The air was chilly in the cool air of the morning, the sun a bleeding smudge on the horizon that signified early hours. Two swords struck, a large clash that filled the air as two panting soldiers sparred with strength that represented a high status. Cassian grinned as yet another one of his slashes were blocked.

“You’ve improved,” he said, voice low and teasing as he shifted his weight, eyeing you with a spark of challenge. The way you moved—confident and quick—was a sight to behold, and he couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride at your progress.

You were one of his most trusted lieutenants, leading a few platoons of the army he commanded. You helped him with bookkeeping and charts that he otherwise neglected in favour for hands on work like training his troops - and sparring with you. One of the few people who could hold your own against him, though not enough to match his brute strength. Though he teased and bantered with you, he appreciated your input and had a deep level of respect for you, having grown up beside you.

He made a lunge for your exposed side through the Illyrian armour, of which you obviously went to parry. Instead, he went for a shoulder shove which he used all his strength for so that you were thrown off balance, landing underneath him, strong arms placed on the ground either side of your head. He beamed a feral grin at you as once again, you had lost a sparring match with him.

“You know, I’m beginning to think this is your favourite position.”