He wasn't a warrior or a leader. He was something the Academy hadn't seen in centuries: a . In a world obsessed with the power of action, Leo had discovered the absolute sovereignty of standing still.
"It has to be a glitch," his roommate, Silas, said, though he instinctively took a half-step back, as if Leo’s lack of kinetic energy might be contagious.
It wasn't that Leo had moved fast; it was that his incredibly low Act score allowed him to slip through the "frequency" of reality. Because he had so little influence on the world, the world ceased to have influence on him. The pendulum didn't hit him—it passed through him like a breeze through a shadow.
Leo looked up, a small, tired smile on his face. "I know. It turns out, when you stop trying to act on the world, the world stops being able to hit you back."
As a massive pendulum swung toward him, vibrating with enough force to liquefy bone, Leo did the only thing a 2.9 could do. He didn't move. He didn't fight. He accepted the stillness. And then, the world stopped.