twd: the last silence

Chapter 110 – The Ghost and His Sword

The silence hung over Alexandria like mist after a storm.

Maggie's arms were wrapped around Axel, her head tucked under his chin, holding him like he might vanish if she let go. The people on the wall, Rick, Daryl, Michonne — they all stood watching, quiet, unsure of what to say.

Axel stood still, then smirked. His voice broke the tension, rough and playful as always.

"Maggie girl, I always knew you loved me," he said loud enough for everyone to hear, "but, damn, everyone's watching."

Maggie blinked and looked around. Faces. Smirks. Whispers.

Her face turned bright red.

With a groan of embarrassment, she pulled away from him, muttering something under her breath as she turned and walked back inside Alexandria, not once looking back.

Axel watched her go, then sighed dramatically and dropped straight onto the dirt, cloak spreading out beneath him.

Flat on his back.

And he started laughing.

Full-bellied, bright, stupid laughter that echoed across the wall.

He laughed like someone who hadn't laughed in years.

He laughed like someone who had survived something he didn't expect to.

And somehow… Alexandria laughed with him.

Michonne walked forward, stood above him, and stared down with that same sharp look she always had.

"You done acting dramatic?" she asked, raising a brow.

Axel wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and nodded, still chuckling.

"Maybe."

She rolled her eyes and held out her hand.

He looked at it.

Then at her.

Then took it with a grin.

She pulled him up. He dusted himself off, still holding the katana strapped across his back.

Michonne's eyes flicked to it.

"That's a fine sword," she said.

Axel looked over his shoulder and smirked.

"Hell yeah it is," he replied proudly. "Belonged to my old man."

Then he laughed again, more quietly this time.

"God damnit, I can't remember how many times he almost killed me with it."

The laughter around them stopped.

The air changed.

Because when people joked about parents like that, it was usually a joke.

But when Axel said it… no one thought he was kidding.

Not Rick.

Not Daryl.

Not Michonne.

Not anyone who knew even a piece of Axel's past.

Rick stepped closer, arms crossed. "You serious?"

Axel didn't even glance his way.

He just stared off into the distance like he was looking into some memory none of them could see.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm serious."

And for a moment, no one said a thing.

Not because they didn't care — but because they didn't know how to care.

Because Axel wasn't like the rest of them. He wasn't just a fighter or a survivor.

He was a scar that still bled.

After a while, Michonne cleared her throat. "Still," she said, gently nudging him back into the moment, "you use it better than most."

Axel shrugged. "Had a lot of practice."

He swung the blade once, casually, like it was an extension of his arm — and she could see it. He wasn't bluffing. The control, the balance… it was second nature to him.

Rick looked at the others. "Let's get inside. We'll talk later."

The gate opened wider. Axel followed them in, walking slow, cloak fluttering behind him, katana resting on his shoulder.

People stepped aside to make way for him.

Not out of fear.

But out of respect.

He wasn't just some lunatic with a sword anymore.

He was the man who made the dead kneel. Who made the Whisperers surrender. Who changed Negan.

He was Axel — and whether they liked him or not, he was theirs.

As the group entered the courtyard, Daryl leaned toward Axel.

"You always this dramatic, or is it just when you show up at our gates in a damn cloak?"

Axel grinned. "Only on Tuesdays."

Daryl smirked.

They walked on.

The day had just begun.

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