books. Yet a wide, deliberate space surrounded us, as if an invisible boundary had been drawn.

No one dared sit too close.

That, however, barely registered. I’d grown used to the quiet distance, the way people instinctively kept their space around me. It wasn’t what had brought me here.

My focus was singular.

I needed the map of Veyrath.

I mean, I had seen it before, back when I was still in Gravemire—but only in passing. Only enough to understand borders and choke points, never enough to truly know it. This time was different. I wanted the details. After listening to Caryl recount her childhood adventures, I found myself wanting more.

More of Veyrath.

“Good work, Caryl. Let me see,” I said, leaning forward.

She carefully unrolled the map and spread it across the table between us. The parchment whispered as it flattened, weighted at the corners, and the moment my eyes landed on it, something in me stilled.

The map was beautiful.

Every ridge and river was etched with deliberate care. Forest lines weren’t just shaded—they flowed. Villages were marked with symbols that hinted at history, not just location. Even the lesser-known paths were mapped, thin lines threading through the territory like veins.

I stared, genuinely awed.

Back when I’d been their enemy, Veyrath had been nothing more than a name on a report. A hostile land defined by threat and strategy, reduced to a handful of facts meant to be exploited or avoided. Now, seeing it laid bare in such careful detail, I realized how little I had truly understood.

This wasn’t just territory.

It was a living, breathing place.

And strangely enough, that realization sparked another thought.

Gravemire.

Maybe I should have a map prepared for Mikael, too—something just as detailed. Something honest. If he expected me to understand this land, then perhaps it was only fair that I offered him the same window into mine.

I hummed softly, considering it.

Yes. That might be a good idea.

“I think it’s a bit outdated. Some of the newer structures aren’t marked here.” Caryl tilted her head, studying me. “Still, this is the most recent copy I could find.”

She paused, then added lightly, “But why do you even need it? You don’t need a map when I can just show you around myself.”

There was a thread of curiosity woven into her tone, her eyes sharp with unspoken questions. I answered her with a small smile before turning my attention back to the parchment laid out in front of me.

“I know I could ask you to guide me,” I said. “But it helps to see the territory laid out like this. To understand it as a whole.” I glanced up at her briefly, amused. “Visualization matters, don’t you think?”

My gaze drifted back to the map, tracing the lines and symbols that defined Veyrath. The territory was divided into districts—five of them in total—each marked by borders drawn with careful precision. One district immediately stood out. It claimed the largest stretch of land, yet it was dotted with only a handful of small house symbols, scattered and sparse.

Farmland.

Wide, open fields dominated that section of the territory, interrupted by sketched lakes and winding rivers. Dense forests framed the edges, their dark shading suggesting depth and secrecy rather than simple woodland. The land felt alive even in ink, as though the map was only a shadow of something vast and breathing.

And then something else caught my eye.

Tucked near the edge of the largest district was a small, deliberate drawing—easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.

I leaned closer.

“This,” I said slowly, tapping the symbol with my finger. “You have a temple here?”

I looked up at Caryl, my curiosity sharpening.