By sunrise, Rocklahoma looked like a battlefield with tents instead of craters and hangovers instead of casualties. The sky was pale pink, the air thick with leftover smoke, and most of the festival-goers were either passed out in camping chairs or groggily wandering in search of coffee.

But the notifications hadn’t slept.

Phones were blowing up.

Rico was the first to say it: “Guys… we’re trending. Like, hard.”

Thane blinked, half-dressed and half-awake. “Trending what?”

Cassie turned her phone around. “Everything.”

#FeralEclipse
#AlphaMark
#ClawTheStage
#RocklahomaRoyalty

There were videos. So many videos.

  • The bonfire acoustic set.
  • The entire crowd howling during Howl With Me.
  • Mark’s no-nonsense takedown of the Vandal Saints, now with 2.4 million views and counting.
  • A slowed-down montage of Gabriel signing a shoe and dramatically handing it to a crying fan.
  • A meme of Jonah with nachos photoshopped into epic battle scenes.

Then came the articles.

Rolling Rock: “Who the Hell Are Feral Eclipse — and Why Are They the Only Band That Mattered at Rocklahoma?”
AltPress: “Werewolves in the Wild: Feral Eclipse Eviscerates the Stage and Social Media.”
Billboard (yes, Billboard): “Feral Eclipse May Be the Real Future of Live Rock.”

Their inboxes exploded.

Cassie’s was filled with interview requests.
Rico’s had podcast invites.
Jonah’s had… two separate nacho sponsorship inquiries.
Gabriel got DMs from verified artists, including John Petrucci, a guitarist he’d worshiped in high school who just wrote:

“Dude. You killed. Let’s collab.”

Mark’s phone buzzed once. A text from a private number:

“Would you be open to management representation? Call me. You’ve got presence.”
Mark grunted, locked the screen, and went back to eating his oatmeal.

And Thane — Thane’s inbox had several emails flagged as “URGENT.” One from a regional tour promoter. Another from a late-night talk show. One had the subject line:

“Have you considered a West Coast headline run?”

Gabriel peeked over his shoulder. “Are we… like… famous?”

Thane closed the laptop slowly. “We’re something.”

Out near the firepit, still smoldering from the night before, fans were already gathering again. One held a sign that read “NO CHAINS LEFT = NO STAGE LEFT.”

Another had already sketched Mark in charcoal on a torn pizza box like some kind of patron saint of intimidation.

Jonah dragged a folding chair into the center of the group and flopped down dramatically. “Sooo… we should probably figure out how to survive this.”

Cassie leaned against the van, sipping coffee with a slow, satisfied smile. “We don’t survive it. We ride it.”

Gabriel looked at Thane. “What now, my wolf?”

Thane looked toward the rising sun, already seeing the next storm building beyond the horizon.

“…We howl louder.”