By the time Cassian Andor was ten and a half, some things had happened in his life.
He'd been pulled off his birth planet and away from his mother, so young he couldn't remember either of them. He'd been housed and indoctrinated by the Republic Military Academy on Carida, where his father was enrolled. His father was killed by a riot at Carida, which Cassian was saved from by a Separatist who took him away with her. He became a child soldier for the Confederacy of Independent Systems. He indirectly killed many times by getting good at sneaking into and sabotaging Republic war machines. He'd had to bite down on strips of hide while having injuries set and shrapnel removed without anaesthesia. He graduated from being considered a child to being considered an adult by committing his first direct killing by hand.
Quick overturn was common for Separatist soldiers, but it would be a few more years before the one who'd saved him would simply stop coming back.
He didn't have possessions to speak of. The last one he could remember was the toy blaster at Carida, which had proved worse than useless when he took it out into the riot and tried to defend Jeron's body with it. He hadn't lost it: he'd destroyed it.
Yet when Cassian woke that particular morning, sore (as usual) from the previous days' work, inhaling the ash-dust of Sullust and lying still to check his surroundings and adjust to consciousness, he noticed something that hadn't been there when he'd gone to sleep: a small iridescent rock, gleaming in the light of daybreak. It didn't match Sullust's obsidian. It caught the morning's first sunlight in ways that cast color on the ceiling. He didn't know how he knew, but somehow he did know: it was his.
He picked it up, turned it and stared at it in his hands, running his fingers all over and memorizing its angles and imperfections. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
One of his comrades made a sound and stirred. Cassian instantly stuck the pebble into his utility belt. Though there were layers of thick material between it and him, for the rest of the day, he could swear he felt it against his skin.
A few years later, five days after Khryw, the Separatist who'd saved him, disappeared, Cassian went to a deep fissure. He threw down into it the few things he'd saved that reminded him of her and/or of himself before arriving here. The shirt he'd been wearing when he was even smaller, on Carida (that still sported spots of Jeron's blood); his first functional training blaster that Khryw'd taught him to assemble himself; Khryw's jacket that she'd given him and he'd grown into; and, because talismans were clearly worthless, the rainbow pebble.
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Date: 2019-08-06 02:12 am (UTC)He'd been pulled off his birth planet and away from his mother, so young he couldn't remember either of them.
He'd been housed and indoctrinated by the Republic Military Academy on Carida, where his father was enrolled.
His father was killed by a riot at Carida, which Cassian was saved from by a Separatist who took him away with her.
He became a child soldier for the Confederacy of Independent Systems.
He indirectly killed many times by getting good at sneaking into and sabotaging Republic war machines.
He'd had to bite down on strips of hide while having injuries set and shrapnel removed without anaesthesia.
He graduated from being considered a child to being considered an adult by committing his first direct killing by hand.
Quick overturn was common for Separatist soldiers, but it would be a few more years before the one who'd saved him would simply stop coming back.
He didn't have possessions to speak of. The last one he could remember was the toy blaster at Carida, which had proved worse than useless when he took it out into the riot and tried to defend Jeron's body with it. He hadn't lost it: he'd destroyed it.
Yet when Cassian woke that particular morning, sore (as usual) from the previous days' work, inhaling the ash-dust of Sullust and lying still to check his surroundings and adjust to consciousness, he noticed something that hadn't been there when he'd gone to sleep: a small iridescent rock, gleaming in the light of daybreak. It didn't match Sullust's obsidian. It caught the morning's first sunlight in ways that cast color on the ceiling. He didn't know how he knew, but somehow he did know: it was his.
He picked it up, turned it and stared at it in his hands, running his fingers all over and memorizing its angles and imperfections. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
One of his comrades made a sound and stirred. Cassian instantly stuck the pebble into his utility belt. Though there were layers of thick material between it and him, for the rest of the day, he could swear he felt it against his skin.
A few years later, five days after Khryw, the Separatist who'd saved him, disappeared, Cassian went to a deep fissure. He threw down into it the few things he'd saved that reminded him of her and/or of himself before arriving here. The shirt he'd been wearing when he was even smaller, on Carida (that still sported spots of Jeron's blood); his first functional training blaster that Khryw'd taught him to assemble himself; Khryw's jacket that she'd given him and he'd grown into; and, because talismans were clearly worthless, the rainbow pebble.