The barracks slept in moonlight. Saint Sebastian waited until the footsteps faded, then pressed his palm flat against the cold stone floor. The marble was rough and damp beneath his fingers. He whispered a prayer under his breath, the words nearly swallowed by the dark.
He folded his hands and kept going, as he had every night. The distant clank of a guard's boots faded into silence. His breath rose and fell in the cold air. Outside, the stars wheeled slowly over the ancient city.
In the courtyard, a Roman officer cornered him. He pressed a bronze coin into Saint Sebastian's palm. "Place it on the altar of the gods and speak the words," the officer commanded, tapping the coin against his own chest. The metal was warm from his grip.
Saint Sebastian closed his fingers over the warm metal, then opened his hand to show the untouched coin. "I cannot," he said quietly. The officer's mouth tightened into a thin line. He said nothing more.
The officer ordered two soldiers to lead him toward the archers on the field. Saint Sebastian walked ahead without resistance, his boots crunching on gravel. He reached out and touched a wildflower growing through a crack in the stone path. The petals trembled in the wind.
Saint Sebastian stood before the archers and lifted his chin. "I am ready," he said. The first captain raised his bow, drew the string back, and let fly. The arrow veered sharply to the left and buried itself in the ground with a solid thunk.
Another arrow arcs through the air and strikes the captain's own shield instead of Saint Sebastian, making a loud BANG that sends the soldiers jumping back. The archers lower their bows, wide-eyed. Not a single arrow would touch him.
The captain stared at his dented shield, then at Saint Sebastian, who simply picked up the wildflower and held it out. The captain took it, his broad fingers awkward against the soft petals. A smile spread across his face. He turned and walked back toward the city with Saint Sebastian beside him, the wildflower still clutched in his hand.