miracle_narrator

In a world that ended on an ordinary Tuesday, survival is no longer a choice—it’s a fight. Axel, a determined and resilient teenager, finds himself thrust into a brutal new reality where the dead walk and the rules of the old world no longer apply. Haunted by the loss of everything he once knew, Axel sets out on a relentless journey through desolate cities and shattered hope—not just to survive, but to seek vengeance against the mysterious force that took everything from him. As humanity crumbles and monsters—living and undead—roam the earth, Axel must decide what kind of person he will become in the ashes of the world.

twd: the last silence

Silas stood behind Axel, the weight of the world on his shoulders, waiting for words that would make sense of the storm in his heart.

But Axel didn't move. Didn't look back. Just sat there with a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling into the wind like ghosts.

"How's the village?" Axel asked, voice quiet. Hollow.

Silas blinked. He hadn't expected that question.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, his voice strained.

"The people are fine… Hank leads now. With Redd. There's no war. No blood. Just… peace."

His legs trembled as the emotions surged up from his gut.

He dropped to his knees behind Axel, head lowered to the earth like a knight to his king. Or a worshipper to a god.

"Now tell me…" his voice cracked. "Why did you leave me?"

So long it felt like time stopped.

Then Axel exhaled smoke and said, almost to himself—

Silas lifted his head slightly, confused.

"The first day I met you all, I told you—I was building weapons for my own war."

His voice didn't carry regret. Just tired truth.

"And now that war is over. Why would I still need a blade?"

Silas's body shook. But not with rage.

Because Axel had broken the Numbers when he trained them—mind, body, soul. Reforged them in his image. Taught them to live for him. Die for him.

Axel wasn't just a leader to Silas.

He was a god. A meaning. A reason to wake up.

Silas tried to speak, his voice a breath, a plea—

"No but," Axel interrupted, still not turning.

"At that time, I needed blades. Now I don't."

And the man who once called Axel lord… was left kneeling in the dirt, as Axel stared off into a sky that offered no comfort.

Axel's gaze remained fixed on the clouds above, painted orange by the setting sun.

The cigarette burned out between his fingers.

"Do you wish to kill me, Number One?" he asked, his voice stripped of any warmth. Just empty.

The name—Number One—not Silas.

And with those three words, Silas's entire body trembled—not in rage, but in something twisted and holy. Fear. Reverence. Joy.

"No," Silas whispered, barely able to breathe. "I don't wish to kill you."

Axel flicked the dead cigarette into the wind. It vanished into the dirt like a ghost.

"Are the rest of the Numbers okay?" he asked.

"They're… they're living their lives," Silas said, the words tasting like poison on his tongue.

"Then why don't you live yours, Number One?"

That simple question—so calm, so distant—shattered something inside Silas.

He looked up through tear-filled eyes at Axel's back.

At the silhouette that still haunted his dreams.

That long black coat. That silver-black hair catching the last light of the sun.

"Because you are my life," Silas choked. "I'm begging you… use me again. Please. I'm nothing without you."

His voice cracked like broken glass. His hands clenched into the dirt.

Axel didn't turn around. But his jaw tightened.

When he created the Numbers, it wasn't to build heroes.

It was to forge monsters in human skin.

He shattered them, rewired them, turned pain into loyalty.

But Number One—Silas—he was different. He didn't just break.

He became something else entirely.

A mind wrapped in chains. A soul stitched into Axel's shadow.

Without Axel… Silas wasn't lost. He was dying.

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chapter 66