So Only Say My Name

It was under the cool moonlight that Basileios found himself that night; the breeze drifting through the open windows just enough to give his bare skin a chill. Oh, he was tired, the clock long since striking midnight, but there was no rest for the wicked, as they said, and it seemed as though fate considered him to be teetering the edge. Well, his mind was far too busy to complain.

Rather than tavern hopping or drinking with his brother, he found himself sword in hand, in the center of the lonely training floor. There were lights, but he kept them off, the moonlight brushing his shoulders from the glass ceiling over his head. He could just barely make out his form in the surrounding mirrors, but he did not care for that, as the darkness was truly invigorating.

He danced across the floor with ease, shoes squeaking on spotless wood flooring and sword swiping through the air. His patterned blood-red shirt fitted loosely over his muscles, flowing with graceful, floating movements. The sleeves were pulled up over his elbows, black ties at his neck loose to expose his chest. Though his hair was pulled back tight, loose strands danced in his eyes when he found himself doubling back, as if dodging an imaginary opponent. Sweat tickled his brow, his golden eyes narrowed with concentration.

Truly, practice would have been easier with a partner, rather than swiping at invisible foes, but he made the best of it. His attention remained on the mirrors, watching his form, fixing where he stumbled or where he was sloppy. Over and over, he would perform a movement, obsessed with getting it perfect before he moved on to the next. The world around him seemed to melt away, as he danced with his own shadow, blade glinting in the moonlight.

Expecting the hall to remain clear for the remainder of the night, he would not notice if another stood by the doors to watch him. And when he did, catching their lingering shadow in the corner of the mirror, he startled. Stumbling mid-stride, he just barely stopped himself from dropping his sword to the ground entirely, the point of the blade hitting the wood with a soft ting.

His heart beat rapidly in his chest, his lungs heaving from such a workout, sweat beading his skin. His grip loosened on the hilt of the sword as he held it to his side, muscles tense and a little sore, gaze narrowing in the moonlight. It was impossible to see who it was, so he cleared his throat with a half step forward.

“Apologies, you may light the torches if you wish.” He said, his voice echoing through the empty hall with a deep breath, desperately trying to settle his racing heart.