Dyllan took a moment to steady his breathing, then pulled his bat away from the forcefield it was projecting. His forcefield and his Justice were linked, so he’d expected a little resistance… but this was quite a bit more than just “a little” resistance. It felt like he was pulling against a dozen bungee cords.

Then with a sound somewhere between snapping rubber bands and shattering glass, all the resistance disappeared - leaving Dyllan pulling with all his might against something that was suddenly no longer there.

While Dyllan was still stumbling backward, the forcefield his Trait had been projecting vanished, and the energy that had been crackling throughout it dropped to the ground, raced toward Dyllan, then shot up him like a reverse lightning rod.

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Dyllan could hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears, the rhythm slower but stronger and steadier. He’d instinctively raised his Trait to the sky as soon as the energy had hit him, and now it pulsed and crackled mostly peacefully as it lay in wait within his Trait. He felt burnt out and energized at the same time. He felt like he could break apart at any moment.

…and yet, his Will to Live was surging.

It was an old feeling, a nostalgic feeling. The feeling of an emotion he’d never found a name for. He’d felt traces of it his whole life, but they were only brief, faint flickers of it. The first time he’d really felt it was when a kid broke Dyllan’s nose trying to pick a fight.

Dyllan had won that fight.

When he chose to become a pacifist, he thought he’d never feel this emotion again. Yet here he was, feeling it so strongly and so clearly, that he might finally know what to call it: fighting spirit.