Once Allen estimated the Auror had walked far enough away, he got up and leaned quietly against the wall.
If I must...
Shadows beckon...
From the darkness…
Into the night…
The night is my veil.
With each whispered incantation, Allen's figure gradually melted into the shadows, becoming nearly invisible, like a phantom cloaked in darkness.
He didn't yet have the ability to phase through walls, but another set of eyes had already confirmed the door was safe, Valor had checked the area earlier that evening.
Allen extended his wand and tapped the lock gently. With a soft click, the door swung open under the effects of the unlocking spell.
Sure, Valor could transmit what he saw to Allen, but nothing beats seeing things with your own eyes. The images Valor provided were grainy and colorless, like watching an old black-and-white film through fogged glass.
Allen moved with caution, though his lack of stealth training meant his movements still made the occasional noise. Fortunately, the plants beneath his feet helped by erasing his tracks and muffling any rustling, making it almost impossible for anyone to detect his passage.
He still didn't know what secret the werewolves were hiding, but in a camp this small, with so many people involved, how well could it really be concealed?
And besides, Allen wasn't alone. With Valor's support, he was confident that if something did happen, he'd be the first to notice it and get there in time to satisfy his curiosity. After that? He'd find a quiet spot, activate the teleportation array, and leave. There was no way he was sticking around to play another round of tag with that Auror.
But soon, Allen realized there was no need to search at all.
As the full moon slowly crested over the mountains, its last sliver emerging from behind the hills, a lone wolf's howl echoed through the camp. It came from the very same tent Allen had visited earlier in the day, dead center of the settlement.
Then, the single howl was joined by dozens more. A chorus of wolves lifted their voices skyward, their cries rising in eerie unison like a wild pack honoring the moon with their king.
Damn it! Allen's expression darkened instantly.
He'd been too focused on uncovering the truth, and forgot something crucial.
No matter how friendly these people had seemed, no matter how kind they acted or how deep their secrets ran, one fact remained unchanged:
They were werewolves.
Yes. Werewolves. Creatures who, during a full moon, transform and lose all sense of reason, attacking anything that moves.
Worse, in their transformed state, their senses became incredibly heightened, especially their sense of smell.
Dogs were just wolves tamed by humans. And even those domesticated hounds already had exceptional noses. But wild, feral wolves? Far sharper.
Which meant… if that Auror hadn't taken the proper precautions, he might've already been torn to shreds, or worse, turned into one of them.
Logic screamed at Allen to leave. Now. But curiosity, and a sliver of reluctant concern, held him back from making the smartest choice.
He decided to erase as much of his own scent as possible, then have Valor scout the area. Whether or not he could help would be up to fate, but one thing was certain: he wasn't going to risk his life to save that Auror.
As Allen cautiously approached the central area, Valor delivered what could be considered a bit of good news, the Auror hadn't appeared at all.
But at the same time, another piece of intel came through.
In Valor's transmitted images, the werewolves weren't behaving like the savage beasts they were supposed to be.
In fact, they were still in formation.
What?
Was this a joke?
Werewolves… holding formation?
That couldn't be right. Even someone as gentle as Professor Lupin lost control during a full moon. And this lot was staying organized?
Keeping to the shadows, Allen climbed up a tall tree, the perfect vantage point. From there, he could finally see the full, high-definition version of what Valor had been showing him.
Under the moonlight, dozens of silver-furred werewolves stood in rows, led by one draped in a red cloak. They were performing some kind of eerie ritual.
The fur of the kneeling werewolves shimmered under the moonlight like strands of woven silk. The center of the camp looked like it had been blanketed in a pale sheet made of moonlight itself.
And amid the occasional howl, the mysterious tribe maintained perfect formation, reverently worshipping an object placed atop a stone altar.
It was…
A hat.
A simple, red, woolen hat.
A little red riding hood.
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