After Thomas Zane sacrificed himself to seal the Dark Presence once more at the bottom of Cauldron Lake, the darkness did not vanish. It did not fall asleep—it merely waited. It waited for someone to open the way to freedom again.

Decades passed. And only on August 31, 2010, a reporter named Jake Fisher arrived in Bright Falls to interview Dr. Emil Hartman. But even then, the town was already under the shadow of the Dark Presence. At night, Bright Falls was swallowed by impenetrable darkness: sudden mass power outages, whispers in the walls of the Majestic Motel where Fisher was staying.

From his very first night, Jake was tormented by nightmares—fragmented, disturbing, filled with distorted shapes and shadows. But one night, among the endless dreamlike visions, he saw something clear—a path. Following it, Jake came to the shore of Cauldron Lake and found there a page of a manuscript titled Harbinger of the Storm.

At that very moment, the town was plunged into darkness again. The lights went out, and the shadows closed in around Jake. The Dark Presence seized him and dragged him into the depths of the lake. It intended to use Jake as its instrument—to make him write words that would grant it power. But soon, its attention shifted to another man—a writer whose imagination could reshape reality itself. His name was Alan Wake.

Alan arrived in Bright Falls with his wife, Alice, hoping to overcome his writer’s block. Alice believed that peace and quiet would help her husband return to his craft. But their choice of destination was no coincidence—the Dark Presence had lured them there. Because of Jake Fisher, who had already become one of the Taken, Bright Falls had become a place where the boundary between light and darkness had weakened.

Why Alan? Because his books were stories of fear, shadows, killers, and victims. His pen was nourished by darkness. To the Dark Presence, he was the perfect tool.

Even before Alan’s arrival, it had already woven its plan. The cabin on the small island in the middle of the lake where they were to stay was no random discovery—it was a trap. The Dark Presence once again took the form of Barbara Jagger, the deceased lover of Thomas Zane, and handed Alan the key to the cabin.

But it didn’t need a writer in crisis. It needed a creator capable of writing stories devoid of light and hope—filled only with darkness and despair. With Zane, that trick had failed—he resisted, despite his grief. So with Alan, the Dark Presence chose another path.

Instead of killing, it took Alice. Her screams echoed through the cabin when Alan was not around. Hearing them, he rushed back, bursting into the house in panic—only to see his wife fall into the black abyss of the lake. Without hesitation, he jumped after her.

But the darkness did not simply swallow him—it distorted time itself. If normal time is a river flowing forward, then the Dark Place was a whirlpool where past, present, and future twisted into a maddening loop.

When Alan regained consciousness, he found himself inside a wrecked car deep in the forest. He remembered nothing—only flashes: Alice, the lake, the fall. He didn’t know that he had already fulfilled the will of the Dark Presence—he had written the manuscript Departure, becoming its author, not its master.

With the manuscript in hand, he somehow escaped the Dark Place. But his memory remained fractured. He searched desperately for his wife, while the locals looked at him in confusion—no one had ever heard of her, and the island where the cabin supposedly stood didn’t exist.

Thus began his nightmare—a search for truth in a world where darkness and reality intertwine, and the pages of his own book become prophecy.

Gradually, Alan began to realize that everything written in Departure was coming true. The dark entities he called the Taken started appearing in Bright Falls, terrorizing the townsfolk.

Alan came to understand that what had happened was his fault—his own creation. As a writer, he knew the power of words. That’s why he desperately sought a way to set things right and rescue his wife, Alice, from the grasp of the Dark Presence.

And one day, he met Thomas Zane—the man who had seemingly erased himself from existence through the power of words. How was he alive again? It turned out that it was Alan’s doing. Without realizing it, Alan had not only written Departure but something much greater—a whole story of Thomas Zane, his wife, and their tragic fate.

If time is a river flowing steadily forward until it runs dry, then time in the Dark Place is a whirlpool, pulling everything into its depths—past, present, and future alike. And at the very center of that whirlpool stood Alan, the one who had set a chain of interconnected events in motion. Even in delirium, imprisoned by the Dark Presence, he remained a writer.

He created a spiral—an endless circle of repetition. From the founding of Bright Falls to the appearance of Thomas Zane, and later—to Alan Wake himself. All of it was his creation. Imprisoned within the Dark Place, he rewrote history again and again, trying to break free from his nightmare, but the Presence always found a way to interfere. That was how Mr. Scratch came to be—a dark reflection of Alan’s soul, his opposite. If Alan wrote of light and struggle, Scratch wrote of death and despair.

