Sluggish.
Unlike his first two fights, Cassian's movements now drew the eyes of the onlookers for a different reason. His dodges were no longer effortless, his blocks sluggish, and every strike felt heavier than it should. This wasn't some act to appear weaker — his body genuinely refused the fluidity it had once obeyed without thought.
He could feel it: weight pressing down on his limbs, resistance in his muscles, a strange heaviness that slowed him with each motion. The white-haired boy's domain was invisible, yet its presence pressed against him like a living thing, twisting the very space around his attacks.
Cassian's smirk faltered, replaced by the tiniest frown. He exhaled slowly, tasting the metallic chill in the air. Each movement came a heartbeat late, as if time itself had grown thick, his body betraying the speed it had once wielded as instinct.
