Guardian of the Great Oak
Book One...
GUARDIAN OF THE GREAT OAK
Book One of The Luminara Chronicles
At the heart of the forest stands the Great Oak—ancient, living, and bound to the balance of all realms. It is said the Oak remembers everything: every promise made beneath its branches, every shadow cast by forgotten fear.
Jeremy, a quiet gnome content with a simple life and a loyal hedgehog named Matilda, never imagined he would be called to guard it.
When the Mist—an ancient, consuming darkness long believed sealed—begins to stir beneath the land, the Great Oak chooses Jeremy as its reluctant protector. Thrust into a world of hidden magic and old alliances, Jeremy must navigate forces far older than himself, aided by Princess Selene, the golden faerie of celestial light; Bram, the Shadow Lord who understands darkness better than most; Kael, the Glowcap King whose legion rises from living roots, and Cordelia, Queen of the Mer people; and the watchful guardians of forest and sky.
As the Mist spreads, draining life from the land, the guardians discover that it cannot be destroyed—only contained. Victory comes not through strength alone, but through unity, sacrifice, and courage drawn from unexpected places.
When the Spring—the heart of the land’s magic—falls silent, Jeremy must face the truth of guardianship: that protecting the world does not mean standing unafraid but standing anyway. Through loss, resilience, and quiet heroism, the story unfolds, though not without cost.
Guardian of the Great Oak is a story of ordinary courage in an extraordinary world, where even the smallest guardian can carry the weight of an ancient promise—and where the greatest magic is the choice to remember, to protect, and to endure.
Journey One, An Ordinary Morning (Mostly)
Jeremy woke up slowly, as he always did, in the gentle warmth beneath the roots of the Great Oak. His awareness immediately turned to the soft rhythmic snoring beside him. It was his little hedgehog, Matilda. She was curled into a perfect round puff of spines and contentment. He stretched, lifting his arms as high as his rotund little body allowed, joints popping in a chorus of tiny crackles that echoed up into the hollowed ceiling.
“Oh, darling, glad to see you too,” he murmured, rubbing behind her ear with a tenderness that came from years of shared mornings just like this. Matilda responded with a happy chirrup, blinking sleepily as the little gnome leaned in and rubbed noses with her, their usual greeting since she was no bigger than a walnut.
He swung his legs over the bed, a stout nest of quilts and moss stuffing, and slid his feet into his slippers. They were woolen and patched many times over, worn smooth from shuffling across the polished root floors. Jeremy tugged on his scarlet robe, cinched it around his middle, and pulled his favorite pointed hat down around his ears. The hat had once been a vibrant shade of dark, lush, green but had faded into something gentler over the centuries, embroidered with a favorite family Gnomish saying and a stitched acorn adornment. Matilda loved his hat and had chewed on it as a baby.
“Brrrrr…” He wrapped his robe tighter. “Oh, Matilda, look at that; the fire went out during the night. No wonder it’s so chiweee in here.” His breath puffed in front of him like a faint morning mist. Matilda gave an indignant squeak at the cold. Jeremy, seeing her little spines quiver, immediately wrapped her in a down comforter the size of a bath towel, tucking her like a beloved doll into the cradle they kept close to the stone hearth. The cradle, carved from a knot of oak and lined with thistledown, rocked gently as she shifted.
“Don’t fret, little one,” he promised, patting her gently. “We’ll have the fire crackling in just a moment.”
The heart of the home, a deep, robust, stone hearth was built right into the massive tree’s root system. The fireplace waited for him; Jeremy crouched, joints creaking, and gathered the materials for a proper morning fire. He took a generous tuft of cottony fluff he’d harvested when the cattails went to seed last autumn, added curls of fragrant wood shavings from his latest carpentry project, and stacked small twigs into a careful pyramid. His movements were slow, deliberate, almost ceremonial; a gnome took fire-making very seriously.
He struck his flint. A shower of sparks fell like a tiny meteor storm into the nest. “Woosh!” The fire answered eagerly, blooming into a blaze that chased the cold from every corner. Warmth curled around Jeremy’s slippers and climbed up the walls like a cat seeking a sunny patch.
