The convoy pulled away from Paris before sunrise, the city’s lights still fading in the rearview. Inside the bus, the mood was tired — but triumphant. They’d stormed the rooftops, trended hashtags across borders, and left Paris howling in their wake. Now, attempting to outrun jet lag and dreaded hotel karaoke requests, the pack eyed Germany on the horizon.

Thane reviewed the itinerary: Frankfurt, Festhalle — 12,000-capacity arena, polished, efficient, modern — and a fanbase so dedicated they might’ve printed “Feral Eclipse” on their nylon stage outfits. Mark slept standing up. Emily was curating fan content by the minute (“We’ve got reaction vids from Austria already!”). And Gabriel… was drooling at the idea of schnitzel and bratwurst.

“Auf Die Bühne” – Germany, Festhalle Frankfurt

The Festhalle’s ferris-wheel silhouette came into view first — lights still swirling from a late-night event. The bus parked behind the sprawling gray-and-glass structure, and as the pack disembarked, the energy shifted: serious, intense, orderly.

Security, uniformed in crisp black, formed neat lines. Venue crew wore matching vests and headsets, radios humming around their shoulders like lifelines. There was no chaos — at least, not yet.

Inside, the hall gleamed under LED fluorescents. The stage was already set, gear neatly organized in labeled crates. Thane actually smiled at the efficiency.

“God, look at this,” he murmured. “They’ve got more cables pre-rigged than an orchestra.”

Cassie laughed. “German precision. Probably screws down the stage bolts with digital torque motors.”

Mark nodded approvingly. “This is my kind of load-in.”

Indeed, load-in was smooth. Gear was wheeled in silently, cables snapped into place, monitors tested with no screaming cables or missing speakers. For ten glorious minutes, nothing went wrong.

Then Gabriel swaggered onto the stage — bass slung low, tail flicking in approval of the clean backdrop.

“Orderly schmoderly,” he said to no one in particular. “Time to rock.”

Within minutes, the load-in had devolved into typical Feral Eclipse chaos: thumping sound checks, Gabriel testing mic gain with howls, Cassie fine-tuning vocal lines, and Jonah setting off a mini trombone blast of his own. Mark’s slight smile turned into a smirk.

A stage tech — blonde, sharp-eyed, clipboard in hand — watched it all unfold.

“Es tut mir leid,” she said quietly to Thane, then quickly translated for Gabriel: “That means ‘Excuse me.’”

Gabriel gave her a grin that spread across his muzzle. “No, Ich bin der Wolf,” he replied, accidentally switching to German. “I am the wolf.”

The tech blinked, then laughed. Thane winced—but it was worth it.