Orion felt the chill of trepidation worm its way up his spine. He wasn't sure what he expected to find waiting for him here, but he'd be lying if he said it was this.

Ani gets trapped fightin' some pyromancer straight from a legend, he thought, and here I'm listenin' to, even if it is a bit damned complicated, maybe even a touch awe-inspirin', music? I'm sure there's more to it than I'm seein' here, but gods if that don't feel underwhelmin'. Least, it would if the music was all that ailed me here, but…

As much as the intensity of the music put Orion on his back foot, it had been a long time since he'd felt as cut off as he did in this place. It wasn't as if his connections were gone; it was nothing simple as that. He could still feel, as he listened to the ambient sound and focused inward, where they all should be; they were just cut off, blocked by some sort of interference.

For all the time he spent exploring the Wilds in his own company, he'd forgotten what it was to feel so alone.

The knot of bindings he'd found within himself seemed unresponsive, disconnected. He couldn't tell if the unnatural stillness felt more akin to death or slumber, but the reality was the same. He had become untethered from that which grounded him and that which bandaged age-old wounds.

Drawing on the abilities of his friends was out of the question, but, in that moment, he realized just how much he'd come to rely on them for more than companionship, and far more than a boost to his own abilities. As he'd recently discovered that particular facet of his abilities, its loss fazed him far less than the balming effect their presence had on his spirit.

A yawning pit he'd ignored for too many years, the ache of its advent forgotten in the haze of memory he'd found in the depths of uncounted bottles, reminded Orion of why he'd originally sought the solace of connection. The overwhelming sense of loss he'd bound in his ties to those he'd met in this place, those he'd met in his new life, threatened to consume him as it became untethered.

As still as his knotted connections had become, the bottomless, devouring pit they hid was no longer contained. From its depths roared shame and self-doubt he'd thought left in years gone by.

Coward. You run from the past like it's something you won't take with you. Run from them.

You'll never run far enough to forget, never climb high enough that their voices won't follow.

You think any amount of good will erase your failure?

They're gone, and nothing will ever replace the darkness that grows in their absence. Nothing will ever fill this void. It will ever be nothing from now 'til your final gasping breath, when your failure finally claims its true victim, all the others mere collateral.

Hide behind false friends. They won't save you from yourself. Time always claims its due. It is only from the cruel whims of Fate's mistress that you persist. You live to suffer; never forget.

Each thought, seemingly imbued with a life of its own, struck Orion with metaphysically heaviness, holding more weight than mere thought should contain, rattling him to the core and slackening the bonds that held the line.

But that last one, it didn't hold the same significance. His friends weren't false, of that he was certain. Fools and, at times, bastards, but true. Few, in the Tower or without, faced trials like they had, and those who survived were companions tempered with more vigor than simple fire. He wasn't fool enough, himself, to think that made these bonds unbreakable, but they were true, nonetheless, and made of sterner stuff than lies.

Grabbing hold of this lifeline, Orion wrenched himself from the inevitable pull of his inner darkness.

Nothing would replace the life the world had taken from him, nor the lives of those he'd once held most dear, but replacing them had never been the point. That didn't change that the connections he'd formed were precious to him. That didn't change that his companions made him stronger for their presence, and not the strength he found in borrowing their gifts. They gave him the fortitude to rise above his past, rise despite his past, and allowed him, for all his perceived failures, to bring some good into this world.

It was a hope on the horizon of a dream, that he might do something worthy of being remembered, and not just for who he'd become, but for the shell of a man he'd been. That through his actions, they might be preserved in eternal memory.

Even if all he had left were memories, keeping those alive was what kept him going.

Why should this be any different?

Even with the gods-awful severance, he knew his friends weren't gone. Worse, he knew that somewhere just out of reach, Ani was suffering, and it was all tied to this chamber. That was the only connection that mattered to him in that moment.

And it was eye-opening, realizing how much of a crutch his connections had become for him, even before he'd found new uses for his magic.

Guess it's time I learn to stand on my own again, Orion thought, Even after all these years, you're just a kid who needs wisdom beaten into him. Best you learn the first time 'round.

As his foe's song continued unabated, Orion returned his focus to his surroundings, glad for the respite before what he was sure would be no simple fight. Least he could do was give the beast a chance to finish before they tested each other's mettle, as a gesture of gratitude.

He stood patiently, bow in hand. For the first time in too long, he was eager to see what he could accomplish all alone.

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"I knew I heard a proper one, it's in the way your heart beats steady, you know," the creature before him said, waving one finger around, "Good of you to let me finish. Each unfinished song is a tragedy, and a special torture awaits those who murder such magnificence."

Orion wasn't sure how long he'd stood in the chamber, but he knew it had been more than a few minutes. He didn't feel the Tower's influence as the creature spoke, which struck him strangely. Didn't seem right that he'd already understood the words, but then, this place was more than the smallest bit strange

Fortunately, the creature seemed entirely oblivious to Orion's own struggle, the struggle that inspired him to let the creature finish. Odd to find an opponent willing to stand so defenseless before an enemy, but perhaps willing was the wrong word: comfortable seemed more fitting. The thought set Orion on edge.

Whatever this creature was, there was more to it than met his eye. Patience, he hoped, would keep him from making any rash mistakes against an adversary with so many hidden unknowns.

The creature finally turned around with a garish flourish of its cape, because of course the prideful little thing was wearing a cape, and it was certainly little.

Talk about compensatin', Orion thought. The voice alone seemed like it came from a giant of a thing, forget the music, all to come from a gob that barely reaches my knuckles.

