The final bell rings like a starter pistol at the beginning of a race, but Dante de Santis doesn’t flinch. Most kids shoot up from their desks like they’re leaving prison for their first time in years. He stays seated, casually tossing his football cleats from under his desk into his gym bag like he had all the time in the world.
He doesn’t, but Dante mastered the art of pretending he didn’t care a long time ago.
“Big practice today?” A voice catches Dante out of his day-dreaming. The young boy looks up to find Aaron Jay leaning in the doorway.
Dante leans back and dramatically pauses, “Oh, you know, the usual for a super-star like me.”
“I forgot. I’m in the presence of royalty,” Aaron’s sarcasm isn’t lost on Dante, and he purses his lips like he was sucking on a sour candy again.
A moment of quiet between the two allows Dante to drop his guard slightly. “Actually, today is a big day. My dad is going to watch us do drills out there, and I already know Coach Ranch is going to be on me like no other.”
Aaron steps inside, his expression softening. “He’s on your case again?”
“When isn’t he?” Dante slings the bag over his shoulder and stands, rolling his shoulders with practiced ease. “The guy treats me like I burned down his house and kicked his dog into the fire,”
“Have you tried talking to your dad about it?” Aaron asks with good intentions, but it causes Dante to tense up.
“I’m in this mess because of him. I don’t need to give Coach Ranch another reason to hate my guts.” Dante groans in defeat. “But, even as much as I hate him, he does have a point sometimes. I’m not exactly team-player of the year.”
Aaron exchanges another look, one Dante has seen a thousand times and has already been faced with earlier in the day. A mix of challenge and loyalty. “You’re better than you think. You just need to stop trying to win every game by yourself.”
“That’s the only part I’m good at,”
They stand quiet for a beat. Then Aaron nudges him lightly with his elbow. “Don’t let him get in your head,”
“Too late,” Dante thinks. But he nods and throws on his game face. He gives a two-finger salute and responds. “Wish me luck.”
By the time Dante steps into the August sun, it is already overwhelming. The rest of the Mellgreen Warriors are already warming up with their helmets on and shoulder pads gleaming under the heat. Coach Ranch stands near the 40-yard line with his clipboard tucked under one arm like a weapon.
“Look who finally graced us with his presence,” Ranch barks the moment Dante crosses onto the turf. “De Santis, you plan on jogging out here like a homecoming queen every day, or are you gonna start showing up on time?”
“I was in class, Coach.” Dante replied, keeping his voice steady.
“Spare me the excuses and get on the line!”
Dante jogs over and takes his position alongside the team lining up for conditioning drills. Ranch walks the line like a drill sergeant with something to prove, his sunburnt face permanently twisted into a grimace. Dante pays him no mind and gets to work. With his dad watching, he has to be at his best no matter what.
“Let me make something very clear,” Ranch declares, turning to address the team. “I don’t care whose name is on the banners. I don’t care whose portrait’s in the gym. You play for me, you earn it. Every. Damn. Yard. And if your daddy’s the principal, that just means I get to push you twice as hard.”
The team doesn’t say a word, but their silent staring makes it all so much worse. They’d all heard this speech, especially Dante. He barely flinches even as the Coach’s spit rains in the air over the team with every bitter word. Ranch begs and feeds on the reactions Dante gives him. If he pushes him far enough, then maybe Dante will quit or be reasonably removed. On a different day, maybe he’d let him have what he’s after. Not today. He wasn’t going to give him a piece of his mind today.
But, as if he can smell the change in the air, Ranch turns his eyes on Dante like a sniper. “De Santis, you’re up first. Suicide drills. Touch every line. Full sprint. Everyone else? Watch and learn.”
Dante nods, jogging over the sideline. He lifts his helmet for a moment and sees his dad staring down at him from the bleachers. He takes a breath and then he runs. Hard.
He touches every yard line, feels his calfs burn, his lungs ache. But he doesn’t stop. Not today. Today was going to be his day. Ranch wasn’t going to get him to break. His father’s voice of approval was beyond the next yard line, and he was racing to hear it.
“You’re overwhelming yourself for approval. Turn back and become a better man.”
A voice echoes and time stops. Dante’s vision blurs and stretches. The blue on his uniform begins to meld with his very being. He is the blue, not now but forever. Dante opens his mouth to scream, but only the faintest echoes could be heard as his blue being stretches to encompass every inch of his body.
Images begin to flash into Dante’s mind of things that could be and will be. They’re going too fast for him to comprehend. A menagerie of explosions and color fill his view until it suddenly settles and zeroes in on a scene that leaves Dante’s mind blank with shock.
Smoke rose from the ground. Broken concrete layered the streets. The lake has dried up and the mountains are crushed. The city of Mellgreen is no more, and what lays at it’s center now is a crater. A lump forms in Dante’s throat that he can’t push away. Something was still happening at the center of the crater. His view is narrowed and focused in one the scene unfolding.
Two armored figures will be locked in battle, their weapons clashing with sparks flying in the air. Dante can barely comprehend their movements, but the motive behind their strikes is made all too clear to him. This is not a battle for survival, but of pure hatred. These two opponents will kill each other and this world is doomed because of it.
“You watch the end of your world,”
Dante could gather that much, but he couldn’t get a sense of who was talking to him. It felt like the voice was constantly behind him and yet he can’t twist this incorporeal form to see it.
