Athan Kaliakmanis’ name tells a story. It might explain why the rookie QB has D.C. buzzing.

ASHBURN, Va. — The origin story is inked on his shoulder.

Underneath those bulky football pads, which always look a size too big on his wiry frame, there’s a portrait of St. Athanasius of Alexandria tattooed on Athan Kaliakmanis’ left arm.

As the legend goes, Kaliakmanis’ father, Alex, was sitting in a Greek Orthodox church in New Jersey one day, looking up at the stained-glass windows. The iconography of Athanasius stared right back at him.

“And I turned to my mother and said, ‘I’m going to name my son Athanasius,’” Alex recalled. “I just loved it.”

His mother looked at her 16-year-old son and had just one response.

“You have to name your first son Constantino,” she said. “The second one, yes.”

And so it was. Alex’s first son has the name Constantino, in honor of St. Constantine the Great. He goes by Dino. And his second son goes by the nickname Athan.

When he came of age, Athan began asking questions about his namesake to his uncle, a priest from Chicago. Exiled five times, Athanasius was a theologian known as a staunch defender of the divinity of Jesus Christ. He went head to head with Roman emperors, including Constantine in Constantinople, and unexpectedly rose to become the Bishop of Alexandria.

The story resonated so much with Athan that he had his likeness permanently affixed to his body.

“My name, I don’t take it lightly,” Athan said. “It means something to me.”

To his father, it means even more.

“It was meant to be,” Alex said. “That’s just who Athan is. ... He’s fearless. You always had to keep an eye on him.”

In Washington, all eyes are on him now. The plucky seventh-round quarterback is doing everything he can to make the Commanders’ 53-man roster. His blend of daring throws and courage in the pocket have people comparing him to a young Kirk Cousins. Although never a star in college, bouncing from Minnesota to Rutgers, he doesn’t look at the NFL as a temporary gig.

“You made it to the NFL. Now you gotta find a way to make this a career,” his father told him the night he was drafted.

And, sharing a quarterback room with Jayden Daniels and Marcus Mariota, Kaliakmanis isn’t backing down. Two inches shorter, two Heisman Trophies lighter, Kaliakmanis believes he belongs. It’s in his name.

“That dude can sling it,” wide receiver Jaylin Lane. “I didn’t know too much about him. Watched a few of his highlights. But I mean, that throw to [wide receiver] Antonio [Williams]. That thing was launched.”

Of course, for those who did know him, his recent rise into a dark horse NFL quarterback is less of a shock.

“There was no doubt,” insisted Alex, who wrestled at Seton Hall. “I’m an athlete. He had the physical tools. He had the mental stuff too, that fearlessness.”

Alex’s introduction to it came early. When Athan was growing up in Illinois, the Kalakmanis household had a four-flight staircase. From the top, it was a 15-foot drop onto a couch.

Athan and his brother would make the dive every day until the couch finally gave out.

“Nobody ever fessed up to it until three years ago,” Alex said. “Dino, you’re not getting anything out of him. Athan, he’s loyal.”

But eventually Alex channeled his younger son’s energy in more productive ways. Athan starred in basketball, baseball and football. He threw hard enough by 5 years old that Alex could no longer play catch without a glove.

“It hurt your hand,” he said. “I know I’m his dad, but I told my wife, ‘No, this kid’s got an arm.’”

At home, Athan and Dino turned the front lawn into a training ground. Athan was the quarterback and Dino the receiver, running routes for hours. If it wasn’t football, they’d pick up golf clubs and start nailing shots into a nearby lake — seeing who could hit it farther into the horizon.

“There was always some sort of competition,” Alex said. “Even today, they come back home and they are taking the golf clubs out.”

Athan was the younger brother, but he set the pace. Dino was born with central auditory processing disorder. For the first six years of his life, he barely spoke. He was held back a year to be in the same grade as Athan, hoping the two would push each other.

They worked at the family pizza store in Antioch and toiled on the home lawn. When the 20-pound bags of mulch came out, Dino was usually more helpful than Athan — who had a propensity to wander into the house “looking for a drink” and go missing the rest of the day. Making New York-style pizza in the Midwest was more his speed.

“It’s not necessarily about the thin stuff. It’s all in the dough,” Athan said.

Nonetheless, following Athan’s head-charging drive, Dino blossomed into a college receiver, playing alongside his brother at Minnesota and Rutgers.

“Athan wasn’t going to accept anything less,” Alex said. “It was good for him. Dino had to keep up.”

And eventually the rest of Illinois had to keep up too. Athan’s exploits went beyond the family compound. In eighth grade, he broke his collarbone playing quarterback. He had surgery, and his timetable for return coincided with the edge of the playoffs. The family had the choice to sit him out and wait for high school, not risking reinjury, or rush him back. Athan played, and the team won the championship.

“There are lessons in there,” said Alex, who was his assistant coach. “He’s a tough guy. He showed leadership.”

The offers came fast, first from Syracuse and then Big Ten teams. He was Illinois Gatorade Player of the Year and went to Minnesota. His first start came at Penn State in a white-out crowd as a true freshman in front of 112,000 fans. His family sat in the stands, worried the experience might break him.

And there were mistakes. He threw an interception and completed only 40% of his passes. But he also finished with 175 yards and a passing touchdown, and he showed moxie that belied his years. It never fully translated into stardom. As a full-time starter, he never had a season with more than seven wins. There were always fans who wanted more out of the quarterback.

But every year his numbers rose until he threw for more than 3,000 yards as a senior.

“I tell my sons, ‘It’s OK to make mistakes. Be where your feet are,’” Alex said. “Everything carries a lesson. He learned lessons at Minnesota and Rutgers.”

And now he is following a similar script with the Commanders.

When he came out of the draft, where he was the second-to-last quarterback off the board, many didn’t give him a shot. He was listed fourth on most depth charts — behind Daniels, Mariota and former Notre Dame quarterback Sam Hartman. He had less pedigree than all them.

But, when he arrived, Athan saw a system he could take advantage of. The play-action game allows him to show off his arm strength, and the pro-style passing attack rewards quarterbacks daring enough to push the ball into tight windows.

He threw interceptions in practice. But he’s never played it safe. It paid off in his first NFL experience, going 6-for-10 for 87 yards in the preseason opener against the Dolphins. The following week in Detroit, Washington gave him more playing time and he capitalized with 162 yards.

He aired one ball out down the sideline to receiver Nick Nash, a risk that cashed in for 55 yards. He hung in the pocket, sidestepping pressure, to hit Williams on the run for 21 yards. By the end of the day, his locker was crammed with television cameras and reporters hoping to figure out where Washington’s latest fan favorite came from. Fittingly, the scar from his collarbone surgery peeked out from his shirt.

“Every rookie’s dream is to make the roster,” Athan said during a quieter moment. “But that steals from where you are now. I know a lot of people, most people, don’t last very long here. So I’m not worried about where I’ll be in two weeks.”

With his recent play, fans have tried giving him a nickname. The Baklava Bomber and The Greek Rifle. Others, flummoxed by the pronunciation or spelling of his last name, just say Cadillac. Athan plays along.

But there’s only one name you need to know if you want to understand him. It’s the one tattooed on his arm.