The sun was just starting to dip behind the Oklahoma tree line as Feral Eclipse stood behind the curtain at Rocklahoma’s main stage. A dry breeze rustled the tarp walls. From beyond the lights, they could already hear it — the crowd, impossibly loud, roaring in waves that seemed to grow every time someone spotted the silhouettes of the band waiting in the wings.

Cassie stood quietly near the edge, one hand on her mic, her head tilted up as she hummed softly through her warmups. Rico and Maya were tuning up with steady, focused hands, checking fretboards and giving each other silent nods. Jonah was pacing like a caged animal, sticks flipping in one hand, adrenaline already pouring out of him.

Gabriel sat cross-legged on a road case, headphones on, tail slowly thumping behind him like a metronome. He had his eyes closed, breathing in time with the bassline already mapped in his head. When Thane stepped up beside him and touched his shoulder, Gabriel cracked one eye open and smirked.

“Ready?”

“Born ready, my wolf,” Gabriel said, flicking off the headphones.

The house lights dropped. The intro track rumbled to life. Fog hissed across the stage in swirling waves. Then the banner dropped, and the stage exploded into deep blue and pulsing red lights.

The crowd’s reaction was instant—a sonic tidal wave of screams and howls as the first thunderous notes of No Chains Left ripped through the night. Feral Eclipse didn’t just walk onstage — they took it. Gabriel was already throwing his whole body into the first riff, fur flashing in the strobe, his bass snarling like a wild animal. Rico and Maya hit opposite corners of the stage, flanking the front row as if daring them to keep up. Jonah looked like he was waging a war on his kit. And Cassie — she didn’t just sing, she unleashed.

Thane watched it all from his spot by the stage rig, hands deftly working the FOH mix rig, headset on, directing cues with clipped barks into his mic. Mark had synced the entire lighting rig by hand earlier that day, and it showed — every downbeat was punctuated with strobes, red blasts, and a rising crescendo of white beams that sliced through the Oklahoma dusk like claws.

The setlist ran like wildfire. Wolves Run Cold, Chainbreaker, Ashes and Iron — each one louder, tighter, more explosive than the last. When they launched into Howl With Me, the crowd didn’t just sing. They howled. Thousands of voices lifted into the sky in a perfect, spine-tingling roar.

Even the band looked stunned for a split second.

By the time they closed with Down the Line, the crowd had become a living, breathing organism — arms raised, bodies pressed together, chanting the final lyrics with tears in their eyes and dust in their teeth. Cassie dropped to one knee on the final chorus, gripping the mic like it was the only thing anchoring her to the earth.

And then… silence. The final chord rang out.

No one moved. Not a breath.

Then came the thunder. Screams. Cheers. Chanting. A wave of sound so loud it cracked off the stage trusses and shook the trees. Gabriel grinned and dropped his mic without a word. The rest of the band followed him offstage as the roar continued behind them, like the aftermath of a sonic bomb.

Fifteen minutes later, the next band — a polished, big-label act called Vandal Saints — stepped onto the stage. They strutted, confident, prepped, postured. But as they began their set, something became uncomfortably obvious.

The crowd had… shifted.

More than half had filtered away, some drifting back toward the camps, others still in packs around the field with Feral Eclipse shirts on, playing clips from the show, replaying the firelight from the night before. People still cheered — politely. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t feral.

Backstage, the band was sprawled across a few empty cases, cooling off under a portable fan and laughing through their exhaustion. Jonah was eating nachos off a cymbal. Maya had kicked off her boots and was holding an ice pack to her ankle. Rico was scrolling through tagged posts on his phone and just kept muttering, “Holy crap.”

Gabriel flopped down beside Thane, nuzzled his shoulder, and looked out over the crowd that was still half-lit by the glow of the main stage.

“Think they’ll recover?” he asked.

Thane gave a slow, exhausted grin. “They’ll survive.”

Mark wandered over with a new soda and sat down without a word. After a moment, he looked toward the stage.

“You hear that?” he asked.

“What?”

“That pause between songs,” Mark said. “That awkward silence.”

Gabriel cackled. “Guess they should’ve camped with the fans.”