Under The Oak Tree Light Novel 소설 & 이야기

“No turning back.” We move forward. The clearing looks exactly as I imagined growing up, though imagining it was something we did to scare ourselves at night. Three willow trees bow toward each other, forming a natural dome. Light doesn’t pass through their branches. The air smells of nightshade, damp earth, and something metallic… magic. And sitting beneath the center tree on twisted roots are the Old Ones. Three of them. Three wolves whose bodies are human but whose eyes carry centuries of knowing. Elder Marrow: the silent one.

The sound of a baby's soft cry filled the meadow. Sora's face glowed with kindness, and Sage felt a warmth in his chest. She sat under a big oak tree, leaning against the trunk, and gazed lovingly at the baby girl in her arms. The baby, Octavia, grabbed Sora's hair with her tiny fingers and giggled softly.

Their sprawling branches danced gracefully to the tunes of the nocturnal breeze, casting playful, shifting shadows on the ground below, creating a mesmerizing dance of light and darkness. Within the heart of this verdant sanctuary, Silas had pinpointed a location revered by his kind and known intimately only to a handful of werewolves: a serene clearing, protected and encircled by venerable oak trees. These mighty oaks, having braved countless storms and witnessed numerous cycles of life and death, bore the marks of time on their gnarled barks. If one paid close attention, it felt as if these trees whispered sagas of bygone eras, their hushed voices carrying tales of valor, love, and betraya

MAXINE We made our way to the old oak tree near the lake. The moon was hanging low in the sky. It cast a pale glow on the water. I could see the massive oak tree in the distance, its branches twisting like fingers. This was where it was all going to end. We reached the base of the tree. The ground beneath our feet is uneven and covered in fallen leaves. Mr. Grayson pulled out the scroll from the small box containing the last piece. He brought the other pieces from his bag one after the other.

Amelia's POV As I made my way through the forest, the familiar sight of the towering oak tree greeted me like an old friend. Its gnarled branches reached out to me, casting dappled shadows upon the forest floor as if beckoning me closer. With each step, the soft crunch of leaves beneath my feet echoed through the tranquil air, a comforting melody that soothed my restless soul. The canopy above filtered the sunlight into a dappled mosaic of light and shadow, casting a sense of enchantment over the secluded grove where the ancient oak stood sentinel.

"Many people helped bring this place to life, you know? It's just a place where Omegas like us can find a purpose." Torches are hanging on the walls and that's it for lighting outside the buildings. Inside them, a few people are using candles, and some even have lightbulbs. We walk past a few small homes and keep going until we reach a cavern called The Omegatrix. It's been built under the massive roots of a tree. I arch a brow at the name. "What does that even mean?"

The path beneath their feet grew uneven, the forest growing thicker and more ancient as they walked, until they arrived at the base of the oldest oak tree in Valenwood. The massive oak towered above them, its gnarled branches stretching out like protective arms, creating a canopy that filtered the moonlight. Caius stopped beneath the tree, his shoulders tense as he exhaled a slow breath. Lira stood beside him, unsure of what to say, the weight of the prophecy hanging between them.

"I have my eyes on you" I scoffed. What is it with this witch? Her eyes on me? I can't believe her gut. But then again, what does Jo's mean. "I know what happens beneath The Oak." The compound was popularly known as The Oak. We have the Lady of the oak who was Sumaya, as well as the princes of the Oak. The servants and the slaves of the Oak who were also known as the Oak's commodity. But how could anyone claim to know what happens beneath The Oak? It sounds absurd. Especially the fact that their couldn't be anything beneath the plantation or the numerous chambers.

Not with fire. But with light. A soft golden shimmer pulsed beneath the charred bark, veins of memory awakening. Leaves unfolded—not flames, not embers, but living radiance, glowing like a thousand whispered stories. The roots hummed beneath Ori’s feet. The air held its breath. Ori gasped. “It’s not hot,” he whispered to no one. And then, as if the tree could hear thought as easily as breath, a voice rose in the clearing—gentle, neither female nor male, neither old nor young.

The crack spidered through the wood, hairline veins that shone silver in the lamplight. “Shit,” Aya said. We leaned in. The pulse made the grain of the table shimmer, and for a breath I thought I saw a map ghosting beneath varnish: a river curving like a snake, a ruined tower circled with that same jagged sigil, a name whispered by the shard — Hollow Oak. The syllables bled away when I blinked, stubborn as a dream slipping from memory. “You’re making it up,” Aya muttered, because her voice had to stave off the seed of fear. It trembled once and then steadied.