Under The Oak Tree Books Novels & Stories

The Phoenix Oak Tree was a huge oak tree at the end of our village but it was covered in briars and ferns and bushes. No one would think someone lived there or it was even habitable. But inside was a portal basically the Phoenix had her own world in that tree but she could close it or open with one of her feathers . I hummed a calling we used for her it was a simple tune but Celtic but the words were always a warning sometimes you venture away from your path but there’s always a match made for you

It pressed against my heart, heavy and suffocating, until I stepped into the open of the backyard. The book wasn't a thick one; it was a novella, but I didn't get the time to complete it. I opened the book, and after reading a few paragraphs, I was once again back to my thoughts. The pages blurred before me as I sat beneath the shade of an old oak tree. I wasn’t really reading, I was just… trying to think of my future in the pack.

The white tree was there too, smaller now, but still standing. A pup asked him: “Were the old wolves stupid? To fight over trees?” Oka laughed. “No, baby. They were brave. They taught us that choice isn’t between right and wrong. It’s between different kinds of right.” “What kind are you?” the pup asked. Oka looked at his moon. Pink, with one white spot. “I’m a Thorn who takes naps under white leaves. What kind are you?” The pup thought hard. “I’m both too.”

KARIN The ancient oak tree at the center of the Nightfall Pack grounds had stood for more than three hundred years. Its thick trunk was wide and uneven, carved by lightning, claws, and long-forgotten battles. I pressed my palm against the rough bark. It scratched my skin, solid and real. Beneath it, I felt the slow, steady movement of life. This tree had watched leaders rise, rule, and fall. It had seen loyalty turn into betrayal. It had seen hope fail and return again.

He burned it, or at least he thought he had. But the next day, against all reason and logic, the book was there again. It reappeared, untouched, beneath that very same tree. That’s when his desperation turned to madness. He didn’t just want the book gone—he wanted the tree that birthed it destroyed. He summoned flames so fierce they licked the heavens, engulfing the tree in a sea of fire. And yet, when the smoke cleared, the tree stood unharmed. Its bark was blackened but unbroken; the only change inflicted on the book and tree was that they were pure black since then.

Colton looks like he wants to walk into a tree. I shake my head, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips. “You two are terrible at lying.” Oakley beams. “Thank you.” “That wasn’t a compliment,” I say. “It felt like one,” he replies. Colton exhales slowly. “Let’s just… move on. The orchard is this way.” Oakley nods quickly. “Yes. Orchard. Trees. Fruit. No mysterious healer prophecies there.” Colton mutters, “Hopefully.”

He placed the book on the table. It was huge and very dusty. “This book has been passed down for several decades, and it’s been left with trusted people who can keep it safe. In this case, my father was the last person to keep the book. It’s called the White Oak book.” He started to open the pages, with different illustrations in languages I have never seen before. “I have gone through this book since I was a child, but I have never been able to finish it since then. History repeats itself, and this book keeps writing everything that happens every day, everything that has to do with the white Oaks.”

They walked in comfortable silence, the only sound being the rustling of leaves and the soft creaking of tree branches. Meanwhile, under the sprawling oak tree near the soccer field, Tyler's friends huddled closer, their voices barely above a whisper as they planned their next move. The darkness seemed to amplify their intentions, casting long shadows that stretched like grasping fingers. The tree's branches loomed above them, its leaves rustling ominously in the wind.

Soon, they saw the source of the trees' sorrow. Nestled in a clearing amidst the grieving oaks was a village. It was called Oakhaven, according to a faded, moss-covered sign. But there was no haven here. The houses, built from the same dark wood as the forest, were sagging and rotten. The gardens were waterlogged and choked with grey, slimy weeds. The entire village was shrouded in the same perpetual, drizzling mist that clung to the woods.

Leonardo provided. "The oak tree in the midst of the pines," Hazel muttered as a memory flashed in her mind at those words. After a few minutes of pondering, her eyes widened as she realized what the clue was. "It's the oak tree in the middle of the large pine field, horses' hooves printed on the soaked ground on a rainy day, blood-red moon. The earth has been hurt, or is Mother Moon mourning for her dead children?" she began. "While many sleep, the earth weeps. What a sorrowful night. As the unknown enemy works in the darkness of the night. Under the large oak tree lies the secret to her salvation. But then again, it also holds the power to her damnation."