twd: the last silence

Chapter 47: The Whisper of Winter

The bodies were still warm.

Some bled into the dust.

Others—eyes open, mouths frozen mid-scream—looked up to the pale, dying sky.

But none of them would ever speak again.

And over them stood Axel.

Or what remained of him.

The first breath of winter swept through the ruins of the Nomads' hive.

It danced softly through the broken windows.

It fluttered over the dead.

And when it reached him—

It kissed his blood-soaked silver and black hair, brushing it aside gently.

Like even the wind feared to wake him.

His face, painted in ash and gore, showed no pride.

No triumph.

No hatred.

Only stillness.

His katana hung at his side, dripping quietly.

But to those watching—

It was no longer a sword.

It was death's will.

And death…

had chosen a new hand.

There was no roar.

No declaration of victory.

No war cry.

Just a voice.

Soft.

Low.

Too low to belong in this world anymore.

> "Redd… you have half an hour."

Redd, who stood beside the entrance with his men—bloody, bruised, and trembling—lifted his head.

> "Take everything you can.

Lead the women. The children. Your friends.

Go to the cars.

And don't look back."

No one moved at first.

No one dared.

Even now, even after it was over, they feared that voice.

Not because it threatened them.

But because it held no threat at all.

Only truth.

And truth is always heavier than fear.

Redd nodded slowly, jaw clenched.

> "You heard him," he whispered to his team.

"Half an hour. Move."

The men obeyed, not because they were ordered—

But because it was Axel who said it.

Him.

And even when he whispered, the world listened.

-

Axel didn't look at them as they began to move.

Didn't flinch at the crying children being carried past him.

Didn't turn as hands gripped each other in panic.

He only lifted his hand—slowly, like the motion had to pass through water.

> "Number Five."

From the shadows behind a half-burnt wall, Number Five appeared, carrying Alice like a sack of cloth and regret.

The blood on his face was not his own.

His eyes locked on Axel, not out of loyalty.

But out of devotion.

Axel didn't blink.

> "Follow Redd. Go to the village.

Leave Alice here."

Number Five paused. "And you?"

Axel looked at him for the first time.

And for a second—

A single, flickering second—

There was a ghost of the boy he once was.

But it vanished.

> "I'll follow."

Number Five didn't question.

Didn't hesitate.

He just set Alice down gently on the bloodstained ground, turned, and vanished back into the fleeing group.

And once more—

Axel stood alone.

Among the dead.

Among the ruin.

Among the whispers of winter.

Not a hero.

Not a monster.

Not even a man.

Just a shadow the wind could not carry away.

--

Redd and the rest went back to the village.

The road was silent. The dust behind them never settled. It was like the ghosts of the Nomads followed, but no one dared look back.

They arrived just after sunset.

Hank stood at the gates.

He opened the doors, shotgun in hand, eyes searching past the crowd of tired men, past the women, past the children clinging to those who saved them.

He was waiting to see one face.

Just one.

But it never came.

Redd walked forward slowly. His steps were heavy, not from the road, not from the weight of what he'd done—but from the truth he carried.

Hank stepped closer, squinting through the fading light.

"Axel?" he asked.

Redd didn't lift his eyes.

He just said, softly, as if any louder would shatter him—

> "He stayed there."

That was it.

No more words.

No one asked anything else.

Mary stood near the well, hands pressed against her chest.

Emily gripped Jason's arm.

The original group stared, waiting for something—anything—to explain.

But the silence was thick.

Like grief before the tears.

Like blood before the wound.

And not a single one here knew what the Nomads did to Axel.

Why he was like that.

What they broke in him that never healed.

But they didn't ask.

They followed.

They obeyed.

Because before Axel left, he gave Hank a paper.

A list. A plan. A future.

He had known everything.

He knew he would win.

He knew the women and children would be brought back.

So he wrote it all down in case he doesn't returned.

Now it was Hank's job to follow it.

And he did.

Word for word.

---

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