When Alex pressed the only button in the elevator, it gave off a soft chime, and the doors slowly began to close. Inside the cabin, a calm, soothing melody began to play. The atmosphere could have felt peaceful — if not for Scratch, bound by black chains and making muffled, irritating noises as he desperately tried to break free.

The two Zashiki-warashi, Ichiko and Nico, watched him with childlike curiosity. As house guardian spirits, they could clearly sense the malice and darkness radiating from Scratch. That’s why they kept as far from him as the tight space of the elevator would allow.

Zhang Ya didn’t even glance at the prisoner, as if he didn’t exist at all. Alex, however, was starting to lose patience. Scratch wouldn’t stop twitching, the chains clanked constantly, and it was all getting on his nerves.

“Listen, can you calm down already?” Alex said coldly, exhaling in irritation. “No matter how hard you try, you’re not getting out. Even beings dozens of times stronger than you couldn’t do it. So just shut up and lie still. It’ll all be over soon. I’ll merge the three of you into one body — and my job will be done.”

He lazily kicked Scratch in the face.

The prisoner’s head hit the metal floor with a dull thud, and he finally went silent. The elevator fell quiet again, broken only by the faint notes of the music.

Alex closed his eyes and felt the Dark Presence trying with all its might to slow the elevator’s ascent — but it was useless. The final Fold had almost been completely absorbed by Zhang Ya, and the only remaining fragment was the place where Alan Wake was imprisoned.

“Tired of this,” Alex muttered, tapping his finger against the elevator wall.

A sharp crack echoed — the cabin walls were covered in a web of fractures and shattered like thin glass.

In the next moment, Alex, Zhang Ya, Ichiko, and Nico stood on an island — before them rose a simple two-story wooden house. This was the place, hidden deep at the bottom of the Whirlpool, that Alan Wake had built with his own hands — his last refuge, created to resist the Dark Presence whispering in his ear how to write his story.

Looking back, Alex saw only water stretching to the horizon. No shores, no hope of escape — just this island and silence.

“Alright, time to finish this,” he said, turning to grab Scratch by the leg.

But the sight before him made him pause: Ichiko and Nico, with comically serious yet adorably determined faces, were both holding onto Scratch’s legs with their tiny hands. The sight was so ridiculous that Alex couldn’t help but smile.

“You sure you want to drag that thing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Both Zashiki-warashi nodded eagerly, showing they could handle it. Alex chuckled, nodded, and let them help since they insisted.

He and Zhang Ya walked toward the house, with Ichiko and Nico dragging the prisoner behind them. Scratch no longer resisted — after Alex’s kick in the elevator, he was completely subdued.

The wooden door opened with a creak under a light push. A chill and darkness wafted out from inside. As soon as they stepped in, thick black mist slithered down from the second floor, blocking their path.

Alex merely raised an eyebrow and took a step forward. The mist instantly dispersed, as if yielding to him.

As he climbed the creaking stairs, Alex heard dull thuds behind him — glancing back, he saw Ichiko and Nico, puffing and pouting, dragging Scratch up the steps. With each tug, his head smacked painfully against the stairs, but the girls stubbornly kept going.

Alex barely held back a laugh. He waited patiently for them to finish their “heroic climb.”

While they struggled, he opened the nearest door. The room was empty — no furniture, no windows, just bare walls. The next room, however, was filled with books.

Curiosity got the better of him, and Alex pulled one from the shelf. It was Return — Alan Wake’s book. Raising an eyebrow, he opened the last page and smirked. It described the scene where Saga kills Alan, firing a bullet of light into his head to end the nightmare.

But the nightmare didn’t end. It started again and again. Perhaps Alan himself kept resetting the Spiral, searching for a better ending. Or maybe the Dark Presence simply refused to let him go.

“Either way, the Spiral will soon be broken,” Alex said quietly and closed the book.

He slipped it into his inventory — a fine souvenir, worthy of remembering this journey.

When Alex returned to the hallway, he saw that Ichiko and Nico had already dragged Scratch up to the second floor. Both were breathing heavily, their cheeks flushed with exhaustion.

“Good job,” Alex said warmly, patting them both on the head. “You did great.”

The girls immediately lit up with joy, proudly puffing out their chests as if to say, Of course we did! Alex couldn’t help but smile and shake his head, looking at their satisfied faces. Then his gaze shifted to Zhang Ya. With just a look, he silently asked her whether she would stay to see how it all ended.

Zhang Ya gently shook her head and, with a faint smile, touched his cheek with her palm. The next moment, her silhouette shimmered and vanished, dissolving into his shadow.

Once she was gone, Alex looked at Ichiko and Nico. At that instant, both girls transformed into tiny dolls and flew up to land on his head — showing they’d stay close, but wouldn’t get in the way.

A smile touched Alex’s lips. He tightened his grip on Scratch’s leg and headed toward the door behind which Alan Wake and the Dark Presence awaited.

“I’ll knock in my own way,” he said, lifting his leg.

A powerful kick — and the door, wrapped in darkness, tore off its hinges and flew into the room with a thunderous crash. Barbara Jagger, the embodiment of the Dark Presence, didn’t even have time to turn before the shattered door slammed into her, pinning her to the wall.

Alex stepped inside. His eyes shifted to Alan Wake — the writer sat hunched over his typewriter, clutching his head in his hands. His empty, burnt-out gaze was fixed on the keys.

Then Alex turned to the Dark Presence, still struggling to free itself from the door. The corners of his mouth curved upward. Behind him, a portal opened — from within the darkness, the tip of a black spear emerged.

