The energy backstage pulsed like a heartbeat. The crew for Trivium had completed final checks, the stage was set, and the sun had just begun its slow descent behind the sprawling Glastonbury fields, casting a golden glow across the whole compound. Feral Eclipse had retreated from the immediate frenzy, still buzzing from their performance, lingering in the wings as a few festival staff passed by offering handshakes, selfies, and stunned compliments.
Then the sound of boots on asphalt drew their attention.
Corey Beaulieu was the first to round the corner, long hair tied back, guitar slung over his shoulder, grinning wide. Right behind him came Paolo Gregoletto, still tuning as he walked. Alex Bent trailed slightly behind, nodding at every crewmember he passed. And at the center of them all, still warm from his earlier interaction with Gabriel, was Matt Heafy — grinning like a proud older brother as he motioned for silence.
Gabriel, still kneeling near a gear case with the Les Paul in his lap, looked up and froze again. “Oh. My. GOD.”
Trivium had arrived.
Thane stepped forward quickly, trying to salvage Gabriel’s rapidly unraveling cool. “Hey, uh, guys — this is unexpected, but seriously appreciated.”
“Are you kidding?” Matt said, chuckling. “You guys lit this place up. We’d be jerks not to say hello.”
Corey stepped forward and offered Thane a handshake, which he took firmly. “Solid set, man. Tight as hell. And the way you mixed live? I clocked it from front of house. Damn impressive.”
Cassie’s eyes widened a little as Alex fist-bumped her and Jonah. “Seriously,” Alex added. “You guys are like if Tool got bitten by wolves.”
Gabriel looked like he might faint.
Matt turned to him again, this time with the rest of the band flanking him. “And you,” he said. “That was… one of the most passionate sets I’ve ever seen someone play.”
Gabriel stood, trembling just a little, and reached into his back pocket. “Okay, um… I have something for you.”
He pulled out a small tin and opened it carefully, withdrawing several black-and-red guitar picks etched with the Feral Eclipse logo — and his name in looping silver script. He held them out like sacred relics.
“These are my signature picks. I… I’ve been giving them to fans, but you guys — this is everything to me. So please. Just… take them.”
Corey took his with a grin. “I’m totally using this next set.”
“Me too,” said Alex.
Paolo took his with a quiet smile, flipping it between his fingers. “I’ve seen these floating around online. You’ve got a style, man.”
Gabriel hesitated, then squared his shoulders, pulling his Ernie Ball DarkRay off his back with practiced reverence. “Actually, Paolo… I want to give you this.”
The whole pack went silent.
Gabriel held it out by the neck, bass gleaming in the backstage lights, still slightly warm from the performance. “This is my main. The bass I used all tour. The one I recorded half the last album with. And I want you to have it. From one bassist to another.”
Paolo blinked. “You’re serious?”
Gabriel nodded, jaw tight. “You’re one of the reasons I picked up a bass in the first place. If this can even slightly say thank you… then I’m serious as a heart attack.”
Paolo accepted the bass gently, cradling it like it was alive.
“Dude,” he said softly, “this is an honor. I’ve been following your band since those first street videos blew up. You’ve got raw power. Groove. Attitude. And a voice in that instrument most players never find.”
Gabriel’s tail wagged wildly behind him, barely restrained joy radiating from his furred face.
“I’ll treasure this,” Paolo added. “And I’ll play the hell out of it.”
Gabriel laughed — pure, unfiltered, overwhelmed joy. “I think I’m gonna need to be sedated.”
The whole group cracked up.
Trivium’s stage manager poked his head in from the corridor. “Five minutes!”
Matt nodded and turned back to the band. “Alright, wolves. We’ve gotta go turn this field inside out. But listen — this isn’t the last time we’re sharing a stage. Count on that.”
He gave Gabriel a quick fist bump, then leaned in with a mischievous grin. “And if you ever want to trade bass solos, I dare you to keep up.”
“Oh he will,” Thane said, shaking his head. “He absolutely will.”
The pack stood shoulder to shoulder in the wings as Trivium walked out into the rising roar of the Glastonbury night.
Gabriel gripped Thane’s arm tight as the first thunderous chords hit the field. “I can die now.”
“You’re not allowed,” Thane said. “We’ve got a European tour to finish.”