“Ahhh… that’s better.” He hooked the kettle from the sink with a practiced flick and swung it onto the firebox’s iron hanger. “Tea will be ready in a flash!” Matilda perked up at once, nose twitching. The promise of warmth and breakfast always made her cheerful. Jeremy bustled about his kitchen, which was carved directly into the web of roots that supported the ancient oak above. The walls were rounded and smooth, pocked with shelves that held jars of herbs, carved bowls, and stacks of mismatched plates. Everything smelled faintly of honey, pine sap, roasted nuts, and the faint earthy scent of living wood. Soft light filtered in from a small round window, casting golden stripes across the room.
He waddled toward the root cellar, humming an old tune his father used to sing. Descending the tiny stairs, he whispered to himself, “Let’s see now… eggs, butter, jam… yes, yes.” The root cellar was packed with everything a gnome of good sense kept prepared: preserves in glass jars, bundles of dried roots, a basket of late-season apples, and shelves of small clay pots sealed with wax and labeled with his careful handwriting. He returned carrying eggs bundled in moss, a chunk of cured boar wrapped in parchment, and the prized boysenberry jam, Matilda’s favorite! She had once toppled a whole jar onto herself, turning into a purple, sticky ball of spines.
“Breakfast time, my dear,” Jeremy announced as he prepared the kitchen table. He tugged a highchair over for Matilda, a contraption built just for her with little straps, a carved seat, and acorn-shaped buttons. She scrambled into it, eager, chattering in her soft squeaks. Jeremy sliced a loaf of bread fresh from yesterday’s oven, crispy crust, soft middle, and slathered it with butter that glistened like cream. The boysenberry jam was thick and sweet, staining the bread a deep violet.
As they ate, the home seemed to glow with peace. The fire crackled, the kettle hummed, and Matilda tapped her tiny claws on the table in a rhythm only she understood. Jeremy sipped his tea slowly, savoring the quiet, savoring the ordinary. Little did he know that this morning, which began just like any other, would be the last ordinary morning for a very, very long time.
When breakfast was finished, he placed their dishes in the basin, wiped the crumbs from Matilda’s nose, and looked around their tidy home with a satisfied sigh. “Now then,” he said, hands on his ample hips. “What shall we plan for today?” He never got the chance. When all of a sudden, bang, bang, BANG! Jeremy’s hat fell off as he staggered backward in surprise. The ceiling above Jeremy trembled as though the sky itself had stumbled. Dust sifted down in a fine shower, drifting through the air like pale winter snow. A pair of dried herbs, hung from the rafters to cure, swayed violently on their twine. One sprig of wild lavender snapped loose and plopped right onto Jeremy’s bald spot.
Poor Matilda, who had just begun to nod off in her downy cradle, her belly round and warm from breakfast, shot upright with a startled squeak. Her little spines bristled in every direction, turning her usually round form into something closer to a tiny, terrified pincushion. Jeremy slapped a hand protectively over her as another thunderous THUD rattled the oak’s ancient bones. “What in the grove!” Jeremy barked, his voice cracking somewhere between outrage and alarm.
His heart thumped against his ribs like a drum. He scrambled to his feet faster than he had in decades, boots half-laced, scarf trailing behind him like a banner of panic. He clambered up the ladder to the loft window, a window carved cleverly into a natural knot of the oak, something his grandfather had considered “a fine bit of gnomish engineering.” Jeremy pressed one enormous eye to the peephole.
“Matilda, stay put! This sounds quite concerning!” He called down, attempting to sound brave and authoritative, though his voice wobbled like unset jelly. Matilda obeyed instantly, though “obeyed” might be the wrong word. She vanished beneath her comforter so quickly that only a single trembling quill stuck out from the folds.
Jeremy, affixing his hat back on his head and grabbing his glasses, to ensure he’d get a better look, drew back a corner of the curtain just enough to peer outside. And then, CRASH! A massive shape barreled through the underbrush and smashed headlong into the trunk of the Great Oak. Jeremy yelped, stumbled backward, and toppled over a footstool, his spectacles flying off and landing on his nose upside down. He blinked, disoriented, then snatched them off, flipped them the right way, and scrambled back to the window. “I’ve, never!” He sputtered. His entire mustache quivered.
