In Cassilius's eyes, Salomon was still very young.
It had nothing to do with age, magical attainment, or even the bloody wars launched by the organizations Salomon had founded that Cassilius knew of. It was simply because Salomon had never gone through the wild years a young person ought to have. The hormones flowing through his veins were as cold as ice. Although Salomon had always followed the rules, Cassilius believed young people ought to have a life of their own. He had never done drugs—not the hard stuff—gone on a drinking binge, fucked a woman he had just met in a bar restroom, then woken up half-conscious in someone's bed. He had never smoked weed with hippies while camping, found Psychedelic Mushrooms his parents had hidden under the sofa cushions, or gone to Las Vegas for a spur-of-the-moment wedding. He had not even gone to a hospital to get a lump on his testicle checked or undergone a rectal exam.
Even without all that, he could at least discuss current electronics, music, or celebrities. But Salomon seemed interested in none of it. He had not done a single thing young people were supposed to do—he was the sort of person who reminded guests to use coasters. If one set aside magic, appearance, and martial prowess, Salomon was about as boring as a dry towel that had been wrung out, left in the sun until it stiffened, and could then be used to smash bricks. It might even have disgusting mold or hard patches of grime on it. In certain respects, Cassilius shared Tony Stark's views: what young people needed was a party, not guns and swords, blood and fire, dusty old books, and unfathomable magic.
Salomon had always known what Cassilius thought. Cassilius had been saying the same thing