Dragons
Dante– derived from the medieval Italian nameDurante, meaningenduring, steadfast,orlasting. The name became famous through the Italian poet Dante Alighieri, author ofThe Divine Comedy, whose journey through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven is one of the most enduring myths in literature.
The meaning of endurance is especially fitting for dragons, creatures that measure their lives in centuries rather than years. Like a dragon surviving the passage of time, the name carries themes of resilience, perseverance, and the ability to emerge stronger after hardship.
Theron– comes from the Ancient Greekθ?ρων (theron), meaninghunterorwild beast. The name appears throughout Greek history and mythology and is associated with strength, instinct, and mastery of the natural world.
Many dragons in mythology are apex predators, ancient creatures feared by hunters and kings alike. The name'sconnection to both hunter and beast reflects a dragon's dual nature: a wise, civilized being capable of great restraint, but also a powerful creature whose instincts remain close beneath the surface.
Chapter one
Checking from Behind - A dangerous hit delivered to an unsuspecting player.
Dante - two months earlier
I was twenty minutes early to O’Hare because that was who I was—the guy who showed up first, stayed latest, and never gave anyone a reason to question my commitment.
I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder and scanned the private terminal for the rest of the guys. A few were already clustered near the gate—Briggs and Kowalski arguing oversomething on a phone screen, Martinez half-asleep against his carry-on. Normal pre-flight chaos. We were headed to Winnipeg for a Saturday-night game, and I’d been visualizing my shifts all morning, running through plays in my head while I packed.
I was having the best season of my life. Twenty-three years old, second year in the league, and I’d already matched my rookie point totals with two months left to play, and that was just the regular season. Six months ago, the hockey media had started throwing around words likebreakoutandfranchise cornerstone, and for the first time since I was a terrified five-year-old on Taylor Street—back in Chicago, where I grew up—I felt like I belonged somewhere.
I felt like I’d earned it.
And yeah, okay, so my last few games hadn’t been perfect. I’d lost a little confidence. If I was honest, I’d started second-guessing myself, but Antoine had assured me all the younger players went through that, and he’d been trying to help. In fact, it had been Antoine who convinced me to keep my head down for the last few games. Flashy shots were inherently risky, and Coach and the guys needed to know I was a team player, not someone just out for glory.
“Russo.”
Coach Hendricks materialized at my elbow like he’d been waiting for me. That should have been my first warning. Hendricks didn’t wait for anyone—he expected you to come to him, hat in hand, grateful for whatever scraps of ice time he decided to throw your way.
“Coach.” I straightened up instinctively. “We boarding soon?”
He didn’t answer. His expression was the same flat mask he wore during blowout losses—controlled, distant, already past whatever conversation he was about to have.
“Come with me. Bring your bag.”
The second warning. I ignored that too.
He walked me to a small conference room tucked behind a priority lounge, the kind of beige, windowless box airports kept for delivering bad news to people who didn’t know it was coming yet. There was a woman inside I didn’t recognize—team operations, maybe, based on the lanyard—and she had a folder open on the table in front of her.
I stood because no one told me to sit.
“Dante,” Hendricks said, and the use of my first name was the third warning, the one that finally landed. He never called me Dante. I was Russo, orkidwhen he was feeling generous. “There’s no easy way to do this. You’ve been traded.”
The words hit me the way a clean check does—full contact, no time to brace. One second you’re moving forward, and the next the world tilts sideways and you’re trying to remember which way is up.
“Traded,” I repeated. The word didn’t sound real.
“To the Colorado Dragons. The deal was finalized about an hour ago.”
An hour ago, I’d been standing in my apartment listening to a podcast about neutral zone transitions. An hour ago, I’d still had a life here.
“I don’t—” I started, then stopped. My throat felt tight, like I’d swallowed something sharp. “The deadline’s today.”
“That’s why we’re telling you now,” the woman said.
We.As if the woman with the folder was somehow part of this, as if she’d had any say in ripping my entire world out from under me with the casual efficiency of someone filing paperwork.
“Can I ask why?”
