Encore held his sword in front of him, facing a line of wererat assassins that were staggered across the floor. Their eyes were wild with a cold, precise purpose and their skin and fur were pockmarked with the telltale scars and blisters of the devotees of the Horned Rat. Not that there could be any ambiguity as to who had sent these creatures; there was only one being at present who had that audacity.

At the far side of the room his friends did battle. Lazuli was slashing expertly at one of the intruders with a dagger she’d been able to bring with her,  her planar magic leaving bright after-image trails in the air with each cut; Surina was being beset by them on all sides, her teeth bared and her fury barely slowed down by the wounds already slashed across her torso; Helena was astride the mangled bed wreathed in eerie flames, her mace a beacon of light as she carved an arc between her and another wererat; and beside Encore stood Zephrine, their main target, her nightdress soaked with her blood and with her valiantly still standing on her feet while the ghostly forms of her illusions danced and weaved around her in an attempt to protect her.

Encore stared down the line of assassins in front of him, most of them distracted by the others and their actions, and as his mind raced to decide what to do a bell rang in the dark defiles of his memory.

He remembered a man. A dashing, young, half-orc man with the face of an angel and a winning smile. He remembered that man quick-stepping around a battlefield, a shining crescent of a blade in his hand, and a music all his own stepping with him. He remembered that man facing his foes without flinching, and he remembered that man raising his arm and pointing his sword and through that sword casting a spell to fell them, the music swelling and then releasing but not ceasing, never ceasing.

Encore remembered that, and in that remembering something else in his mind clicked into place. And then Encore didn’t just remember: he understood.

Encore drew himself up and pulled his fae glamour tighter around himself, his feathers changing to bright reds and golds, and he murmured the words to a song under his breath to the tune he knew was always and only could be Koda’s and the light and the words came easy and coiled tight within him and the music swelled and then with a vicious, elegant stab of his sword the lightning and the music arced and burst from his heart and along his blade and jagged like an insult across the room and through the three wererats in front of him and blasted a hole through the wall on the other side.

One completely evaded. One partially dodged. One did neither.

The sparks sizzled across their skin and armour and looks of shock and anger flashed across their faces and some of them turned their attention to Encore.

Encore just smiled and regained his fighting stance.

He could always hear the music.

He could always hear the song.