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The birds had stopped singing.
Joel noticed first. On the scouting route northeast of the ridge, the forest had gone quiet—too quiet. Even the wind held its breath.
He raised a hand to the two men behind him: Nathan, a young scout trained by Daryl, and Greg, one of the Homestead's best spotters.
They were supposed to check the water routes. A simple routine.
Joel didn't know it was a trap.
He never heard the first arrow.
It struck Nathan in the throat, silencing him instantly.
Greg turned—just in time to catch the second one in the gut. He dropped to his knees, choking.
Joel spun and raised his weapon, but a masked figure burst from the brush, slamming into him like a freight train.
All he saw was black fabric, a metal mask, and a flash of a burning cross stitched into a shoulder plate.
Then everything went dark.
They found the bodies at dawn.
Daryl led the recovery team—Rick, Maggie, Graves, and two sentries.
Greg had bled out trying to crawl back toward camp. Nathan's corpse had been propped against a tree, mouth open, hands folded over his chest.
And Joel—
Joel was nailed to a pine, arms outstretched, with a crimson-stained Reaper sigil carved into his chest.
Daryl clenched his fists. "They're back."
Rick didn't say a word.
He just looked at the sigil.
Burned into bark.
We didn't forget.
The bodies were carried back in silence.
People gathered as the wagons rolled in. No one spoke. No one moved. Only the sound of boots against gravel and the groan of wooden wheels.
Carl stood beside Carol, his face blank.
Beth wept quietly near the stable fence.
Even Merle, usually flippant, stood still with his hat pressed against his chest.
Rick and Daryl lowered Joel's body themselves.
Leah's POV
She saw the cart come in and knew.
Wells closed his eyes.
Turner stood rigid, fists clenched.
Leah knelt beside the wagon as Joel's lifeless form was lifted off.
She whispered, "I trained beside him."
Rick looked at her. "This wasn't just a message. This was war."
That night, the council gathered.
The usually calm, structured meeting room now pulsed with tension.
Rick stood at the front, flanked by Maggie and Morgan.
The Reaper patch—bloodstained—lay in the center of the table.
Rick: "Three dead. One of them nailed to a tree. Branded."
Shane: "We knew this would happen."
Dale: "You don't know that."
Shane: "The ones inside these walls brought it here."
Leah stepped forward. "We left them. That doesn't mean we sent them."
Turner added, "Pope doesn't forgive. He only kills."
Graves crossed his arms. "So what's the play?"
Rick's voice was like steel. "We don't wait for them to pick us off. We go to them."
Gasps rose from the back of the room.
Maggie nodded slowly. "He's right."
Daryl looked up. "We take the fight to them."
Rick drew a map across the table.
"We believe they're operating in the western ridge. No signs of a large camp—means they're moving fast, striking harder."
He looked at Leah. "You know how he thinks. Where would he hide?"
Leah replied, "He'll want elevation. Isolation. Caves or burned-out towns. He wants to look down on the enemy."
Rick turned to Morgan. "You trust the Reapers at your back?"
Morgan nodded. "These seven? Yeah. The rest? Hell no."
After the meeting, Maggie approached Leah outside.
"I thought I'd hate you," she said.
Leah looked up, surprised. "Why didn't you?"
"Because you stayed."
Maggie handed her a folded cloth: Joel's old scarf.
"He trusted you. That's enough for me."
Leah took it with quiet reverence.
That night, Rick returned to the map.
His finger traced the border where Pope's last group had been seen.
Eight of them left. Eight killers.
They weren't just random raiders.
They were hunters.
Assassins.
And now, they were angry.
He looked at the window. Beyond it, he saw the glow of the watchfires.
He whispered:
"We've come too far to die now.
If fire's coming for us…
Then we burn first."
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If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Ptreon for early access, exclusive chapters, and more:
15 Advanced Chapters on Patreon
patreon.com/HighKingdom