twd: the last silence

Chapter 91 – "The Dance"

The sun was high, and the air shimmered faintly with heat. On the training grounds, dust drifted lazily with each breath of wind.

Axel stood alone in the center, katana in hand—not swinging wildly, not cutting targets, but moving. Each step was fluid, each twist of his wrist deliberate. The blade sliced the air with grace, not fury. It wasn't violence. It was poetry.

People gathered along the fence quietly, drawn in without realizing why. They'd seen him fight before—like a storm, like wrath incarnate—but this was something else. This was a man dancing with a blade as if it were an old partner.

He shifted his foot, spun slightly, and slid the katana down in one slow arc. A child in the crowd whispered, "Wow."

Maggie and Michonne arrived side by side. Maggie's arms were folded, her expression unreadable, but Michonne? She watched with narrowed eyes and an almost-smile.

Then Axel spoke—still moving, not even glancing her way.

"Hi, Micho. How about a small one-on-one?"

Maggie looked sideways at Michonne. "He just call you Micho?"

Michonne didn't answer, but her smirk said enough.

She stepped forward, loosening her shoulders. "You sure you wanna do this, silverhair?"

Axel finally turned, katana now resting over his shoulder, grin wide and cocky. "Come on, I've been waiting to see if I can make the sword sing again. Let's make it hum a little."

More people gathered now. No one shouted. No one placed bets. They just watched.

This wasn't about proving who was stronger.

It was something else entirely.

Two warriors. Two survivors.

Two storms, meeting in the eye of calm.

---

The first clang of steel against steel rang out softly, like wind chimes brushing in the breeze. Then another. And another. Each strike between Axel and Michonne felt like rhythm—measured, timed, a flow of energy passed back and forth like a secret language.

People stood still. No one spoke. All eyes were on the two fighters.

Michonne's eyes were focused, sharp. Her strikes were precise, elegant. Axel moved with surprising grace for someone so rough around the edges—his silver-streaked hair flowing as he twisted and pivoted, deflecting, pressing, laughing.

"Is that alllll?" Axel taunted mid-swing, his grin wide.

Michonne parried with a quick snap of her blade, eyes narrowing. "Careful, silverhair. Keep flapping that mouth and I might cut it."

He laughed, stepping back and circling her.

"God, I missed this," he said. "Fighting someone who actually knows how to use a sword. Since the world ended, it's been nothing but fists, bullets, and dumbasses swinging pipes like baseball bats."

"You fight strong, silverhair," Michonne said, her voice calm but her blade cutting the air between them.

Axel's eyes lit up like a firestorm. "Come on, Micho. Show me more."

They clashed again—harder this time. Sparks flew.

Axel spun low, sweeping wide. Michonne leapt over the blade and landed like a cat, her counterstrike grazing his jacket. His smirk only grew.

"Now that's more like it."

Back and forth they moved, two storms circling one another. Not trying to win, not trying to hurt—just feel. Feel what it meant to fight someone equal, someone sharp, someone alive.

And the people watching?

They forgot about the world outside for just a moment.

Because here, in Alexandria, under a sky painted gold by the sinking sun—war didn't look like chaos.

It looked like art.

Maggie couldn't stop watching.

From the moment the fight started, she'd been frozen—eyes wide, mouth parted slightly, arms crossed over her chest but tense. She knew what a fight looked like. She'd seen battles, survived bloodbaths, lost too many people to even count. But what she saw between Axel and Michonne wasn't just a fight.

It was like watching a story unfold through motion. And it shook her more than she wanted to admit.

"He's not even trying to win," Maggie muttered to herself, eyes narrowing.

"He had too many chances to end it," said a calm voice beside her.

She turned—Jesus was there, arms at his side, sweat on his brow despite the cool air.

"What do you mean?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the sparring match.

Jesus tilted his head slightly, watching Axel closely. "Look at his movements. They're strong, yeah, but they're careful. Controlled. He's hitting the right spots—places that push Michonne back but don't hurt her. It's not about dominance. It's… something else."

Maggie stayed silent for a beat. Then, Jesse stepped up behind them.

"You remember Simon?" Jesse asked, and Maggie's face darkened like a storm cloud.

"How could I not?" she said, her voice cold. "That man made our lives hell."

Jesus nodded slowly, his expression somber. "Rumor has it… after Axel joined the Sanctuary, he went after Simon on his first day. Not for power. Not for respect. But because Simon was Alice's boy."

That name. That cursed name.

Alice—the monster who killed Axel's family.

Maggie's jaw clenched as Jesus went on.

"He didn't talk. Didn't make a speech. Just walked right up to Simon in the yard… and put a sword to his face. Then cut straight down."

Maggie's head snapped toward him. "He what?"

"Cut him in two, Maggie. I wasn't there, but the ones who saw it? They say Simon didn't even scream. It was that fast."

Back in the sparring ring, Axel spun away from Michonne with a wide, genuine grin. He looked… young. Happy. Free.

It didn't fit the story Jesus had just told. But at the same time—it did. Axel didn't fight for sport. He fought with purpose. Against monsters. For survival. And now?

Now he fought like someone rediscovering life.

Maggie watched him—watching a killer move like a dancer. Watching a broken soul laugh like a boy.

And she whispered to herself, unsure if it was admiration… or fear:

"What are you, Axel?"

---

.

.

.

You can contact me through my official page on the following Accounts:

telegram:

miraclenarrator

tiktok:

miracle_narrator

instagram:

miracle_narrator