The first hints of dusk painted Edmond in a warm glow, like the town itself knew something extraordinary was about to happen.
The streetlights clicked on.
The floodlights went live.
The crowd? It had already tripled.
Diesel whistled low as he came back from a perimeter walk. “Okay, we’ve got a full-blown situation. That’s not just Oklahoma out there anymore. That’s… flags.”
Thane looked up from the power distro checklist. “Flags?”
Diesel nodded. “Germany. Japan. Argentina. Ireland. And someone in a full-blown Scottish kilt with ‘Feral Eclipse 4 Life’ painted on his chest. In December.”
Maya peeked around the curtain and swore softly. “When did this become the Olympics?”
Emily ran into the production tent, eyes wild. “There’s a guy with a parrot on his shoulder leading a chant in Russian.”
Mark didn’t even flinch. “That’s Ivan. I saw him in the livestream comments this morning.”
“You knew he was real?!”
Mark shrugged. “Of course. He tagged us in fan art last week.”
Thane rubbed his temples. “Okay. We need to get ahead of this before the city freaks out.”
“Too late,” Rico said, gesturing toward the street.
Because that’s when the first black SUV rolled up.
Then another.
Then three more.
Out stepped a parade of sharply dressed men in tailored coats, fur trim, leather gloves, and enough jewelry to bankroll a movie. At the front, a barrel-chested man with a platinum beard and a glowing cigarette holder surveyed the chaos with visible delight.
“I AM IVAN,” he declared to no one and everyone at once. “I BRING WOLF PACK VODKA.”
He lifted a wooden crate over his head, filled with bottles of high-end Russian vodka—each etched with a tiny, snarling werewolf head and the Feral Eclipse logo in Cyrillic.
The crowd screamed.
“FIREWATER FOR SOUND WARRIORS!” Ivan bellowed, gesturing to the crate like it was holy.
Gabriel sprinted out from backstage and hugged him with the force of a crash test dummy. “I knew you were real!”
“OF COURSE I’M REAL!” Ivan shouted, handing him a bottle. “I AM YOUR BIGGEST FAN. MY COUSIN IN MOSCOW HAS BASS POSTER IN CHURCH.”
Rico looked like he was having a mild aneurysm.
“Thane,” he whispered. “We’re about to serve Russian mob vodka at a city-sponsored event.”
Thane took a long breath. “Yeah. But… it’s very high-quality vodka.”
Emily jogged over, breathless. “Ivan says he brought more fans in three buses. There are people from Ukraine, Siberia, and at least one guy who claims to be from… Transylvania.”
Diesel chuckled. “That tracks.”
And still, the fans kept coming.
The roads were gridlocked from downtown to the interstate. Locals abandoned their cars and walked the last few blocks. Kids sat on shoulders. Parents waved signs. Elderly couples danced to warm-up tracks in mittens and boots.
When the sun dropped fully behind the horizon, the venue didn’t glow—it radiated.
Drone cameras buzzed overhead, capturing the spectacle. Every major social media platform trended with #FeralEclipseNYE. People were streaming live from the backs of pickup trucks, from rooftops, from someone’s canoe on a frozen pond.
A group of cosplay wolves howled at the sky as the soundcheck pulses vibrated the pavement.
And backstage?
Gabriel was in rare form.
He’d already tried to crowd-surf through the parking lot, played a one-person kazoo solo that nearly made Jonah cry, and suggested that Thane rig “surprise pyro” to the folding chairs.
Mark had to confiscate his clicker.
“I just wanted to blow up one thing,” Gabriel muttered, flopping into a folding chair and sipping from Ivan’s vodka.
“You’ve got five thousand fans, free booze, and a man in a wolf onesie trying to start a chant with a tambourine,” Thane replied, dry. “Pick a different explosion.”
Just before go-time, the Mayor appeared—beaming, awestruck, and absolutely overwhelmed.
“I don’t even know how we’re gonna explain this to the Governor,” he murmured.
“You don’t,” Mark said, calmly zipping a flight case. “Just tell him the wolves took over.”
The Mayor laughed. “I might do that.”
He looked out toward the mass of waving lights, glowsticks, flags, and snow-dusted chaos and sighed, full of wonder.
“You know… this is the biggest thing our town has ever seen.”
Cassie clapped him on the back. “It’s about to get bigger.”
Behind the curtain, the pack assembled. Last check. Last stretch. One last drink of water—or vodka, in Gabriel’s case.
The energy was electric. The crowd noise was thunderous.
And the last sound before the lights dropped?
Ivan, backstage in his silver coat, whispering with teary-eyed sincerity to Emily:
“This… this is what love looks like.”