The den was quiet—at least, on the surface.
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, catching on stray flecks of glitter still stuck to the carpet from Gabriel’s latest craft explosion. The smell of coffee hung in the air, faintly roasted and warm, as Thane stepped back into the living room holding his favorite mug. He took a long sip, grateful for the brief moment of silence.
Then he saw his laptop screen.
His ears slowly tilted back.
Twenty-seven unread press requests. Fourteen tagged tweets from major outlets. A newly trending hashtag already climbing into the global top ten.
He set the mug down with surgical precision, leaned forward, and squinted.
#FeralFortress
“…Oh no,” he muttered.
In the corner of the room, Gabriel had built a scale model of the venue out of couch cushions, plastic figurines, and what looked suspiciously like the dog toy Mark had stepped on two nights ago. He glanced up with a proud grin.
“They love the name, huh?”
Thane didn’t answer. He refreshed the page again. The madness had multiplied.
It had started so small. Just a fan tweet—an AI-generated concept image of a stadium built like a claw mark, surrounded by flaming werewolf statues the size of cell towers. The caption read simply: “Leaked renderings of the Feral Eclipse Arena 😱🔥🐺 #FeralFortress.”
That had been this morning.
Now the Internet had exploded.
TikTok was overrun with fan videos theorizing secret tunnels beneath Edmond, moonlit rooftop spas, underwater rehearsal rooms, and at least one animated walkthrough that included a Gabriel-themed churro cannon. Reddit was debating whether “Den Prime” was code for a multiverse of Feral Eclipse venues.
Mark, standing behind the couch with a fresh mug of tea, stared blankly at his tablet. “Someone thinks it doubles as a werewolf temple that transforms into a mech.”
Thane groaned. “And here I was, hoping we’d get one full day without needing a PR response team.”
“They also think it’s powered by raw espresso and moonlight,” Jonah added from the kitchen, leaning on the counter while burning a grilled cheese.
“No,” Thane replied flatly. “That part’s true.”
Later that afternoon, the mayor called. His voice had a very particular tone Thane recognized from years of bureaucratic war—an exhausted sort of panic usually reserved for tornado drills or council meetings where someone tried to outlaw drum circles again.
“We need a press conference,” the mayor said. “Something. Anything. People are calling from LA. We’ve had emails from Dubai. Dubai!”
“Give us two hours,” Thane said. “And maybe warn the city zoning office that Gabriel’s probably bringing glitter.”
The Edmond courthouse lawn was already packed by the time they arrived.
It was supposed to be a low-key statement. Something sensible. Civil.
Instead, fans were pressed against makeshift barriers, waving flags and homemade signs. Several wore light-up wolf ears. One held a banner that read FERAL OR BUST. A middle-aged woman had brought her two poodles in tiny denim vests with “Mini Howlers” embroidered on the sides.
The mayor stood off to one side near the podium, rubbing his temples. “They brought a drone.”
Gabriel leaned in. “It’s not ours.”
The mayor gave him a long stare.
“Okay, it’s definitely ours,” Gabriel added cheerfully, then stepped back to make room as Thane took the mic.
Thane cleared his throat.
“I’d like to begin by saying… no, we are not building fifty-foot flaming werewolf statues. That image was fan art. Cool fan art. But not real.”
Gabriel leaned into the mic beside him and grinned. “Yet.”
The crowd roared in approval.
Thane sighed softly but continued.
“We are building a state-of-the-art venue designed to serve both the fans and the local community. It’s soundproof. Sustainable. Safe. And no, there are no bungee trampolines in the pit area. Jonah pitched that. We said no.”
“Three times,” Mark called from the side.
A reporter near the front raised her hand. “Will the venue be tail-inclusive?”
Thane blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”
Gabriel stepped forward without missing a beat. “Absolutely. Tail freedom is a cornerstone of our design philosophy.”
Thane pinched the bridge of his snout.
Cassie, standing with crossed arms behind them, cracked a smile and whispered to Rico, “We are so getting sued.”
That night, back at the den, the chaos hadn’t stopped—but it had taken on a cozier rhythm.
Jonah and Emily sat cross-legged on the rug, reviewing the day’s best fan art. Rico was sprawled out on the couch reading comments from TikTok. Gabriel was curled up in the hoodie fort he’d rebuilt beside the fireplace, still wearing the glitter-covered hardhat from the groundbreaking.
Thane sat with his laptop, clicking through the top trending fan reactions.
One post read:
“They could’ve just kept touring. But instead they said, ‘Let’s build a music fortress with espresso fountains and fog machines.’ Absolute kings.”
Another showed a blurry screenshot from the press conference with Gabriel mid-speech, surrounded by sparkles. The caption read:
Local Werewolf Declares War on Boring Venues.
A third was a hand-drawn schematic of the arena with secret “howl chambers,” a rooftop garden for Mark, and a fan confession booth.
Thane exhaled slowly through his nose, fingers resting gently on the keyboard.
Emily looked up from her spot on the floor. “You okay?”
He nodded, a small smile creeping into the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think we’re just getting started.”