Chapter 124 – The Silence Before the Fire
Redhold's inner corridor was quiet. Too quiet. The thick walls absorbed sound, leaving only the faint hum of distant generators and the low murmur of boots echoing down the hall.
Axel stood by the door, blood still drying on his skin, the stench of violence clinging to him like a second shadow. He lit a cigarette, the flame catching with a sharp flick. The smoke curled around his head like a halo of ash.
The officers sat at the long steel table. These were men forged by war, tempered by chaos. But tonight, they all avoided Axel's eyes — especially the one who, only hours ago, had called him weak. That same man now stared at the floor, unable to raise his head.
Michael leaned forward slowly, arms resting on the table, fingers steepled. His sharp gray eyes scanned the room, then landed on Axel.
"You made a mess."
Axel exhaled a lazy stream of smoke. "You gave the order."
Michael's jaw tightened. "That was a soldier, not an animal. You tore out his heart."
Axel shrugged. "He turned his back. He was asking for it."
"You don't get to decide what 'asking for it' means," Michael snapped.
Axel raised an eyebrow and met his father's stare, cold for cold. "You taught me to survive. You taught me to kill. You told me feelings were for the dead. So, remind me, old man… what exactly are we doing here? Making soup?"
Silence fell again.
One of the officers cleared his throat as if to interrupt, but Michael raised a hand. The man froze.
Michael leaned back in his chair, watching Axel with something that almost looked like pride — or maybe caution.
"You're right," Michael said at last. "Respect is for those who earn it. And you did, today."
Axel didn't respond. He only smoked.
"But this," Michael continued, voice low, "this is just the beginning. I didn't drag you here to fight grunts and show off your scars. I brought you here because there's a storm coming. One this place — and Alexandria — won't survive if we don't act first. That what you want to save right?"
Axel didn't answer
The officers shifted. They had all heard rumors. Whispers of shadows moving across old war maps. Of satellite pings in zones long thought dead. Of a name that made even killers pause.
Michael stood slowly and walked toward the large screen at the end of the room. With a press of a button, a projector flickered to life. The image it showed was grainy, taken from a drone before it vanished.
A convoy of black vehicles, armored. A symbol painted in red on their hoods — a broken skull with wings.
Axel's eyes narrowed. "That's not military."
"No," Michael said. "That's The Ashen Circle."
The room fell deathly silent.
"Ten years ago," Michael continued, pacing slowly, "they were a black ops division. Experimentation. Human weapons. Psychological warfare. The kind of work done in shadows because it was too inhuman to do in daylight."
Axel leaned forward. "And you worked with them?"
"No," Michael said coldly. "I shut them down. Or so I thought."
He turned toward the table.
"But they're back. Someone resurrected the project. They're recruiting survivors. Slaughtering whole camps. Converting the strong. Burning the weak. They don't believe in rebuilding the world. They believe in purging it."
One of the officers, voice tight, asked, "How many?"
Michael clicked again.
The screen flicked to a satellite shot — a scorched town. Bodies arranged in a spiral.
"Last count? Over two hundred active in the field. At least four bases across the east coast. All off-grid. All hidden. And they have someone new leading them."
Another click.
A face. Half-covered in scars. Cybernetic eye. Cold grin.
"They call him Cain."
Axel stared at the screen. That name scratched at something deep in his skull, like a nightmare he hadn't finished dreaming.
Michael's voice dropped. "He was part of the original Circle. A weapon built from war criminals and science. I fought him once. Barely lived. And now, he's rebuilt himself… and he's looking for you."
Axel's cigarette burned low. He flicked the ash onto the floor. "Why?"
Michael looked at him for a long time.
Then spoke the words like a blade to the throat.
"Because you're the only failure they never got their hands on. You were supposed to be one of them."
The words landed like bricks.
Axel froze. "What?"
Michael's voice was steady now — cold, surgical. "Before the world fell, before the outbreak, they approached me. Offered a place for you. Said your potential was 'wasted under my command.' I said no. I knew what they did to their test subjects."
He met Axel's horrified eyes.
"So, I trained you myself. Harder. Meaner. Colder. I made sure they wouldn't need you. But it seems they never stopped watching."
Axel clenched his fists. "You knew… and you never told me?"
Michael's face darkened. "You were a child. You weren't ready. But now?"
He gestured to the room.
"You're everything they wanted. Except you're mine. And now they want to take you — or kill you."
The officers watched, caught between admiration and fear.
Axel looked at the screen again. At Cain.
"How soon until they come?"
"They've already started," Michael said. "The Nomads were just the beginning. You think Alice rose to power on her own? Cain helped her. He's been orchestrating things for years. Testing you. Watching what you'd become."
The pieces began to fall in Axel's mind — the brutality of the Nomads, Alice's rise, her endless confidence.
It wasn't random. It was all a stage.
A test.
"Then let them come," Axel muttered, voice steel. "Let them try."
Michael smiled, but there was no joy in it. Only war.
"They will. And when they do… you'll be leading the charge."
Axel's cigarette hit the floor, burned out.
"No," he said.
Michael raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not leading your war. If they come for me, I'll fight. But I don't take orders from anyone anymore."
Michael stared at him.
And for the first time in Axel's life — truly the first time — Michael said nothing.
He simply nodded.
Because in Axel's voice… he heard it:
Not weakness. Not rebellion.
Leadership.
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