“Watch. This is your part to play.”
Dante’s focus returns to the fight at hand. One of the figures was losing badly. He couldn’t keep up with the brutality and strength of the other fighter. It was over for him.
The brutal figure, armored in black with dark flames coating their body, strikes through the other fighter’s guard, and his armored form shatters to the ground.
Dante looks down at the figure who claws to get away from his assailant. The black figure repeats something that can’t be heard. The one who is about to die raises his face to his killer, and Dante’s heart drops. Reflected in a twisted mirror is his own mangled face.
What destiny is suddenly being thrust upon him?
Dante doesn’t see the end, but he knows the outcome. Death.
“This world does not need to be yours. Rise above, blue.”
His body lurches forward and collapses to the ground. The taste of dirt fills his mouth. His eyes flutter open, and he finds himself on the turf. Just as he comes to and his mind aches from the sudden intrusion, his body quickly follows and reminds him of the pain that he was enduring.
A sharp whistle cuts through the air.
“What the hell was that, De Santis?” Coach Ranch storms toward him, fury etched into every line of his face. “You think this is nap time?! If you wanna collapse like some dehydrated ballerina in front of the whole team, then do it on your own time! Get up!”
Dante tries, but his body refuses. His muscles are stiff, his limbs trembling beneath him. He pushes his palms into the turf, barely lifting himself into a crawl before gravity pulls him down again.
“I said get up!” Ranch roars, now standing over him like a thundercloud ready to burst.
A few teammates exchange uneasy glances. Even they can see something’s wrong.
But, just like a bull seeing red, Ranch charges ahead.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about! Everyone thinks you’re hot stuff because your last name’s stamped on this damn school! You know what I see? A show pony. Fragile. Weak.” Ranch’s continued onslaught leaves Dante even more physically exhausted.
Dante’s head turns, sluggish and heavy, and then he sees him.
His father.
Principal Oliver De Santis stands at the edge of the bleachers, arms crossed, expression carved from stone. His shirt is crisp, sleeves rolled with precision. His gaze slices through Dante like a scalpel and yet remains distant. He sees everything. Sees his son crumpled in the dirt. Sees Ranch tearing into him. Sees Dante struggle just to breathe.
He turns away.
With no sign of concern, his father descends the steps of the bleachers and leaves for his office. It’s like he’s already decided his son isn’t worth his time. That silence hits harder than anything Ranch can scream.
Dante bites down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper. He forces himself upright, even as his vision pulses and his skull feels like it’s splitting. He stumbles once, twice, but stays standing.
Ranch sneers. “Get off my field, De Santis. Come back when you’re ready to actually give it your all.”
Dante doesn’t respond. He grabs his helmet from the ground and walks off the field away from the pain. His chest aches. From the drill, from the heat, from his own death staring him in the eyes, but mostly from the look his father gave him.
Before tomorrow graces the world, every student will be talking about how Dante de Santis collapsed in the middle of practice, but no one will know why. No one will care enough to ask before the rumors begin to fly around. And yet, for some reason, Dante can’t muster up the energy to care as much about the embarrassment that will follow. Instead, his thoughts linger on his own death and his father’s cold gaze.
Across Mellgreen, destiny has already begun it’s twisted dance.
The sound of sirens extends far past the epicenter of a new tragedy. A tired man rubs his worn-out eyes in hopes of understanding what he’s looking at to no avail.
“Sergeant Leoni, sir!” A younger cop runs over and salutes the worn-out Sergeant. “We haven’t been able to find the cause of this. The cameras are completely fried and-”
“Please, slow down.” The Sergeant lifts a small smile to his lips. “The immediate danger is over. Take your time. Walk me through it.”
“Y-yessir…” The younger cop nods. “At 3:51 PM, a break-in was reported here at the Mellgreen Historical Society. By the time authorities arrived at 3:58 PM, the intruder was gone. In that time, blue flames started to appear all across the building. Three people died, including the security officer for the building. The intruder managed to cut the cameras and wasn’t seen by any witnesses entering the streets.”
“What did they take?” The Sergeant’s interest was piqued as his younger subordinate leads him further into the museum, passing by a lot of high-value pieces.
“The original land contract for Mellgreen. It’s been on display forever. There’s no reason to take it now.” The cop says with a depressed tone.
“Aside from the 50th Founding Day ceremony. Could be the work of some practical joker, but that’s unlikely. They’re more likely looking for a payday if they grabbed something this personal to the city. They’re not afraid to kill, which shows this isn’t just some kid.” The Sergeant deduces this as they arrive at the exhibit where the contract had been sitting for over ten years. Sure enough, various firemen were still putting out blue flames at the scene, and the exhibit had a burnt handprint on its side. This was no ordinary thief.
“What do we do, Sergeant?” The cop looks to him expectantly.
“Let the press know what happened. We’ll need to drive the thief to make their offer, and then we can hope to get our next clue. Inform the deceased’s families that we’re doing everything we can.” Sergeant Leoni’s shoulders hang slightly before he turns to the younger cop. “And since we’ll likely be working together quite often, call me Vito.”
“Yes, sir!” The eager cop responds before running off.
Vito groans, looking at the mess before him. He could never guess that what seems like an ordinary break-in is only the prelude to a much larger conflict in store for him and everyone who lives in Mellgreen.
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