The diminutive goblin stood atop a platform that housed his bench and strange instrument. His cape, which had previously obscured his small frame, trailed behind him as he moved. Even standing from a higher vantage point did little to increase its limited capacity for intimidation.

Orion still had to look up, if only slightly.

"Be humbled, human, that you're fortunate enough to stand before the Guardian of Sound, and lament that you aren't to be long for this world," the creature monologued. "Or if fortune favors you, and you prove interesting enough, you may just have the honor of serving me, Maestro, after you lose yourself in my melodies! Do prove yourself capable; It would be so disappointing to not be able to enjoy myself a bit after all this time waiting."

Orion couldn't help but cringe slightly at the creature's display as, without any further warning, it appeared to float backwards and simply disappear, along with any connection he might have followed.

Silence reigned supreme in the hall, which seemed to swell in anticipation of the battle. A voice, sonorous and too close for comfort, whispered in Orion's ear, "Let us begin our deadly dance, interloper."

The details of the room, already faded in the absence of the instruments that had occupied the space until moments ago, became increasingly hazy. Laughter echoed off of the stone walls, seeming to bounce around at random, causing Orion to spin as he tried to pin down the source.

Panic rose in his chest in an echo of primal fear. All of those nights he'd stared alone past the campfire's light, seeking to pierce the darkness, he'd touched upon this ancient terror, but in that moment, he found himself in its grip. The cacophony of sound set his ears ringing.

Get ahold of yourself, he thought, shaking his head in an effort to clear the ringing, to no great effect. Ain't the first time you been in a shit situation, and you ain't no green newbie. There's always a connection, you know that.

He slowed his breathing, gripping his bow tightly as his eyes carefully scanned the haze. Seconds ticked agonizingly by as he got his heart rate back under control, a necessity for his weapon of choice. Still, all he could feel around him was the unnatural lack of connection. Everything around him rang false to his senses, screaming of fabrication.

Maestro's disembodied head appeared in the center of the room, and Orion loosed an arrow with a whip-shot as he caught sight of the motion.

The arrow flew true, but failed to impact the apparition. The projectile struck the far wall, splintered, and fell with a clatter.

"Ah, the wonder of Sound. I'm sure you've met some of my…less gifted kin," the voice called from everywhere at once. "Crude. Simplistic. An insult to the art, really. As if my talent could only be used for attacks."

Maestro laughed again, not the mad cackle he'd heard from so many goblins, but a bouncy, joyful chortle.

"Not sure what you're gettin' at," Orion called out, "but ain't been much of a fight so far, if you ask me."

The laughter died out as the Guardian responded.

"Oh, but we're just getting started! That's the fun of it; you're stuck here. What need have I of haste? No, this is the best part, where you discover the true strength of my craft. Attacking with magic, any wizard can do that, but enrapturing the senses? Making my enemies experience a world of my own conjuration? That is artistry. The brain, as one of my colleagues helped me discover, is a very funny thing. Paint the right picture and, well, it becomes hard for the brain not to believe, and one becomes a captive of their own senses. Sight might seem the natural course, but Sound is no different."

Orion grunted. "So you're some kinda illusionist, eh? Fittin' enough for one o' your disposition. World in your image an' all."

"You say that like it's a dirty thing, sir," the creature countered in mock affront, and then the floating specter sneered, its features turning sharp and ugly in a moment. Orion hadn't realized until then just how much less ugly the creature was, as he'd been more focused on its stature, but in an instant, it resembled all the goblins he'd seen and more, resemblance mirrored in the malice etched in its visage.

"You'll see soon enough, human," Maestro continued, "Knowing it's a trick won't do you any good. I paint the scene here, and I decide what you see."

The creature's eyes locked onto Orion as the disembodied head flew at his, growing larger as it traveled, aiming to devour him. Still scanning the room for any irregularity, Orion couldn't help but notice that just before the maw reached him, a faint ping of connection appeared.

On instinct, he dodged, feeling a not unfamiliar whooshing rush by him. Still unable to harm his opponent directly, he armed himself with another kind of ammunition and laughed.

"All that talk about the superiority of your art and here you are still resortin' to basic magic attacks to do any real harm." He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. "Hate to break it to you, but I'm already a bit too broken to fall for any o' this nonsense," Orion said, waving his arms around widely before tapping his temple. "Worse 'an that lives with me always, an' it don't even pay me for the pleasure."

The moment he stopped talking, Orion adopted a ready stance, floating on the balls of his feet. Sure enough, several faint connections materialized, and he let his body react as he studied the oddity of their wake.

Something about them disturbed the creature's control over the illusion, and he felt another weaker connection in the chamber.

Following his gut, Orion loosed another arrow, tying it to that faint connection and embracing the enervating sensation that followed, one he knew so well, one that never bode well for his enemies.

A muffled yelp rang out momentarily before the illusionist erased the sound.

"Nothin' like a good ol' pinprick. Been a while since you felt so loved, eh, Maestro," Orion jabbed, peppering the beast with any rounds he could muster.

I might be alone, but if the kid can rise to the challenge, well, can't let her show me up, now, can I?

The panic he'd felt rising to overcome him was quickly replaced by a thrill. Hunters once called it the thrill of the hunt, and maybe it was, but in that moment, Orion only saw it as the thrill of a challenge. Could be this goblin was the worst kind of enemy for him to face, but maybe, just maybe, he was the worst kind of enemy for that smug git.

I can work with this, at the very least, the Wanderer thought.

A smile disturbed his growing beard, and he stood at the ready once more.

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