The training grounds of the League were empty at midnight.
Jason stood in the center of the stone courtyard, the Morpher in his hand, its surface gleaming in the light of a single torch. Lady Magdalene watched from the shadows, her staff planted before her, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that bordered on hunger.
"The Grid is a source of pure order," she explained, her voice carrying clearly across the empty space. "It was created by beings called the Morphin Masters to empower those who would protect the innocent. It chooses its Rangers carefully—those with courage, with compassion, with the strength to sacrifice."
"I'm not any of those things," Jason said.
"No." She smiled. "But Lord Zedd is not asking the Grid to choose you. He is asking it to obey him. And to make it obey, you must first master the power that is already yours."
She raised her staff and pointed it at his chest. A spark of violet light leaped from the crystal at its head and struck the Morpher. The device hummed, vibrating in Jason's grip, and suddenly he could feel it—the connection, the crack in reality that ran through his own soul.
"The Lazarus Pit gave you more than life," Lady Magdalene said. "It gave you will. The waters are green because they are drawn from the same source as the power that fuels the Lanterns. Will is the color of life, Jason. Will is the color of your resurrection."
He looked down at his hands. The green light was there again, seeping from his skin, curling around his fingers like smoke made of emeralds.
"The Grid will try to reject you," she continued. "It will tell you that you are not worthy, that you are not chosen, that you are nothing but a mistake. But you are not nothing. You are a boy who died and refused to stay dead. You are a son who was abandoned and chose to rise. You are will, Jason Todd. Now use it."
He closed his eyes. He thought of the Joker's laughter. He thought of the crowbar coming down, over and over, breaking bones that would never heal. He thought of Bruce holding his body, screaming his name. He thought of Tim Drake, laughing on a rooftop, wearing his colors, standing in his place.
And he thought of the green light inside him—the light that had pulled him from death, the light that had given him a second chance, the light that was his and no one else's.
He spoke. The words came from somewhere deep, somewhere that had been forged in blood and fire and the cold silence of the grave.
"I will not be forgotten."
The Morpher blazed.
The armor came in a rush—green plates snapping into place over his chest, gold trim lining his shoulders, a helmet forming over his face with a visor that showed him the world in shades of jade and emerald. The Dragon Dagger materialized in his right hand, humming with power. He felt the Grid push back, try to reject him, try to tear the armor away. He felt Zedd's presence in the back of his mind, offering to force the Grid to submit. But he also felt something else: the green light of his own will, rising to meet the Grid's resistance, not asking permission, not begging to be accepted, simply refusing to be denied.
He raised the Dagger and brought it down.
The training dummy before him exploded into splinters. The shockwave rippled outward, cracking the stone beneath his feet, sending dust and debris flying in all directions. He turned to the next dummy and swung again. Another explosion. Another crack in the earth. Another piece of himself pouring into the blade.
With each strike, he felt the Grid's resistance weaken. Not because Zedd was forcing it, but because he was proving himself. Not chosen, perhaps. Not worthy, perhaps. But here. Standing. Fighting. Refusing to break.
He destroyed the last dummy and stood in the center of the ruined courtyard, his chest heaving, his armor steaming in the cold night air. The green light in his eyes had faded, but the fire behind it had not.
"Good," Lady Magdalene said, stepping out from behind a pillar. "Very good."
Jason dismissed the armor. The Morpher returned to his hand, warm now, alive. He looked at it, then at the destruction around him, then at the woman who had given him the power to create it.
"When do I go back to Gotham?" he asked.
"When you are ready," she said. "When you have mastered the power. When Lord Zedd is satisfied that his investment will not be wasted."
"I don't work for Zedd."
"You work for yourself," she agreed. "And yourself wants the Joker dead. That desire aligns with Lord Zedd's interests. For now."
Jason tucked the Morpher into his tunic. "And when it doesn't?"
Lady Magdalene's smile did not waver. "Then we will see what kind of Ranger you have become."