The Alpha's Secret Luna Chapter 94: Under the Oak Tree

Chapter 93: Under the Oak Tree

The air between them was still tight from Brynhild’s huff and Lysander’s warning, but the two guards waiting at their sides looked on patiently. Snow crunched under boots, cloaks, and runners alike, the morning light brightening the silver and blue strears stretched between the houses behind them.

Lysander exhaled through his nose, a visible stream of warmth in the cold air. His eyes flicked from Brynhild’s stubborn expression to the guards’ expectant ones. With a resigned sigh, he inclined his head. "We’d appreciate the escort," he said evenly, his tone clipped but not unkind.

Brynhild muttered sothing under her breath, her fingers tightening around the small parcel in her lap. After a beat, she raised her head just enough to add, "Fine. We’d appreciate the escort, thank you." The words were soft enough to nearly vanish in the hush of the morning. Then, quieter still, she leaned toward Lysander and murmured, "Sorry."

It wasn’t much, but it carried the rare weight of Brynhild’s humility. Sophia, walking at her side, caught it clearly. Seeing Brynhild’s fingers slip over Lysander’s own for just a heartbeat drew a small, unexpected smile to Sophia’s face.

The guards moved into place without a word, one taking point ahead of the group, the other falling into step behind. With that, they began their slow trek toward the shrine.

There were eight people including them in their group.

Sophia had walked the path to the shrine before, but never with so much ceremony. The pathway was now a river of movent: families with their arms looped together, elders walking slowly with canes, children scampering between legs only to be shushed. So carried small bundles wrapped in cloth, so held candles whose wax dripped onto gloved hands.

The decorations here mirrored those in the pack’s compound, but richer sohow. Lanterns stood at even intervals along the road, their carved runes glowing faintly under the sunlight instead of casting light of their own. Dark blue and silver ribbons hung between pine poles, bowing slightly with the weight of frosted snow.

Sophia glanced sideways at Brynhild. Her cloak was fur-lined and her braids peeked out from under her hood, neat but not fussy. She sat upright in the wheelchair, chin lifted, twin sword hilts just barely visible beneath her cloak. Even like this, bundled in furs, with Lysander’s hands steady on the chair’s handles, she looked every inch the captain she had been.

Lysander pushed steadily, his stride asured, the runners creaking over the now smoothened pathway. He wasn’t smiling, but there was sothing softer in his face now, as though Brynhild’s apology had cracked his gruff shell just enough to let a little light through.

Sophia had always thought the shrine looked older than anything else she’d seen in the pack.

On a pedestal just before the door stood the statue of a robed figure. People moved up to it one by one, touching its base, bowing their heads, or whispering prayers into cupped hands.

Sophia slowed, expecting Brynhild and Lysander to stop at the statue or at least pause to go inside. Instead, they passed it entirely. The guards didn’t question it, neither did the others with them. Instead they moved towrds a clearing just beyond the shrine.

Curious, Sophia quickened her steps to keep pace. "We’re not going into the shrine?" she asked.

Brynhild tilted her head toward her, her breath misting as she spoke. "Not now. Since there are more people here, we’ll head to the Oak Tree first."

Sophia blinked at the na. "The Oak Tree?"

"It’s been here since before our pack," Brynhild said. "So say it was planted by the first settlers. Others think it just grew here on its own, drawn to the power of the shrine. Either way, we hang our prayers there now."

They ca out into the clearing, and Sophia stopped short.

The tree stood like a sentinel at the center of the snow-dusted field, its trunk wide enough that even five n together couldn’t encircle it. Its branches arched high and far, heavy with deep green needles rid in white, snow catching on the tips like diamonds. Long cords of blue and silver ribbon stretched from the lower boughs to stakes in the ground, forming a soft circle around it.

And hanging from its branches were hundreds...maybe thousands..of small objects. They swayed gently in the breeze: pieces of polished wood, folded slips of parchnt, carved shapes strung with cord. So glittered faintly with rune-ink, others were plain, but all of them turned like the murmurs of a crowd. It was quiet here despite the number of people; families stood in small groups, so weeping, so whispering, so simply looking up at the branches.

Sophia drew a slow breath, her chest tight with awe. "It’s beautiful," she whispered.

Brynhild’s expression softened as she looked up at it. "It is, isn’t it?" She reached into her lap and opened the small parchnt Lysander had given her. Inside were two flat, pale wooden discs no larger than her palm, each drilled with a small hole at the top and threaded with a piece of cord. A faint rune had been burned into one side, the other left blank.

Brynhild took one and passed the other to Sophia. "Here."

Sophia turned the disc over in her hands. The wood was smooth but warm, as if it had been handled many tis before. "What’s this for?"

"They’re called prayer tokens," Brynhild said. "You write a prayer or a wish on one side, then hang it on the tree. So people leave gifts with it, so only words. It doesn’t matter what the prayer is. For soone you lost, for soone you want to protect, for sothing you hope to find. It’s not just for grief."

Sophia glanced at the smooth blank space of her token. "Do they...co true?"

Brynhild smiled faintly. "Sotis. Sotis it’s enough just to say them out loud, to put them sowhere you can’t take them back. The tree listens. The shrine listens. Or maybe it’s just that we do."

Lysander adjusted his grip on the wheelchair handles. "She’s starting to sound like Madam Tyler again," he muttered, but there was no real bite to it. Brynhild only smirked and squeezed his hand.

Sophia’s fingers tightened around the token. "I don’t know if I should. I an... I haven’t..." Her throat worked once. "I haven’t lost anyone. Not like you guys have."

Brynhild tilted her head, her eyes warm but firm. "Then write sothing else. A hope, a prayer, a promise. It doesn’t matter if it’s big or small. Just try."

The invitation was so simple it caught Sophia off guard. She’d expected the weight of ritual, so sacred rule she might accidentally break. Instead, Brynhild’s tone was gentle. Sophia looked back down at the disc. The blank wood almost seed to be waiting for her to fill it but what was she going to write on it?