In the small hours of that night.
A sharp, brief whistle pierced the silence of the Mine, like the final cry of a night bird with its throat gripped tight.
Douglas, who had been resting with his eyes closed, opened them. There was not a trace of sleepiness in those dark green eyes.
He exchanged a glance with Marco, and both rose at once, striding toward the entrance.
Lupin followed close behind, his footsteps light and silent, his entire body taut as a bow ready to loose.
The three hurried through the deep, dark mining tunnel, the outline of the entrance ahead growing clearer in the flickering firelight.
Moonlight, as pale as a dead man's face, poured through the entrance, casting an eerie brightness over the ground.
The scene outside the entrance had a bizarre absurdity to it.
Two Werewolf guards stood straight on either side of the entrance, like two forgotten stone statues.
They held spears, their eyes fixed warily ahead, yet their bodies did not move an inch. Even their breathing seemed to have stopped as they stared ahead with vigilance written all over their faces.
Opposite them, beneath the moonlight, stood three figures.
They, too, were motionless.
Their postures, however, were filled with bewilderment and incomprehension as they looked down at the ground by their feet.
As though something that ought to have been lying there had inexplicably vanished.
Mirage.
As long as you did not move, all the enemy saw of you was a blurred phantom they could not target precisely.
Any lethal spell they cast would strike the air beside the phantom.
At the same time, it would conjure an image of someone being attacked in the enemy's eyes, provided the person carrying the talisman did not move.
The trio opposite them had clearly fallen