twd: the last silence

Chapter 100 – "Just Women"

After the meeting, Axel said nothing.

He simply walked out of the house, eyes half-closed like he hadn't fully returned from whatever place inside his head he'd gone to. Then, in one smooth motion, he jumped—vaulting up onto the nearest rooftop like gravity meant nothing to him.

And there he lay.

Flat on his back.

Under the open sky, arms folded behind his head, cigarette still between his lips, finally allowing himself to sleep.

Nobody said a word.

They just watched.

Because after a month in Alexandria… they understood him.

He was chaos, and discipline. Brutality, and strange kindness. The storm and the eye of it.

He was Axel.

---

That night, inside a quiet house where a candle burned low, Maggie sat on the couch, her baby asleep in a crib nearby. Michonne was there too, her sword resting against the wall for once.

No danger. No walls. Just peace.

For a moment.

The two women talked softly—no longer the sword-wielding guardian and the widow with a burdened heart. Just two women in a rare sliver of normalcy.

They talked about the baby. About Judith. About the food shortage and how Rosita was planning to fix the greenhouse.

And then Michonne asked, "So... you and the silverhair?"

Maggie rolled her eyes. Smiled faintly.

"It's not like that."

"You've said his name more than anyone else's tonight."

Maggie paused. Looked toward the window, up to the sky, where she could just see the outline of Axel on the rooftop across the way.

"He's... infuriating. Reckless. Arrogant."

Michonne chuckled. "Sounds familiar."

"But also… he never flinches. Never runs. And when things go to hell, he's the first one standing in front of you, ready to bleed if it means you get one more breath."

Michonne didn't interrupt.

Maggie exhaled, then finally said it.

"I don't know what he is to me. But he's not just some reckless kid. He's... something."

The two women sat in silence for a while.

Outside, the wind moved gently through Alexandria.

And on the rooftop, Axel smiled in his sleep.

---

Morning broke with golden light spilling over Alexandria's walls. For once, there were no alarms, no cries, no blood on the gates.

Just quiet.

Axel sat on the front steps of the house, a mug of lukewarm coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other. His shirt was half-buttoned, his hair a mess, and his boots untied. He looked like a man who barely survived hell—and was annoyed it didn't kill him.

"Morning, sunshine," Daryl muttered as he walked past.

Axel lifted the mug. "Don't talk to me before I finish this or I'll cry."

Daryl snorted. "That's the best threat I've heard all week."

Across the street, Maggie helped her son play with a stick and some old blocks. Every so often, she'd glance at Axel. She didn't wave. Neither did he. But when their eyes met, there was something wordless there—comfort, maybe.

Or something deeper.

Michonne spent the morning with Judith, walking the perimeter. Rosita argued with Eugene about wiring the southern fence. Gabriel fixed a broken gate hinge. Even Rick smiled once, briefly, as he spoke with Aaron.

It was a rare day.

No gunshots. No walkers. No blood.

Just normal.

Evening rolled in with a breeze. Axel lay on the rooftop again, arms folded behind his head, staring at the pink-orange sky. Maggie climbed up beside him, sitting cross-legged.

"Don't get used to this," she said.

"I'm not," Axel replied. "I never do."

They sat in silence. He offered her the cigarette.

She took it—and threw it away.

"You know I hate the smell."

Axel smirked.

"Well, not in my dreams."

Below them, Alexandria lived, breathed.

Above them, the stars slowly returned.

And for the first time in a long time, nobody had to fight to survive.

Not today.

Just… Peace

....

But peace don't last long

Because

The first scream didn't come at dawn.

It came at midnight.

It ripped through Alexandria like a razor through silk, high-pitched, raw, and full of terror. Then came the gunshot—then another.

Rick was already running before the sirens wailed.

Axel jolted up on the rooftop, eyes wide, instincts kicking in. One second, he was asleep beneath the stars. The next, he was airborne—leaping from roof to ground like a shadow falling from heaven.

"Maggie!" he roared.

Inside the house, Maggie was already grabbing her son, wrapping him in a blanket. Michonne had her katana drawn. Rosita was loading a rifle. The gates were under attack.

Not from walkers.

From Whispers.

A sea of them. Dressed in skin. Eyes blank. Silent. Leading the dead like puppets.

The wall was on fire. A breach. Explosives—Alpha wasn't just sending scouts anymore. She was sending war.

Rick barked orders. Daryl was already up on the sniper perch. Aaron had a pistol in each hand. Father Gabriel stood on the church steps, praying even as he clutched a shotgun.

Then came Axel.

Bloodlust in his eyes. He moved through the battlefield like a myth, blades slicing, grin spreading. He was alive again.

"Let's play, bitches." he muttered with a smirk.

One Whisperer ran at him with a hammer—Axel sidestepped and broke the man's neck like a twig.

Another tried to stab him—he caught the blade barehanded and pushed it into the attacker's eye.

He laughed. He danced. He was chaos incarnate.

But it wasn't enough.

There were too many.

Inside the walls, Maggie helped guide people to the Safehouse. Her arms never let go of her child. She looked back once—just once—and saw Axel covered in blood, fighting five men alone like a storm that refused to break.

Alpha watched from the trees.

"He's beautiful," she whispered to Beta.

"But even storms run dry eventually."

Beta didn't respond. He was already stepping forward, blades in hand, ready to meet Axel.

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