Cassian dragged his leg forward, kicking a stone down the dirt path. Phew. His lungs still burned from all the running earlier. If anyone asked him what cultivation technique he specialized in, he'd say Running For My Damn Life.
He stopped in front of a cluster of filthy tents sitting on rubble. The "cleaners' dormitory."
Dormitory, my ass. Even pigs had better homes. Horses would kick you in the balls if you tried to make them live here. But hey, the academy didn't give a shit. To them, cleaners were just disposable things. Sweepers. Trash. Tools.
Such was his glorious life.
cough cough
"I–is that you, Cassian?"
Cassian froze.
"Oh shit, this old man again." He muttered under his breath.
Well, no helping it. Might as well introduce him properly.
The "old man." That's literally what Cassian called him. He didn't know his real name, and frankly, he didn't care enough to ask. He was just… the senior cleaner here. Everyone else who got dumped in this hellhole found him already around.
Nobody knew his story. Nobody asked. And why would they? People barely cared about their own lives here, let alone someone else's.
But still, the guy had been sick for weeks now. Bedridden. Cassian had been helping him clean his shift. Not out of kindness, mind you. Cassian simply couldn't stand seeing the old guy coughing his lungs out while the academy ignored him.
"If he wants to die, he should just go already," Cassian muttered, shaking his head. "That way the academy can hire another sucker."
Still, his legs carried him toward the old man's tent anyway.
He raised the flap and stepped inside.
The smell hit him like a slap. Rancid, sour, thick enough to choke on.
Cassian gagged, covering his nose. "What the fuck, old man! You trying to kill people with this stench? You should at least tell someone to clean this place up!"
cough cough
The old man wheezed, struggling to sit up on his ragged mat. Cassian clicked his tongue and went over, sliding an arm behind his back to help him sit properly.
Up close, the guy was a skeleton wrapped in skin. His eyes were sunken, his ribs poked out, and his skin looked like it hadn't touched sunlight in decades. Cassian's mouth stayed shameless as ever, but inside, even he felt a stab of pity.
Nobody deserved to live like this. Not even a cleaner.
Hell, even the slaves outside the academy walls were treated better. The academy, with its mountains of treasures and rivers of resources, couldn't spare a grain of rice for the people scrubbing their floors. Evil. That's what it was.
The old man's frail hand patted Cassian's wrist gently.
"In case you haven't noticed," the old man rasped, "you are the only one who bothers with me. The only one who listens."
Cassian snorted. Yeah, yeah. The old man isn't lying. I am the only person stupid enough to acknowledge him.
His thoughts drifted as he looked at the tent's flimsy walls.
The other cleaners? Dickheads. They weren't worth spitting on. Every one of them bowed and licked the students' boots just for scraps, wagging their tails like dogs. I would rather eat stone than crawl like them.
"Well, old man," Cassian said out loud, plopping onto the mat beside him, "we can't really blame them, can we? Everyone's just trying to survive. We ignore their problems, they ignore ours. Fair trade."
The old man chuckled weakly, his breath rattling in his chest. "You speak nothing but the truth… But why are you not like the others? Why do you help me, when I've done nothing for you?"
Cassian leaned back on his palms, sighing. His eyes drifted to the ceiling of the tent.
"Well, here's the thing, old man. You've been sick for a while. Can't work. And no work means no food. And if nobody gives a damn, you starve to death. I just…" He clicked his tongue and looked away. "I just can't sit there and watch that happen. Even I'm not that heartless."
For once, the tent was quiet. No curses, no jokes, just silence between a shameless young man and an old man on death's door.