The arena lights blaze down, sharp and blinding, casting long reflections across the ice. My skates bite into the surface, the cold hiss of blades on ice like a roar in my ears. I can feel the rhythm of the rink beneath me, the pulse of the game already thrumming in my chest.

I lead from center ice, every stride a statement—tall, muscular, a predator in motion. Let them try to keep up. Let them even think they can. My eyes sweep across the rink, measuring, calculating, daring anyone to cross me. Each shift, each push of my legs, pushes everything else out of my head. Just me, the ice, and the chase.

Cole crouches in goal, a wall of muscle and focus. I can see it in his stance—the way his gloves twitch, the barely-contained intensity. If that puck comes anywhere near me, it’s mine. But try him? You’ll regret it.

Kai and Lucas Barrett patrol the blue line like twin storms, synchronized and precise. Their sticks slash the air, sharp and threatening. I skate past them, feeling the energy of their movement feed into mine. They’ve got my back. Don’t slow down now.

Hunter Vale streaks down the left wing, carving arcs that make the ice scream beneath him. Troy Maddox on the right is pure power, raw force spraying shards of ice with every sudden stop. Together, we’re a storm, a blur of speed and dominance.

I push harder, pivoting, slicing through lanes, taking every chance to control the play. The sound of blades against ice is thunder, the slap of stick against puck a percussion in my veins. Faster. Harder. Make them remember this. Make them feel it.

No words. Don’t need them. The crowd leans in, the tension thick, the air electric. And I? I’m alive in motion. Every glance, every pass, every strike is mine to command. This is Rivermont Ravens hockey—relentless, untouchable, and pure. Let them try to match it. They can’t. Not today.