Thus, the Spiral was born—an eternal loop that Wake keeps trying to destroy, only to find himself back where he began. Because Alan Wake is both the author and the prisoner of his own nightmare, unable to escape it.

Now, locked away in the Dark Place, Alan wrote another story. Its pages somehow found their way into Bright Falls, where they were discovered by Saga Anderson—the heroine of his new tale, his last hope for salvation.

But Alan didn’t know that another player had entered the town—the Demon King, one capable of truly breaking the Spiral. Disguised as an agent investigating the case, he wasn’t part of Alan’s story and thus stood outside its laws.

Alex, Emmet, and Casey stood a short distance behind Saga, watching her talk to Ilmo Koskela—a man who clearly knew far more about Bright Falls than he let on. Alex calmly observed the exchange, occasionally glancing toward the technician fiddling with an old power cabin nearby. According to them, it monitored seismic activity—after all, beneath Cauldron Lake slept an ancient, dormant volcano.

Listening closely, Alex caught a familiar name—FBC. That surprised him. He knew the Federal Bureau of Control dealt with phenomena beyond logical understanding. But he was certain Chuck hadn’t intended to mix Alan Wake’s timeline with these events.

The FBC fought anomalies but had long since become one itself—just another element in the grand structure, like the Spiral hidden deep beneath Cauldron Lake, brushing against time and space across alternate realities. Alex wanted nothing to do with them. No matter how brave or intelligent they seemed, they were still humans—weak and defenseless before beings that existed beyond human comprehension.

He knew that after the events in Bright Falls, the FBC would inevitably take interest in him, and he’d have to act with even greater caution. But what if Chuck knew exactly what he was doing when he opened the way into this universe? Perhaps all of this was part of his design.

For beings like Chuck—the avatar of Nyan-Nyan—time, souls, emotions, and entire worlds were nothing more than sustenance. And if he truly intended to weave the roots of countless worlds into one great tree, then he was preparing something vast—an interdimensional theater on a cosmic scale.

Alex clicked his tongue softly, thinking that the new Director of the FBC, Jesse Faden, probably had no idea what her organization had really become entangled with.

“What’s wrong? Something off again?” Emmet asked, noticing Alex’s furrowed brow.

“FBC,” Alex exhaled, releasing a thin trail of smoke. “Those guys are walking disasters.”

“You know something about that organization?” Casey asked, turning toward him.

“Something like that,” Alex replied with a faint smirk. “Let’s just say—the Men of Letters and the FBC do the same kind of work. The difference is—they try to control the problem, while we eliminate it at the root.”

“And what exactly are they trying to control?” Casey asked, clearly intrigued.

Alex chuckled.

“Even if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. Some things you have to see to understand. All you need to know is—we’re on the same side. The world isn’t always what it seems, Casey.”

He lifted his gaze toward the sky, where the setting sun painted the clouds in a bloody-golden hue, and added quietly:

“The more you see, the harder it is to sleep at night.”

Casey frowned at Alex’s words, a dozen troubling thoughts swirling in his mind.

Alex understood this, which was why he shared information in doses — just enough to keep everyone focused without overwhelming them or revealing too much at once. Emmet placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder and gave him a meaningful look, as if silently asking what else he was keeping to himself.

Alex took his phone from his pocket and, after glancing briefly at the screen, showed Emmet a message. There was no doubt — the women from his family were already digging into the Federal Bureau of Control. It wouldn’t take long. Brunhilde could easily extract the necessary information straight from his memory and relay it to the others. Emmet simply nodded, understanding that the answers would come later.

By that time, Saga had already finished her conversation with Ilmo and the FBC agent.

Holding the phone, Alex quickly hacked into the agent’s device, connecting to their internal network. He knew the FBC would definitely be watching him, and he wanted to be ready for it. Even if their main server existed in another reality — within the anomaly itself, between worlds and timelines — he still intended to break through.

“I’m done. Time to head to the crime scene,” said Saga as she approached Alex, Emmet, and Casey.

“Did you get anything useful out of that pair?” Alex asked, flicking away his cigarette.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” Saga replied, frowning slightly.

Alex only nodded. He understood — this was just the beginning of the story, and the influence of Return, the book written by Alan Wake, was only starting to gain momentum.

