twd: the last silence

Chapter 24: The Choice of Men

The cold walls of the camp's prison held no comfort, no mercy, and no illusion. Redd sat against the wall, his wrists resting on his knees, face bruised, but not broken. The silence around him was interrupted only by the creak of the cell door as it opened.

Axel walked in alone.

No guards.

No threats.

Just him—silent, calculating, and cold.

Redd looked up, eyes narrowing.

"You here to finish it?" he asked, voice low.

Axel didn't answer immediately. He stopped just a few feet away and looked Redd in the eye.

" how many times should i tell you I'm not going to kill you until you believe me and

I'm here to give you a choice."

Redd raised an eyebrow. "You beat me. Took my camp. Took everything. What else is left to choose?"

Axel's voice was calm. "You and your men have two paths. You follow me. You listen to every order I give—no questioning, no hesitation. You live under my command, earn your place. You work. You build. You protect."

"And in return?"

"You get your freedom. Your family. Food. Shelter. Peace," Axel replied. "But not weapons. Not yet. You'll be watched. Every step, every move. You give me loyalty, I give you safety."

Redd stayed silent.

Axel stepped closer, kneeling slightly to meet him eye to eye.

"Or… you can stay here. Rot. Watch your wife and child live in a world without you. Alive, but ashamed. Forgotten."

Redd clenched his jaw. "You expect me to bow after you tore down everything I built?"

Axel's gaze turned to steel. "You built it wrong."

Silence.

Then Axel stood.

"I'm not asking for worship. I'm offering a place in something greater. I don't need more enemies. I need men who can follow, who can fight when told—and stop when told."

He turned to leave, pausing at the door.

"You have until morning. Think carefully. What kind of man do you want your son to remember?"

---

That night, Redd lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling.

He remembered Axel in battle—unflinching, precise, unbreakable.

Not a tyrant.

Not a butcher.

A commander.

A king.

---

By morning, the cell door opened again.

Axel stood there, watching.

Redd rose slowly to his feet and looked him in the eyes.

"I'll follow."

Axel nodded once. "Good."

"No betrayal," Redd said, voice firm. "But I won't kneel."

Axel allowed a faint smirk. "I don't need your knees. I need your spine."

---

The gates creaked open with the early light of dawn. The cold breath of morning mist clung to the camp, wrapping everything in a soft haze. Redd stepped out first, followed by his men—some limping, others bruised, all worn from the days in the prison.

They didn't speak at first.

The air held something different. Something none of them expected.

Peace.

Their eyes swept across the camp. Women cooking over fires. Children laughing, chasing each other through the narrow paths between tents. Old folks sitting near the warmth, sharing stories. Not one of them in chains. Not one in fear.

Redd's breath caught when he saw her.

His wife.

Holding their son by the hand.

Her eyes found his, and in a heartbeat she ran , and crashed into him. Redd dropped to his knees, arms wrapping around them both, tears tracing lines through the grime on his face. His men stood frozen—until they too began to move, seeking out the faces they feared they'd never see again.

Hugs.

Tears.

Laughter.

No shouts of hatred. No spit on their names.

They were welcomed.

Helped.

Fed.

And not a single person looked at them like monsters.

---

Redd looked around, his heart heavy and light all at once. Then his gaze rose—up to the wooden wall that surrounded this strange new home.

There, standing at its highest point, silhouetted against the rising sun, was Axel.

Still.

Silent.

Watching the sky like he was waiting for something far greater than any of them could understand.

Redd stared at him.

Not with hatred.

Not with shame.

But with awe.

That boy took everything from him. Yet gave him back something even greater. A chance. A future. A leader.

A king.

In that moment, Redd understood something to his bones:

He hadn't surrendered.

He had chosen.

And he had chosen right.

---

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