Backstage at Glastonbury was a sensory blur — dim lighting, concrete floors, and crew members moving in a kind of controlled chaos. Cables were coiled like snakes. Stagehands passed by with gear carts. Sweat clung to skin and fur, the air thick with electricity and adrenaline.
Feral Eclipse had just finished obliterating the Pyramid Stage. Even now, fans could still be heard screaming in the distance as Trivium’s crew prepared for the next onslaught.
But Gabriel wasn’t hearing any of it.
He stood near the loading ramp, clutching a half-empty bottle of water, his claws still trembling from the final chorus. His ears were perked, tail flicking restlessly behind him, heart hammering in a chaotic staccato that hadn’t slowed since their set ended.
Mark gave him a gruff pat on the shoulder as he passed, heading back to their staging area. “Breathe, pup. You didn’t embarrass yourself.”
Cassie leaned over, grinning. “You killed it. Seriously. Matt Heafy was nodding the whole time.”
Gabriel’s ears swiveled, but he didn’t respond. Not until Thane approached, standing beside him in the quiet corridor.
“They watched,” Gabriel murmured. “He watched.”
Thane smiled. “You’ve waited your whole damn life for that.”
And then the universe shifted.
“Gabriel?”
The voice wasn’t loud, but it landed like thunder.
Gabriel turned slowly.
Standing ten feet away was Matt Heafy — sweaty from warm-up, guitar still slung across his shoulder, a towel draped around his neck. His smile was calm, easy. Familiar.
Gabriel didn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
Matt held out a hand. “Man, that was a killer set. Seriously impressive. That solo you did during the bridge of the fourth song? Oustanding!”
Gabriel blinked once.
Then twice.
And then he laughed nervously. “I, uh—y-you saw that?”
Matt grinned. “All of it. You made damn sure of that.”
Gabriel’s ears pinned back, embarrassed. “Sorry. I get… kinda stupid when I’m excited.”
“You get real when you play,” Matt said simply. “And I respect the hell out of that.”
Before Gabriel could melt into the floor, Matt turned and motioned to someone behind him. A guitar tech stepped forward carrying a hard case. Black. Familiar shape.
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “No…”
Matt opened the case.
Inside sat a pristine, gleaming Epiphone Les Paul Custom, his signature model. Black and gold. Polished. Perfect.
Gabriel froze.
“I heard from your crew,” Matt said, voice softer now. “You’ve wanted this guitar since you were fourteen.”
Gabriel’s claws flexed against his own chest. His voice cracked. “Since the day I saw it in a magazine. I had it taped to my wall. I memorized the serial number. I almost shoplifted one when I was sixteen and my dad threatened to chain me to the couch.”
Matt laughed. “Well, now you don’t have to.”
He gently closed the case, lifted it by the handle, and held it out.
“From one musician to another. No strings attached — unless you want ‘em in drop C.”
Gabriel didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Then his hands shook as he took the case, cradling it like something sacred. His chest hitched once. Then again.
And then the tears came.
Not sobbing — just silent, overwhelming tears that streaked down his sleek black muzzle as he lowered his head, overwhelmed.
Matt smiled gently. “You okay, man?”
Gabriel nodded quickly, pressing the back of his clawed hand to his face. “Y-Yeah. I just… I’ve worked so hard. I never thought…”
Thane appeared beside him, placing a steady hand on Gabriel’s back.
“He’s dreamed of this his whole life,” Thane said quietly. “And I think this might be the first time he realizes that he made it.”
Matt looked at Gabriel again and nodded. “You didn’t just make it. You belong here.”
And that did it.
Gabriel dropped to his knees, hugging the case like a lifeline, laughing and crying all at once while the rest of the band stood nearby, watching with soft smiles and misty eyes of their own.
Thane crouched beside him and whispered, “You earned it, my wolf.”
And Gabriel, blinking through tears, looked up at the lights hanging over the backstage corridor and said, “This is the best day of my life.”