The four of them — Alex, Emmet, Saga, and Casey — followed the fenced trail leading to the crime scene, where the body of Agent Nightingale had been found.

Saga walked ahead, but her thoughts were far away. Everything happening around her seemed too strange, too tangled to make sense. There weren’t enough clues to piece together the full picture.

“What’s wrong, Saga?” Casey asked, noticing her tense expression.

“There’s a lot about this case that bothers me. But one thing especially — the disappearance of Sheriff Breaker,” she said, glancing at him.

“What if Sheriff Breaker ended up inside the Fold?” Alex suggested, making an obvious hint.

“What makes you think that?” Saga asked, turning to him.

“If you think about it logically,” Alex began calmly, “the manuscript describes a ritual. And what is a ritual, really? It’s just a sequence of actions — from beginning to end. For example: you walk up to a door, take out a key, insert it into the lock, turn it — and open the door. Simple. So maybe… Sheriff Breaker unknowingly performed all the necessary steps to open that door.”

“So you’re saying,” Saga clarified, studying him carefully, “that he opened the door without realizing it, and that’s why he vanished? But then, what exactly is this Fold that can be opened through a ritual?”

“Hmm…” Alex paused for a moment, his tone thoughtful. “I think the Fold isn’t just a place. It’s… a space beyond normal reality. Like a room inside another room — one you can enter if you turn the key the wrong way. Normally, you turn clockwise to open and counterclockwise to lock. But what if, to reach another space, you had to do the opposite — lock clockwise, open counterclockwise? And that’s how you end up somewhere else entirely.”

Casey stroked his chin, staring ahead in thought.

“Or maybe,” he said slowly, “Sheriff Breaker disappeared because he knew too much. Maybe he had pages he wanted to give us, but someone — or something — stopped him. Maybe someone tried to protect him from Nightingale. Or maybe, like you said, he just turned the key the right way and… opened the door. I don’t know what the truth is. But every case involving missing people always feels off somehow.”

Saga nodded thoughtfully, realizing there were far more questions than answers. And finding those answers at this hour seemed impossible.

As they continued down the narrow path, Alex and Emmet scanned their surroundings, alert to every sound. But the forest was unnervingly silent — no chirping insects, no singing birds. Only the occasional whisper of wind rustled through the branches, muffling the oppressive quiet. Alex and Emmet exchanged brief glances but said nothing — they simply kept walking, following Saga and Casey, who seemed to know exactly where they needed to go.

Descending further, they passed once again through the old gate, hidden in the half-collapsed fence, and came out near the cabin. Once, perhaps, people had lived here, but now the walls had rotted, and moss and ivy had overtaken the roof. Only a few dozen meters remained to reach the crime scene — just one turn.

Suddenly, Emmet spun around sharply. His gaze darted toward the nearest tree. Alex, catching the movement, also stopped and, narrowing his eyes, activated his magical sight. But even with it, he saw nothing — only a faint trembling in the air.

They exchanged glances, fully aware of who was watching them. Nightingale. He wasn’t pursuing them — his target was Saga. The one who was supposed to find the Clicker.

Alex and Emmet quickened their pace and soon caught up with Saga and Casey, already standing at the crime scene. The rain had washed the ground, flooding the area — it was now impossible to discern any tracks, neither Nightingale’s nor anyone from the Tree Cult.

“Where to next?” Emmet asked, scanning the table to which Nightingale had once been tied.

“The book says he’s at Coldron Lake, in the Fold,” Saga replied, leaning toward the muddy water. “We need to check if any traces remain. That is, if the rain hasn’t washed them away.”

Alex already knew where to go. He swung his bag off his shoulder, placed it on the table, and called Casey over. The man approached, a little unsure.

Alex pulled signal flares and a powerful flashlight from the bag and handed them to Casey.

“Just in case Nightingale shows up,” he explained briefly.

Casey nodded and tucked the flares into his jacket pocket.

“I found footprints,” Saga said, straightening up. “It’s definitely him. The tracks lead further.”

“I’ll go with you,” Alex said, stepping closer. “Casey and Emmet will stay here. It’s better not to walk alone right now.”

Saga glanced at Casey — he gave a confident nod, showing he could handle it. Then she turned to Alex and gave a slight nod in return, accepting his assistance.

