The lights went out at exactly 11:45 p.m.
Not in the power failure kind of way—but the dramatic, spine-prickling hush of a pack of wolves holding their breath. The crowd, once a chaotic mass of voices and motion, quieted like someone turned down the sky. You could almost hear the snow settling.
Backstage, Thane glanced at the cue monitor.
Mark stood behind the lighting console, fingertips resting on the faders like a pianist poised for war.
Emily tapped a countdown timer, voice soft but shaking. “Fifteen minutes to midnight.”
Gabriel cracked his knuckles, tail twitching behind him. “Time to be legends.”
The spotlights snapped on. Smoke poured in waves across the stage.
And when Feral Eclipse stepped into the glow?
The crowd didn’t just cheer. They howled.
The first song hit like a thunderclap.
Bass throbbed. Lights danced like fire. Jonah’s drums rolled like avalanches from a mountaintop. Cassie’s vocals soared like a comet across the frozen night air. And the crowd — a sea of waving arms and flags and tears — answered every line, every beat, every pulse like they’d been waiting their entire lives for this exact moment.
Gabriel stood at the edge of the stage, arms wide, grinning like he’d just stolen the moon.
“This…” he roared, eyes sweeping the crowd. “This is what a real New Year looks like!”
Cheers. Screams. Deafening joy.
From backstage, Rico and Maya leaned in and shouted over the din.
“Dude,” Rico yelled, “do you see the size of this crowd?!”
Maya pointed to the horizon. “They’re backed up onto the highway!”
Mark stayed quiet behind the console, perfectly timing a slow sweep of red across the back trusses — the VariLite VL2600s casting crimson daggers through the fog like glowing wolf eyes.
Onstage, the pack tore through the tail end of a heavy instrumental jam, fog rolling low and red across the stage. Gabriel was pacing, energy still burning from the last song, when movement in the side wings caught his eye.
He paused.
Squinted.
And nearly dropped his bass.
Standing just offstage, partially hidden in the shadows behind a cluster of road cases, was Matt Heafy, arms crossed, grinning like the chaos was exactly what he’d hoped for.
Behind him—Paolo, Corey, and Alex, all in casual stage blacks, watching like proud big brothers.
Gabriel blinked, blinked again, then slowly turned back to the crowd, holding up a single clawed hand.
“Wait… wait… y’all… hold up.”
The crowd went silent—confused, buzzing with curiosity.
Gabriel pointed toward the wings, eyes wide, voice shaking with joy. “I think we’ve got… uh… special guests in the building.”
The spotlights shifted.
A beam lit the side stage.
The crowd saw them.
TRIVIUM.
The eruption of screams was immediate and unhinged. Fans shouted in disbelief. Flags waved. Someone tossed a Trivium shirt into the air like a flare.
Gabriel jogged to the side and practically launched into Matt with a hug. Paolo took it next. Then Corey. Then Alex. It was the most chaotic werewolf-backstage group hug ever recorded.
Thane appeared seconds later, already plugging in a spare DI and patching through cables with the speed of someone born for this moment.
“You guys ready to jump in?” he asked, half-laughing.
Matt gave a sharp grin. “We were born ready.”
Mark, now grinning at the board like Christmas had come twice, cued the mics and lit the truss with pure white fire.
Back on stage, Gabriel returned to center, trying to stay composed while his tail wagged like a drum solo.
“Edmond!” he shouted. “You didn’t think we were doing this alone, did you?!”
The crowd roared.
He gestured wide behind him.
“SAY HELLO… TO TRIVIUM!!”
The night officially exploded.
Matt stepped to the front, guitar already slung. Paolo took over bass. Jonah stepped aside for Alex. The whole band shifted like they’d done this a thousand times—and tonight, it was nothing short of flawless.
They tore into Pull Harder on the Strings of Your Martyr.
Gabriel howled backing vocals alongside Matt, the two of them headbanging in perfect sync. Emily screamed from the wings. Ivan cried openly. The Mayor high-fived a man in a fursuit with glowsticks.
Cassie leaned into Thane mid-song. “We can’t top this.”
Thane smirked. “Just wait.”
With one minute left on the year, Trivium handed the stage back.
Gabriel stood tall at center stage, chest heaving, eyes wide and glassy.
He raised his arms.
“Let’s do this right.”
Behind him, Mark triggered the final sequence.
VL2600s burst into a full multi-color storm. Lasers swept the rooftops. The skyline lit up with every beat. And as the crowd counted down—
“Ten! Nine! Eight!”
— Thane dropped the house delay into a swelling wash, lifting the sound like wings.
“Three! Two! ONE—”
BOOM.
The sky shattered into light.
Fireworks launched from behind the venue, from parked trucks, from rooftops. Confetti cannons fired into the streets. The fans didn’t cheer — they screamed like thunder. Gabriel dropped to his knees and howled into the sky, and a thousand more answered in kind.
Onstage, Feral Eclipse and Trivium and Vandal Saints stood shoulder to shoulder—sweaty, breathless, overwhelmed and undefeated.
Rico raised his guitar like a sword.
Cassie blew kisses into the night.
Mark just stared out, silently smiling with tears in his eyes.
And Gabriel stepped to the mic one last time.
“Happy New Year, world!”
He paused. Looked at his pack. Looked at the crowd.
“And don’t you forget it—we’re just getting started.”