It was a blue wind of destruction, a cold presence that forced her attention away from the battle to the very air around her.

A thousand cuts ruptured the finely crafted stage. It happened in a single section: something impossibly fast came and scratched out the beats of the performance; a note so dissonant that the world itself seemed to recoil from the offending source.

But that was fine. For a comedy, Cassandra thought, this show was distinctly unfunny.

Slapstick was only comedic in moderation. The bloodshed and chaos around here was downright morbid, and not in an entertaining fashion either.

“Stay back,” she muttered to her recovering partner, “I’ll end this.”

The disruption bought her a few seconds. A few seconds was all she needed.

One against six against three. Against her were rampaging medium-threat Husks, two inexperienced Hunters, one of which was brimming with raw, unrefined talent, and the man that would be the death of her.

Maybe she should actually try a little, this time.

She looked at him. He looked at her, mechanical hawk eyes suddenly shifting to red.

Business it was, then.

They took an indirect path to their duel, participating in a token battle with the enemy between them. The Husk, their allies, the civilians, the blood and looming storm; all of it was merely background noise compared to what was to come.

The last time she saw Elias, he had a face. A very good looking one; a square Sorian, soft-almond eyes and a kind smile, the kind of face that could be plastered all over state posters and still be fresh enough to look at in person.

Though, now that she thought about it, the whole mechanical makeover was her fault in the first place.

In a performance like this, there were very peculiar roles to play. Servants. Master. The masked and unmasked. Yet there was no script — it was up to the actors to improvise their own ending from the controlled chaos of fine theatre.

Cassandra could only control her own performance. If he was here to take care of her, it was only fair that she do the same in turn.

At the crescendo of the performance, a duel seven years in the making ended in a single strike.

To an outsider, it may have seemed like they merely opportunistically struck at one another while battling the Laughing Arlequins. This was not the case. Every move, every step between Cassandra and the Executor was calculated; they hid their intent behind their actions and pushed back against their mutual threat.

Cassandra thrust forth with her spear, intending on immediately pulling back to catch him with a short-hand stab; a weaver’s maneuver, inspired from the countless days of watching her mother slave and wither away behind a sacred spinning silk wheel.

The Executor stepped to the side and simply performed a perfect rising slash.

As black steel flew at her throat, completely evading her gambit, she recognized her own death.

It was a simple, sobering fact. There are many things to do when confronted with death — see one’s life in retrospect through adrenaline fueled tunnel vision, pray for divine intervention, seek unprecedented strength in a desperate attempt to survive, perhaps lament the unfairness of the world and it’s people — yet there was only one thought that came to her in the critical last moments.

She simply wondered if her old friend would think of her after the deed was done.

Today was not the day she would get those answers.

Against all odds and sensible predictions, against everything she hoped and wished for, the blade sank into a target behind her and cleaved Arlequin flesh in two.

Following the opening, the girl mage dashed between them and drove her blade into the Husk’s chest, following through until she pinned the leader to a wall.

The curtains fell on this act, a solid wave of obscuring sand and silence. Grains flew into her unprotected throat and nose — she pulled the collar of her sweater over her nose, coughing and hacking her lungs out.

“You’re not the one I’m after,” reiterated the Executor. “Nor have I forgotten our last encounter.”

Cassandra stared at the silhouette in the storm. Her gaze snagged on the sigil etched into his metal arms; it had been many years since she wore the same badge on her shoulder, but she recognized it nonetheless.

“Congrats on your promotion to Second Captain,” she said, unable to fully conceal her smile from her voice. “Is the old guard still around?”

“Go. Now.”

So much for catching up for old time’s sake. She gave him an appreciative nod and ran back to her partner, who was busy scanning through the sand with her Arts.

“The Ice Catalyst is right there,” said her partner through grit teeth. “She’s looking directly at us. And the people here are screwed. What can we do?”

Having not been blessed with special eyes or Arts that could deal with a wall of sand, Cassandra placed a hand on her partner’s shoulder and uttered her evaluation of the situation.

“She’s working towards the same goals as us. We can still trust her and we still have our lives, so let’s just call it quits while we’re ahead.”

“But the people—”

“There are multiple Catalysts involved now,” Cassandra said, more urgently. “We’re outnumbered and actually outskilled. I don’t want to lose you, Vera.”

She didn’t want to believe her senses, but she recognized the presence of the two she spared a few days ago. Somehow, the depths within them had grown and mingled — the merging of two horrific depths that should never be combined. Perhaps they could lean on each other to outlast their natural fates, but this wasn’t Cassandra’s problem. It was not her problem in the slightest.

Her partner needed an additional glance into the storm to be convinced, and it was a very short glance at that. “Three. Three in one place? No, I...” Her lip quivered. “Fine. For you, Cass.”

They made their getaway without further conversation, a quick and clean exit through the grey mist. Though HQ would have some questions, there was nothing more to be said — the overall situation, combined with everything else that was happening in the Frontier, had taken a turn for the worse for friend and enemy alike.