In a short time, Saga began to realize she could trust him. Alex gave the impression of someone capable of piecing together a complete picture from mere fragments of information. Even his reasoning about the Fold sounded convincing — too convincing to be a coincidence. So she didn’t refuse his help: maybe he would notice something that would slip past her eyes.

They followed Nightingale’s tracks. Alex carefully examined the ground and shook his head. To Saga, the tracks seemed ordinary, but he saw something else: each footprint oozed a dark, sticky shadow.

The trail grew darker and overgrown. Bushes reached toward them, as if trying to stop them. The sun had nearly set, and they had to pull out their flashlights. Beams of light cut through the dense gloom, revealing wet branches and roots in the darkness.

The tracks led them to a small depression, where the rain had formed a shallow pond. And the last footprints led straight into the water.

Alex exhaled irritably — the prospect of soaking his feet didn’t please him. While he hesitated, Saga had already stepped into the icy water, shivering from the cold.

“I don’t like wet boots,” Alex muttered, but he followed nonetheless.

Carefully stepping through the water, they moved forward when suddenly a splash sounded nearby. Saga instantly drew her pistol, aiming it along with her flashlight toward the noise.

“It’s just a branch,” Alex said calmly, pointing to a log floating nearby. “Fell from a tree.”

But despite the calmness in his voice, his gaze still roamed over the dark surface of the water — it rippled in a way that made him uneasy.

Saga lowered her pistol and nodded, agreeing with Alex. She moved ahead, and he followed, trying not to fall behind. The terrain grew increasingly tangled — fallen trees and intertwined branches littered the ground, turning the forest into a true labyrinth.

Soon their path led them to a place known as the Witch’s Ladle — according to Saga, Nightingale had emerged from here. Before she could approach, Alex had already activated his magical sight to view the world from a different perspective. And as he suspected, the entrance to the Fold was no different from the Red Door, except for one thing — the conditions for crossing into these dimensions were completely different.

However, what caught Alex’s attention wasn’t the passage itself, but an informational stand nearby. The stand depicted a woman dressed in black and included the legend of a witch — and she looked like Barbara Jagger, Thomas Zane’s wife. Beneath the image was an inscription:

“Offer the witch your heart — and she will show you the way.”

Alex smirked. Everything fell into place. Activating his magical sight again, he noticed a thin stream of darkness stretching from a hole in the center of the image. This hole wasn’t just a flaw — it served as a keyhole. To open it, a key was needed. And, as Alex remembered, that key was meant to be Nightingale’s heart.

He could have forced the passage open with sheer power, bypassing any ritual, but his intuition told him it was better to follow the rules of this story. Heart, hole, door. Simple. And safer.

While Alex pondered the details, Saga had already reached the Witch’s Ladle. The beam of her flashlight swept across the dense mass of darkness filling the passage. In that instant, something shifted — the darkness trembled as if startled and dispersed, scattering in clouds of smoke. A white page from the manuscript softly fell to the ground.

“Saga, what is it?” Alex called, peeking out from behind the stand.

“Seems you were right,” she replied, picking up the page. “Light really does drive back the darkness. This page fell out of it.”

Alex stepped closer to confirm that the page was real. On it were lines written in a familiar hand — Alan Wake’s handwriting.

He knew that both Saga and Casey were characters woven into the story. As long as they remained part of the narrative, their actions followed the logic of the manuscript. Even his own presence with Emmet had only slightly altered the course of events, but it hadn’t changed the direction — the story still moved according to the script written by Wake and his shadow, Mr. Scratch.

The only way to break the Spiral was to stop following the rules — but that was nearly impossible without external intervention. Alex intended to play his role to the end, wait for the moment when he could enter the Fold, and then — the Dark Place, to destroy the Dark Entity and Mr. Scratch. Only then could Alan Wake be freed and the cycle stopped.

Saga illuminated the page with her flashlight and stole glances at Alex, who was thoughtfully rubbing his chin. She wanted to understand what he was thinking — whether he had seen something there that had eluded her own eyes.

“Found any clues?” she asked. “Besides the obvious one that we need to find the Witch’s Cabin.”

Alex looked up and gave a slight smile.

“Found some,” he replied. “Want to know?”

Saga nodded. Alex gestured for her to come closer to the stand with the legend. She approached and read the text again, frowning — she didn’t see anything unusual.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” she asked, turning to him.

Alex pointed to a line:

“Here. ‘Offer the witch your heart — and she will show you the way.'”