He jammed the spectacles onto his face, pressing them firmly into place with one determined finger. Now properly equipped for astonishment, he peered out again. There, staggering in the clearing… A Stag. A monstrous, magnificent, impossible Monarch Stag. Its coat burned the color of autumn embers; its rack rose like an entire forest of branches, twenty points at least. The beast reared back, kicking at nothing Jeremy could see. It twisted violently, hooves gouging trenches into the earth, its breath steaming in ragged clouds.
“How? Why? What is happening?” he whispered. “What could toss a Monarch like a leaf in the wind?” In this part of the forest? I don’t understand…” Jeremy whispered. Stags of this size lived in the far frozen hills of the Northlands and rarely, rarely, traveled this deep south. Not without reason. The Stag bucked again, flung sideways by an unseen force. The very ground trembled. Bark rained from the Great Oak’s lower boughs. Beneath Jeremy’s feet, the roots groaned like old timbers bending under too much weight. Jeremy felt the ground shift beneath him, not violently, but like something ancient had drawn breath. Warmth pulsed up through the soles of his slippers. Matilda let out a nervous coo, not sure what was shifting, but sensing something.
The enormous beast finally fell, panting, its flanks rising and falling like bellows. “The… prophecy…
North’s crowned wanderer, keeper of strength,
Knows winter’s shadow will rise at length.
When hooves fall silent and night grows deep,
Awaken the kingdoms from their ancient sleep…”
The Stag hissed, his voice a deep, ancient rumble. Then the great creature collapsed fully, eyes fluttering shut. For a heartbeat Jeremy saw only the wind swirling dust around the fallen prince. And then he noticed it. A glimmer. Soft at first, almost a trick of the light. “No… certainly not…” The glimmer pulsed. Once, twice, then flared into a flash so bright Jeremy instinctively covered his face. When he lowered his arm, floating before the Great Oak was a shimmering orb of golden light, flickering and reshaping itself like a tiny star trying to remember its form. The glow sharpened. Wings unfurled like petals catching morning sun. A tiny figure emerged, radiant and regal.
Jeremy’s jaw dropped to his chest. Celestial Meadow Faeries were stories; old tales whispered at festivals, rare as the Phoenix itself. They did not appear unannounced at one’s window. Before Jeremy could think, the faerie zipped toward him, pressing tiny hands against the knot-hole, staring at him with eyes like molten gold.
“Oh dear,” Jeremy muttered, sliding down the ladder with a speed that surprised even him. He skidded into his room, tugged on his best embroidered cloak (the sapphire one, with the golden oak-leaf trim), straightened his pointed hat twice, first out of habit, second out of panic, and grabbed his rosewood staff. He inhaled deeply, attempting dignity. It came out as a squeak. Still, dignity or not, he marched outside, stepping over the Stag’s colossal front hoof, and planted himself as tall and official as his 3-foot-4-inch stature allowed. The faerie flitted between branches, gathering strength, each pass leaving tiny sparks drifting like fireflies.
“Excuse me!” Jeremy called, clearing his throat with a heroic (or attempted heroic) “Ahem!”
“Celestial Faerie, if you wouldn’t mind, please join me.”
Selene whispered, almost to herself,
“Light of the sky-born, shining through fear,
Guide those the Forest has chosen to hear.
Four lands divided must answer the call,
For one fading star cannot banish the fall…”
Jeremy stood frozen, unsure whether to speak or faint. But before he could so much as squeak, the Great Oak whispered, not aloud, but through its roots, through the soil, through memory itself. And as Jeremy stared at the tiny, radiant faerie, he felt deep in his bones that something older than the forest itself was waking.
The Great Oak had always been more than a tree. Every kingdom knew that, even those who pretended not to care for forest matters. For as long as stories had been told in Luminara, the Great Oak served as the heart of the land, a silent watchtower woven with ancient roots that touched every corner of the realm. And though few ever traveled to its grove, all knew one truth, when a Guardian is chosen, the Oak whispers their name.
