For a man his age, Manes was up early. He struck the back of Cassian's head. All the other options and he chose the back of his neck. It was intentional, no doubt in Cassian's mind.
Before Cassian could even curse, he turned around only for the old man to shove a heavy wooden practice sword directly into his chest. Without uttering a single word of explanation, Manes turned on his heel and hobbled out the door. Rubbing his throbbing neck, Cassian grabbed the hilt and followed him into the dim morning light.
The weather outside was cold. The contrast to the warmth of the house was jarring to say the least.
Cassian wanted nothing more than to go back in.
He wanted strength, but he at this moment, he wanted sleep.
"Is it really necessary to do this now?"
"What better time is there?" Manes responded.
"I don't know, maybe when the sun has had time to warm the environment a bit? It's cold, how am I supposed to learn anything in these conditions"
" From hardship to glory"
"What?"
"It's a line from the meditations of Talos. Never mind it" He said grunting as he sat down.
This old man was senile, Cassian hoped he still remembered enough to at last teach him basic self defense.
The sun rose, slowly, and it met Cassian there.
In the same stance he'd been for four hours, swinging and swinging.
Sweat dripped down the side of his face, and he felt his muscles crying, but he couldn't stop.
Manes was behind him. And if he stopped to breathe for even a second, he'd hit him. Hard
Despite his frail looks, every strike he made was painfilled. Far more painful than the sore of his muscles. His muscles felt like a creaky door with every swing, but the pain in his back felt like a sharp sting than ran up and then down his spine.
He was between a rock, and a heavier rock.
He closed his eyes, and he saw Bojack laughing as he tied the rope. He felt the way the bark bit into his wrists.
He saw the Archon's face, practiced, unbothered, already thinking about something else as he sent Cassian to his death.
The woman at the execution. How limp she looked.
How cold the air felt when she was dead. There was no one to mourn her, there would be no one to mourn him.
He opened his eyes and swung.
"That's all for today. You're free to do whatever with your time I guess" Manes said.
"Where are you going?" Cassian asked panting between every word.
"I'm an old dying man, I'm going to sleep, it's what old dying men do." He stood up, walking away with a crooked gait.
That was it? He had him swing a wooden sword for that long only to walk away. Maybe he didn't understand his urgency. He didn't have time for anything else. Manes said it himself, He didn't have much time and the old man himself didn't look like he would live another decade.
So he had to get as much as he could in the little time he still had. He couldn't call him. He couldn't rest, not now, he couldn't shake a nagging feeling, a certain omen.
That the Archon was closing in on him with every passing second, every sunset that broke into dawn.
And yet he couldn't just leave. Manes was his best option.
So he did the only thing that he could. He started swinging again. Maybe if he mastered the stance fast enough, the old man would teach him something else or at least get tired of seeing him repeat the motion.
Cassian started swinging, his arms were still sore, but it was like that thing the old man said, from hardship to glory.
He was going to keep swinging again and again. Until his hands gave in, until he couldn't possibly give anymore. And only then would he even consider the thought of giving up.
The sun was dead centre now, shining its rays aggressively as it watched Cassian from it's lofty tower in the clouds.
Cassian couldn't swing anymore. He could feel the veins of his hands swell, like something ready to pop. The sword fell from his hands and he panted as he gripped his knees.
"You're still here?"
Manes walked out of the house, yawning.
"I said you could do whatever you wanted with your time. And you chose to keep playing with the stick?"
"Like you said, whatever I want. I wanted to keep going"
"Let me see" the old man said.
Cassian picked up his sword and with the little energy he'd regained, he swung in a simple vertical arch.
He stood and waited for the old man to comment
"You pass"
"What?"
" Are you deaf? I said you pass. Now you can finally learn real swordsmanship"
"What do you mean? What was all that swinging then?"
"Oh that's just a silly rite of passage. You don't have to worry about it. Nobody actually swings like that in a fight. It's too clean, easy to predict."
"Yeah? Then show me what actual swordsmanship looks like."
"Is that a challenge"
Cassian didn't respond, he just offered him the wooden sword.
Manes waved,
"Won't be needing that"
Then he started looking around, before he finally stopped. He strained as he bent to pick up a wooden branch. It was almost as long as the sword. He could've just taken the sword.
"Here we are."
He stood, taking a stance, and then he started swinging. Almost dancing, Cassian could barely keep up with the motion and as abruptly as he started, he stopped.
Cassian didn't know whether to be happy that he was going to learn swordsmanship, or angry that he just wasted hours practicing a technique that was useless.
Confused as he was about his emotions,he was sure of one thing. This man was evil—maybe just as bad as Dea— but also, more importantly, he was strong. And he had a lot to learn from him.