Saga paused for a moment, repeating the words to herself.

“Heart… witch… ritual…” she whispered, piecing together the meaning, and slowly, realization spread across her face.

Alex just smirked — it seemed she was finally beginning to understand how literal the darkness in this story could be.

In Saga’s mind, a chain of events that Alex had hinted at quickly formed. Nightingale’s footprints leading through the locked passage — not like before. The manuscript pages describing the ritual at Coldron Lake. The legend of the witch that Alex had shown her. Nightingale’s disappearance and his heart.

All of it came together into a clear picture.

Saga quickly realized: Nightingale’s heart was the key, the hole on the legend stand was the keyhole, and the Witch’s Ladle was the door into the Fold.

“I understand,” she said confidently. “Nightingale’s heart — the key. The hole — the keyhole. And the Witch’s Ladle — the door into the Fold.”

“That’s right,” Alex nodded, lighting a cigarette. “Now we just need to find Nightingale’s heart. And the answer is most likely waiting for us in the Witch’s Cabin. If the page points there, then there might be another one — the one showing where to find the heart.”

“So, we need to find the Witch’s Cabin…” Saga said, taking out her radio. “Casey, do you copy? Are you on?”

“Copy, Saga. I’m with Emmet. Heard something in the forest, coming to check it out. You got anything?” Casey replied.

“We found another page and a clue on how to get into the Fold. We found the door itself… and the keyhole,” Saga explained.

“Perfect. We’ll check out that noise for now. Keep me updated. Over.” Casey ended the transmission.

“Roger that. We’re moving forward,” she said, putting the radio away.

Saga looked at Alex — he gave a brief nod. He already knew where the Witch’s Cabin was: they just needed to return along the previous route and take a different turn.

Alex quickened his pace. He wasn’t going to waste any more time — his target lay ahead.

They reached the partially ruined wooden steps, climbed the ledge — and before them appeared the Witch’s Cabin, shrouded in darkness.

The manuscript pages had said there should be light inside. That meant it needed to be turned on. Alex didn’t waste time searching for the fuse — he discreetly pulled a spare from his pocket and connected it to the panel. Instantly, the cabin was flooded with blinding light that dispersed the darkness.

Saga entered first. Her eyes immediately fell on a white page, neatly lying on a shelf inside the cabinet.

She picked it up and read it — the text was written in a veiled manner, but the meaning was clear: to open the path into the darkness, one must offer the witch a heart.

Saga closed her eyes, focused, and activated her Realm of Mind. A flow of images swirled through her consciousness, and she clearly saw the answer: Nightingale’s heart was in the abandoned store, not far from where they had found his body.

“We need to go back,” Saga said, opening her eyes. “Nightingale’s heart is in the store.”

“Quite a useful ability you have,” Alex remarked with a slight smirk, leaning on the table. “Getting answers straight from the dead. Even if they now walk in the form of monsters.”

“Aren’t you the same?” Saga asked, raising an eyebrow.

Alex smiled.

“Oh, no. I just build the chain of events. I notice details, connect them — and get the answer. Even if something goes beyond logic, like these manuscript pages, it doesn’t mean it can’t be real. Sometimes you just have to ask yourself: what if?.. And then the answer comes on its own. The main thing — don’t believe everything you’re told.”

“Don’t believe what you’re told?” Saga repeated, frowning.

“You’ll understand soon enough,” Alex said, passing by her. “For now, let’s find Nightingale’s heart.”

He opened the cabin door, letting out plumes of diffused light, and stepped into the night — into the darkness that was already waiting for them.

Saga watched Alex’s back as he left the Witch’s Cabin. Once again, she realized — he said far more than he showed. Using her Realm of Mind, Saga tried to analyze every word, every movement, every little detail connected to him. His mysterious organization Men of Letters, his odd phrases, habits, behavior — it all built the sense that Alex had long known what would happen in Bright Falls.

But all the answers she received led to one conclusion: Alex knew the truth — the whole truth — but deliberately revealed it in pieces, in hints and clues. And yet she didn’t understand — why? Why didn’t he act directly if he knew what was happening?

Saga followed, lost in thought. No matter how hard she tried to unravel this puzzle, the threads slipped through her fingers again and again, never forming a complete picture. Everything about Alex seemed shrouded in a dense fog.

