By the time the meet and greet began in Frankfurt, the queue outside the venue had already turned into a carnival. Fans waved homemade signs, blew plastic wolf whistles, and held up actual wolf masks — some terrifyingly realistic, others hilariously cartoonish. A few had even painted fur patterns onto their faces. The air was a blend of perfume, beer, and body glitter, and security had long since given up trying to make the line orderly. It was like herding caffeinated goats with smartphones.
Inside, the VIP room had been decorated by the venue staff in what they assumed was a cool, edgy aesthetic — lots of steel gray, bold red uplighting, and even a printed banner that read “WILLKOMMEN, FERAL ECLIPSE!” hanging over a long table with water bottles, pretzels, and carefully aligned Sharpies.
Gabriel was the first through the door. He froze at the sight of the banner, then immediately turned to Thane.
“I swear to Fenrir, I’m gonna steal that.”
Thane didn’t even blink. “You already stole a cannonball last week.”
“I’m a collector,” Gabriel replied innocently, already unhooking the banner from one side.
Mark grunted. “Don’t you dare hang that in the kitchen.”
And then the fans poured in.
The first ten were in matching DIY Feral Eclipse hoodies — with hand-sewn patches, embroidered names, and even sewn-in little tails. One girl burst into tears upon meeting Cassie. Another clutched a limited-edition bass pick of Gabriel’s like it was the last Horcrux. Jonah signed a drumhead someone had somehow smuggled in. Rico posed for ten photos before realizing none of them were with the person holding the phone.
One fan approached Emily with a full color sketch she’d drawn — of the band as German shepherds — and Emily, absolutely delighted, ran around the room showing everyone.
Thane kept things moving, politely nudging fans forward, helping interpret when needed (and brushing up on just enough German to get him into trouble). But then came the moment that cracked even his stoic calm.
A burly, bearded guy in lederhosen shuffled up shyly and handed him… a single, lukewarm bratwurst wrapped in foil.
“For… sound wolf,” the guy said, eyes wide.
Thane blinked. “…Danke?”
Gabriel, witnessing this from across the room, burst into such intense laughter he nearly dropped his bass. “Sound Wolf!” he howled, doubling over. “YOU HAVE A TITLE NOW.”
Mark mumbled, “Better than ‘Lighting Goblin.’”
“Excuse me?” Cassie chirped. “I am the Lighting Goblin.”
“I thought you were the Mic Witch,” Rico teased.
The meet and greet spiraled into a swirl of hugs, howls, and heartfelt moments. One elderly woman gave Maya a warm handshake and said in perfect English, “You make me feel like women can lead bands without having to shout to be heard.” Maya was quiet for a moment, then pulled her into a full embrace.
By the end, the band was glowing — emotionally and literally, thanks to a fan who had brought glowstick necklaces “for good luck.” As the last guest exited, Emily turned to Thane, breathless and glowing herself.
“That was insane.”
He nodded. “Let’s go make it louder.”