The lights went black.

The crowd screamed.

Not cheered—screamed. A thunderous, ground-shaking roar that surged up from thousands of fans packed shoulder to shoulder in the Lone Star Pavilion. Phones lifted. Chests vibrated. Hearts pounded.

Then…

BOOM.

A deep rumble pulsed through the venue—slow, deliberate, like the earth itself was breathing.

A single beat.

Then another.

Then light—flashes of red, blue, and white carved through the darkness in time with the rhythm. Fog poured out across the stage in curling, ghostly tendrils.

From the very first echo, the audience was chanting:

“FERAL! ECLIPSE! FERAL! ECLIPSE!”

And then — they appeared.

Gabriel emerged first, leaping through the smoke like a shadow with a pulse, bass slung low, claws flashing in the spotlight. Tail flicking, head high, icy blue eyes burning. The cheers doubled.

Cassie strode forward, one fist raised, her mic already crackling with energy, lips curled into that signature “we’re about to ruin your life with sound” grin.

Maya and Rico took opposite flanks—dueling guitars slashing the air with sheer presence. Maya spun once, her hair and fingers a blur; Rico leaned into the first riff like he was commanding gravity itself.

Jonah exploded behind the kit with a thunderous fill that made the light trusses shake. He let out a wild yell and flung a drumstick into the crowd before the first line even hit.

And behind the curtain, just out of sight, Thane was already working.

Tucked behind the stage wall in a control pit built just for him, Thane’s clawed hands moved with perfect precision. His eyes flicked between meters and waveforms. One hand rode a fader. The other punched a low-pass filter right as the sub kicked in.

Every note. Every breath. Every thunderous drop?
He was the one making it all hit.

No one saw him.

But everyone felt him.

He made Cassie’s voice soar clean over the guitars. He kept Jonah’s drum kit from exploding in the monitors. He polished every note of Gabriel’s bass into something that could shake bones.

And when the pyros flared, when the chorus dropped, and when 30,000 people screamed like wolves under the moon—Thane was the one who made it perfect.

Back on stage, Gabriel stepped onto a riser and roared into the mic:

“DALLAS! ARE YOU ALIVE?”

The crowd lost its mind.

He grinned, claws curling around his bass neck.

“THEN LET’S HOWL!”

And they did.

All of them.

The pack howled with their fans, and under the stage lights, their music became legend.

But behind those lights—hidden in shadow, lit only by LEDs and the soft glow of his rig—Thane smiled.

Because this?

This was the sound of dreams being made real.