Only one thing remained — to wait. Wait until more clues appeared to understand what he was after. She realized that Alex was an ally, but she couldn’t shake the thought: for how long? And had he really come here just to help Bright Falls?

“Casey, do you copy? We found a lead and are heading to the store. Looks like we have a way into the Fold. How are things on your end?” Saga said into the radio.

“Emmet found ATV tracks, we followed them… and apparently got a little lost,” Casey’s voice replied, with Emmet muttering in the background, trying to get oriented.

“So you two got lost?” Saga smirked, imagining Casey’s expression.

“I only got lost once… when I married my ex-wife,” Casey replied with a sour tone. “Looks like Emmet found the way. We’ll be there soon. Over.”

Saga smirked, while Alex, listening to the conversation, just shook his head. Casey was increasingly starting to resemble his book counterpart — the detective from Alan Wake’s story, living in a grim world full of murders and despair.

The rain began to drizzle again, turning into a steady downpour. The wind picked up, howling between the trees. Alex lifted his head to the sky and frowned. Deep down, he felt that opening the Fold would not be just another step in the investigation.

If one followed the events from Alan Wake’s manuscript, then everything — the disrupted ritual, Nightingale’s return, and the darkness descending on the town — was part of a story meant to open a path for Alan himself from the Dark Abode. And the key in this story was Nightingale.

He and Saga walked in silence. Each was lost in their own thoughts. The difference was that Alex knew the answers, while Saga did not.

Reaching the old store, they stepped inside. The place was abandoned, the air thick with damp and mold. Alex already knew what awaited them. Nightingale’s heart was guarded by one of the Taken — a former member of the Tree Cult, consumed by darkness.

They had barely taken a few steps when a wooden wall beside them splintered into pieces. From the darkness, the Taken lunged with an axe. Saga jumped back, raising her gun. Alex, however, didn’t hesitate. He pulled a flare from his pocket and charged forward.

The axe swung past, slicing the air. Alex intercepted the enemy, grabbed him by the torso, and using momentum, threw him over his shoulder. The Taken crashed headfirst into the wooden floor with a thud.

Alex immediately ignited the flare and shoved it into the Taken’s mouth. A distorted scream rang out, then the enemy’s body disintegrated into black smoke.

Saga stood stunned, weapon raised, shining her flashlight on Alex.

“What… was that?” she breathed.

“Killing a Taken,” Alex replied calmly. “The manuscript says they’re no longer human. Light disperses darkness, which means light kills them. The flare is light. Simple logic.”

“It’s hard to argue with your logic,” Saga said, lowering her gun.

Alex just shrugged. He lifted the still-burning flare and entered the room the Taken had emerged from. Inside stood an old refrigerator, shrouded in swirling darkness. Bringing the light closer, Alex watched as the shadow dissipated, and soon he saw Nightingale’s heart inside.

Alex didn’t want to carry Nightingale’s heart in his pocket like an idiot, so he needed something to safely hold a human heart. He quickly found a suitable bag and carefully placed the heart inside, then handed the bag to Saga. She glanced at him with mild confusion, to which Alex responded with an indifferent shrug.

Saga shook her head and turned on the radio:

“Casey, do you copy? We found Nightingale’s heart. Move to the Witch’s Ladle. We’ll open the path into the Fold there.”

“Copy,” Casey replied. “We’re approaching now.”

Saga put the radio away. Alex stood beside her, looking out the window at the raging rain.

They both understood — ahead awaited something far darker than just a story written by Alan Wake.

Their journey into the Fold was only beginning.

To be continued…

(Yahoo, Greed here. I think I should explain a few things related to Alan Wake that are difficult to understand without the right clues. First, Saga and Casey must, or rather are obligated to, follow the so-called Canon of events that Alan Wake wrote in his book. Even with Alex and Emmett nearby, events will unfold as they do because Alan Wake is literally the creator of the entire story, as I described at the beginning of this chapter.

This will be a spoiler, but even if Alan Wake leaves the Dark Place in the future, he will still remain there. As I said, time in the Dark Place is a vortex that has affected many events in the past, present, and future. And to escape this canon, Alex must find a way into the very depths of the Dark Place without destroying it, lest he cause a collapse of space and time. Essentially, Alex must pull the Original Alan Wake from the center of the vortex to disrupt the Spiral. I think this explanation is enough for you, but if not, I’ll be happy to answer your questions.)

Early access to chapters on my patreon: p*treon.com/GreedHunter

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep