The Skirvin robes were still half-stuffed into backpacks as the tour van pulled back into familiar territory.
After the chaos of New Year’s Eve, the sudden return to the Edmond den felt surreal—like waking up from a fever dream in the best possible way. No mob. No confetti cannons. No impromptu appearances from metal legends. Just soft porch lights glowing in the dusk and the scent of pine-scented garland still lingering from the Christmas surprise.
Gabriel opened the door, stepped inside, and let out a long, content sigh.
“Home.”
Mark walked past him, dropped his bag with a heavy thud, and made a beeline for the kitchen. “If nobody stops me, I’m making grilled cheese with six kinds of cheese and a guilt complex.”
“Add bacon,” Jonah mumbled, already collapsing on the couch.
Thane followed in, tugging off his hoodie and letting his claws flex into the carpet. The quiet hum of the house welcomed them like an old friend.
Someone lit the fireplace. Someone else (probably Emily) pulled out a Bluetooth speaker and started a low playlist of acoustic Feral Eclipse covers fans had been posting all week. The den didn’t just feel cozy—it felt earned.
They were all scattered across couches and bean bags when Rico spoke up.
“Y’know…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “we’ve played some crazy venues now. Some gorgeous ones. Some sketchy ones. But not a single one around here is big enough for what we’ve become.”
Cassie looked over from her beanbag throne. “Not even the big civic center?”
Rico shook his head. “Too small. Not enough rigging capacity. No truck bay. Sound’s a nightmare. We’re getting too big for borrowed stages.”
Maya tilted her head. “You want to move?”
“No,” Rico said slowly. “I want to build.”
That got everyone’s attention.
Even Mark paused mid-sandwich chew.
Gabriel grinned. “Wait… you mean like… our own venue?”
“Yeah,” Rico said, warming to it. “A real one. One that fits our crowd. One built with actual werewolf specs in mind. We do it right—with Thane’s specs, Mark’s lighting design, Diesel’s logistics—hell, make it a full production facility. Soundstage. Rehearsal hall. Museum hallway with Gabriel’s bass smashed into a wall behind glass, whatever. Big. Professional. Ours.”
Thane leaned forward, elbows on knees, claws tapping rhythmically on his tablet. “We could do it.”
“Wait,” Emily blinked, “actually do it?”
Thane started scribbling figures—land costs, permits, build timelines. “With our current assets and ROI from merch, sponsorships, and streaming, not only is it doable… but it would pay for itself within three to five years depending on how we leverage the space.”
Mark narrowed his eyes. “Location?”
Thane looked up.
“Right here. Edmond. The city’s treated us like family. We’ve got infrastructure, fan support, space to grow—and frankly, the idea of someone trying to put ‘Feral Eclipse Arena’ on a highway sign in the middle of suburban Oklahoma delights me.”
Gabriel fist-pumped so hard he spilled his soda.
“I wanna help design the backstage lounges!” he shouted. “Like, real gamer chairs and claw-friendly vending machines!”
Cassie just laughed, loud and warm. “You mean you wanna put coffee makers in every corner.”
“That too,” Gabriel agreed with zero shame.
The conversation exploded from there. Mark started drawing rigging layouts on the back of a takeout bag. Jonah suggested a circular stage with catwalks. Maya casually tossed out the idea of local bands getting free access during off-season. Rico proposed calling it The Den and was immediately met with a room full of approving nods.
It wasn’t just a dream anymore.
It was a blueprint.
And for the first time since their rise began, the pack wasn’t just reacting to success—they were shaping it. Crafting their next legacy not on borrowed ground, but on their own.