He didn't wake up. Cassian had been nursing him for two days and all he had were groans and occasional moans. He wasn't a bad caretaker. He knew because Mane's fever got better. It improved significantly after the first night. It went from a boiling red to a warm yellow, very close to the natural human temperature, but still off, just by a bit.
But still, the old man laid on the bed, breathing, sometimes rasping—but never waking.
Cassian heaved as he sank into the chair beside him. Manes was making this much harder than he had planned.
If he woke up yesterday, he would start training today. He could move forward, even if he had to dedicate more time to training than he already did. He was fine.
From hardship to glory. He liked the quote. Talos seemed like a smart person.
But Manes didn't wake up yesterday, and as he looked at the sun setting in the distance, it seemed unlikely he would today.
What was he to do now? Wait another day?
Or maybe he would leave the old man alone to die and go someplace else.
It was a viable way out. A logical possibility.
One that Cassian was more than willing to take, even if as a last resort.
He wasn't here because of an altruism that had taken root in his heart. Only the living could live by such concepts. And he was a dead man.
He looked again at Manes, as he laid loosely under the rough woolen blanket. How vulnerable the old man looked now that he couldn't move. Now that he couldn't strike. His fate no longer in his hands, his life out of his dominion.
"Is there nothing you can do for him?" Cassian called out to Dea.
"Other than dabbing his forehead with a wet cloth?" Dea responded
"Yes, if there's any other options, I'd like to know"
"There are none. You've done the best you can, all you can do now, is hope."
Cassian had hoped once. It left him bloody at the bottom of a cliff.
Cassian got up and walked out of the house. He picked up a wooden sword by the door and took his position in the yard.
He couldn't just sit there watching an old man breathe. If the gaffer finally decided to open his eyes, it wouldn't make any sense for Cassian to be standing in the exact same place he'd been two days ago. There had to be visible improvement. They needed to move to something else—something lethal, something useful.
In a way, Cassian realized he could use the old man's sudden collapse against him when he woke up.
You're old and you're clearly dying, he would tell him. We don't know how much time either of us has left, so you might as well stop wasting time on rites of passage and teach me something real.
It was the silver lining to this entire frustrating delay. He doubted the old man would make it easy for him, but
Cassian was fully prepared to press the issue. To do that, however, Manes had to wake up first.
Cassian settled his feet into the dirt, squared his shoulders, and began to swing.
High, then low.
He focused entirely on the fluid arc Manes had demonstrated with the tree branch days before he collapsed. Cassian cut through the air, shifting his hips, letting the momentum carry the weight of the wood instead of forcing it with raw muscle. Sweat quickly began to bead on his neck, but he didn't slow down. He drove the wooden blade through the shadow of the courtyard, imagining an advancing line of the Archon's soldiers with every strike.
It wasn't long before the sun finally vanished beneath the horizon, swallowed entirely by the deep purple clouds, giving birth to the thick darkness of the night.
Still, Cassian kept swinging.
The wind picked up, rustling the leaves at the edge of the woods, but the only sound in the clearing was the rhythmic, sharp whoosh of the wooden sword slicing through the dark.
"If you keep flailing around like that, you're going to break my wooden sword, and you know I only have two."
The raspy, dry voice came from the darkness near the doorway.
Cassian froze mid-swing, the wooden sword hovering inches above his shoulder. He snapped his head toward the porch.
Manes was leaning heavily against the doorframe, his frail body wrapped in a loose blanket, his face still pale under the moonlight, but his cloudy eyes were open. Fixed on Cassian with their usual cranky intensity.
Cassian slowly lowered the practice sword, letting out a breath.
"You're awake."
Manes scoffed weakly, shifting his weight with a wince as he took a slow, agonizing step onto the yard.
"Did you really think a little chill was going to put me in the ground? You're not getting rid of me that easily, boy."
"You sure? Cause you did look like you were dying"
"I feel healthy as a buck, I don't know what you're talking about boy."
Cassian stared at him for a second, a dark, faint smirk touching the corner of his mouth despite himself.
"Good," Cassian said, adjusting his grip on the hilt. "Because you owe me a real sword lesson."