Selene had heard it first. She’d been in the western sky, guiding the early stars back into their constellations, when a tremor of silver light rippled through the wind. A whisper brushed her ear, soft, urgent, unmistakable, “Guardian… seek the Guardian…”
At the same moment, far in the North, Prince Antswiler had staggered in the aftermath of the Mist’s attack. Wounded, panting, fighting to keep his legs beneath him, he’d felt a pulse travel through the earth beneath his hooves. Not magic of his people. Magic older than them all. A message in the soil itself, “Go to the Oak. Go to the Guardian.”
Neither faerie nor stag knew why the Oak had spoken, nor why its voice carried so far and so clearly, but they obeyed without hesitation. No creature of old Luminara ignored the call of the Great Oak. Its word had been law long before any kingdom had learned to speak. And so Selene had flown. And Antswiler had run until his legs nearly buckled. And together, though they arrived from different edges of the Realm, they reached the grove at the same moment, drawn by fate, by fear, and by the Oak’s ancient summons. There, nestled beneath its massive roots, they found Jeremy.
Not heroic. Not imposing. Just a startled, round-bellied Gnome wiping crumbs from his beard. The Guardian the Oak had chosen. And when Jeremy finally stepped forward, dusting himself off as though meeting royalty was an everyday inconvenience, the Oak gave one long, low groan, like an old giant rising from slumber, and every leaf on its branches shivered in agreement. This is the one. The Guardian of Luminara. Jeremy stood and addressed her, “Excuse me, Celestial Faerie…”
Selene stopped mid-air and spun toward him in a swirl of glittering light. “Princess Selene, Bearer of the Celestial Crown of Light,” she corrected, her tiny voice carrying all the authority of a queen addressing a peasant. “If you wouldn’t mind.” Jeremy bowed so quickly his hat nearly fell off. “Yes, Princess... um… yes indeed. What brings you this deep into the forest and what business do you have with the Stag? And?” … Before she could answer, Prince Antswiler moaned and lurched to his feet, antlers scraping the low branches. Matilda, having crept out the door unnoticed, was perched beneath a butterfly bush, eyes wide, small paws clasped in anxious fascination. The Stag took a step, misjudged his own strength, and stumbled sideways with a tremendous crash.
“Matilda, no!” Jeremy cried, but Selene was faster. A blast of golden light burst outward, surrounding the hedgehog in a shimmering bubble just as the Prince of the North toppled squarely onto her. “Matilda!” Jeremy yelped, racing forward and rolling the Stag’s great shoulder back. “Little one!” A soft chorus of happy hedgehog chatter drifted from above.
Jeremy looked up to see Princess Selene floating serenely, holding Matilda high in the air in a cocoon of light, the hedgehog glowing like a tiny lantern. “Be not afraid, Guardian,” the Princess said gently. “Your companion is unharmed.”
Jeremy sagged with relief so profound his knees buckled. “Matty, you should not snoop,” he scolded lightly, voice cracking with adrenaline. “Spying is dangerous! And very impolite!”
Matilda blinked at him innocently and scurried back indoors, and dove head first into her little comforter, pine needles and dried oak leaves dragging behind her. Jeremy sighed, pressed a hand to his chest, and sank onto a nearby tree root.
“Hopefully,” he muttered, “that’s the end of our morning’s excitement.” He glanced up at Selene and the exhausted Stag Prince. “Can someone please tell me what this is all about? … I’ll make tea.”
Jeremy went indoors, plopped into his favorite kitchen chair and rubbed his temples. “Hopefully we can all catch our breath! Tea is what we need… tea fixes everything!” The Great Oak answered with silence. Then, with a sound like a giant taking its first breath in a thousand years, the Great Oak exhaled. Leaves shivered. Roots hummed. Selene bowed her head. The Stag lowered his great antlers. A single word drifted from the ancient heart of the tree, “Guardian.” and the morning, once so ordinary, became the beginning of everything.