twd: the last silence

Chapter 87 – "The Sword and the Smile"

The night hadn't ended.

Blood still soaked the dirt.

Cries of pain and grief still echoed between Alexandria's walls.

But the storm had passed.

And in its wake, walked Axel.

Slowly.

Every step left a crimson footprint, his body painted in the blood of the dead. Not all of it was walker blood.

Michonne's katana hung from his hand, glinting under the moonlight. The blade whispered in the wind, a ghost thirsty for more.

Axel didn't mind.

In fact—he smiled.

He twirled the sword once, the motion smooth, practiced, almost elegant. Then again. And again. His smile grew wider.

"Man," he breathed, "I missed the feeling."

His voice was low, almost wistful.

He looked at the katana like a lost friend finally returned. "I left my own blade with Negan," he said to no one in particular, voice thick with meaning. "Thought if I came in with it strapped to my back, you guys wouldn't even open the gate."

He laughed—soft, tired, and real.

Not mocking.

Not cruel.

Just a young man remembering who he used to be.

And what he had tried so hard to forget.

The sword dripped red, trailing patterns like veins down the steel.

Axel ran his fingers along the flat edge, almost tenderly.

Then, with one last twirl, he walked toward Michonne.

She stood where he'd left her, silent, katana-less, staring at him like she didn't know what to make of what she'd just seen.

Without breaking stride, he stopped in front of her, held out the blade, and smiled.

"Here you go, love," he said, his tone light, playful—but his eyes... they told a different story.

A storm behind a glass wall.

"Thanks for the hand."

She didn't say anything right away. She just took the katana and stared at it, still wet with death.

Then, quietly, she nodded. "You fight like someone who's done it too much."

Axel tilted his head. "I fight like someone who doesn't want to anymore... but will if he has to."

Their eyes met. Something unspoken passed between them.

Respect.

Pain.

A shared understanding.

Then Axel turned and walked off, back toward the blood-soaked battlefield where the cleanup had only just begun.

But in that moment, Alexandria had changed again.

The man they had feared…

Had become the sword that saved them.

---

The battle was over. The gates were broken. The walls stood, but barely. Alexandria had survived… barely.

Smoke rose into the night sky—some from the burnt remains of walkers, some from the trembling hands of survivors still trying to calm their nerves. Screams had faded into soft sobs, and footsteps echoed like ghosts in the wind.

Axel stood a few feet away, covered in blood, his breath slow and steady. He wasn't panting. He wasn't trembling.

He just watched.

Watched as Rick held Judith tight—arms around her like if he let go for even a second, the world would take her again.

Rick didn't speak.

He couldn't.

His eyes lifted—and there he saw Axel watching him. Their gazes met, but Axel didn't hold it long.

He turned away.

He didn't need thanks.

Didn't want it.

He hadn't saved Judith because of Rick. He didn't do it to be loved or accepted. He did it because a child was in danger. That was it. That was enough.

Axel walked toward the ruined gate and sat down near the splintered wood and twisted metal, letting the silence fold over him like a blanket. His muscles ached. His mind throbbed. But he didn't speak.

His hand slid into the pocket of his jacket, searching for something—his last comfort in a broken world.

Cigarettes.

The pack was empty.

"Of course it is," he muttered.

Then a soft thud landed beside him.

He looked down.

A cigarette.

He turned slightly to see Daryl standing a few feet away, arms crossed, his face unreadable in the dark.

Axel didn't say a word. Just took the cigarette and, without missing a beat, pulled another from the box and held it out toward Daryl.

Daryl walked up, took it, stuck it between his lips. Still no words.

He struck a match.

Lit his.

Then leaned forward and lit Axel's too.

The two of them sat there, side by side, smoke rising quietly into the cold night air. No words. No questions. No judgment.

Just two men who had seen too much.

Who had killed too much.

Who had saved too little—but saved something tonight.

For a few long minutes, they just sat there like that, their smoke curling toward the broken stars above.

And for once, Alexandria was quiet.

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