With a sharp whistle, the spear shot forward, piercing the Dark Presence through the chest and driving it deeper into the wall.

It was one of the weapons Alex had created long ago out of boredom — a special spear designed to bind beings without physical form. It anchored them in space, stripping them of the ability to vanish or dissipate. That was exactly what was happening now: the Dark Presence writhed, but couldn’t break free.

“We’ll talk later,” Alex said calmly. “For now… silence.”

He snapped his fingers, and a silence spell settled around the entity.

Ignoring it, Alex turned back to Alan Wake. Still holding Scratch by the leg, he approached the desk. His gaze grew cold and focused.

Activating his magical sight, Alex saw the very essence of Alan Wake’s existence — fractured, split into three parts. Just as he had suspected, Alan’s soul was divided. It wasn’t surprising: Alan had written himself into his own story as the main character, but unable to leave the Dark Place, he had shattered. One part became the Writer, another — the Protagonist, and the third — the Antagonist. All three were him — the man who had created his own eternal nightmare, with no escape and no end.

Alex leaned closer. Alan’s lips moved, but the sounds that came out were incoherent mumbling.

Focusing deeper, Alex looked into the core of his being. Inside, he saw only a half-empty shell. Endlessly creating new heroes, Alan had torn away fragments of himself each time, giving his memories to fictional characters. Now it all made sense — the Alan Alex once saved from the Dark Place suffered from memory loss for that very reason. And the shadows Ichiko and Nico had purified — each of them carried shards of the real Alan Wake’s memories.

Alex circled the desk and placed a hand on the writer’s shoulder.

“Hey, Alan,” he said quietly but firmly. “Can you hear me? Are you still in there?”

He gave him a slight shake, hoping for some kind of reaction.

But Alan Wake didn’t respond. He kept clutching his head, muttering nonsense under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex noticed the Dark Presence smirking — even in pain, with the black spear pinning it to the wall.

And then Alex understood.

That was exactly what she had been after. By subjugating Scratch, she had made him kill the story’s heroes over and over again, forcing Alan to rewrite the plot endlessly. Little by little, she was turning him into an empty shell without memories — so that, in the end, Scratch could seize control not only over the protagonist of the story but over the writer himself. Then, the Dark Presence would be able to dictate exactly what should be written.

Alex smirked to himself. He had to admit — it was a brilliantly calculated move. Manipulating someone who no longer remembers who they are is far easier than manipulating someone self-aware.

He placed his hand on Alan Wake’s head.

“Evi,” he said, activating the spell.

It was a special spell he had created to restore lost memories — as long as they hadn’t been completely erased. And since Ichiko and Nico had purified all of Alan Wake’s shadows, the fragmented shards of his soul had already begun returning to their source. Alan simply couldn’t recognize them — and this spell would help him remember.

A magic circle flared around Alex’s hand, gently merging with the writer’s head.

In that instant, Alan’s body trembled violently. He clutched his head as an overwhelming torrent of memories flooded his mind — images, emotions, screams, words, pages, names… everything came rushing back. He was reliving thousands of lives all at once — both his own and those of his written reflections.

A few seconds later, Alan stopped shaking. His breathing grew ragged and heavy, like a man surfacing from the depths after being underwater too long. Finally, the memories fell into place.

Alex watched and smiled in quiet satisfaction. Now, Alan only lacked two final fragments of his essence to become whole again.

The Dark Presence felt it — and thrashed violently, trying to break free. The black spear sank deeper into its chest, yet it kept writhing, as if realizing everything was collapsing around it.

Alex looked at it mockingly — then turned his gaze back to Alan.

“I… I remember everything,” Alan whispered, staring at his trembling hands. “The Dark Place… Alice… Bright Falls… I created this nightmare. It’s all my fault. Because of me, people suffered again and again… it kept repeating.”

Alex sighed softly and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t blame yourself, Alan,” he said calmly. “You didn’t know. When you tried to save yourself and your wife, you created a nightmare — not just for you, but for many others. In the past, the present, and the future.”

He patted the writer’s shoulder lightly and smirked.

“But I’ll admit — for an ordinary human… you did pretty well. Maybe.”

Alan froze when he heard an unfamiliar voice behind him and felt a light touch on his shoulder.

Looking up, he saw a man with extraordinary eyes — impossibly deep and incomprehensible, as though stars and darkness reflected within them at once. Alan’s eyes widened in shock when he realized he was no longer alone. His astonishment deepened when his gaze fell on Scratch — lying in the center of the room, bound in black chains, struggling in vain to break free.

Before Alan could even panic, the stranger patted his shoulder again and pointed in another direction. Following the gesture, Alan turned his head — and froze. There, pinned to the wall by a black spear, was the Dark Presence in the form of Barbara Jagger.

For a moment, the writer was so shocked he nearly fainted.

Seeing Alan pale and sway unsteadily, Alex silently cast a calming spell on his mind. Instantly, the writer’s thoughts cleared, his breathing steadied, and his heartbeat slowed.

Unhurriedly, Alex conjured a chair, sat down across from him, and lit a cigarette.

“Now we can talk,” he said quietly, exhaling a thin trail of smoke.

He began to tell everything — from the very beginning. About what Alan had created with his books, what it led to, and how it all could have ended. His voice was steady, without accusation, as if he were simply reading a chronicle of someone else’s mistakes.

Alan listened attentively, without interrupting. In the depths of his eyes flickered disbelief, fear, and a growing sense of guilt. He asked simple questions, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. The only thing keeping him from a complete breakdown was the calming spell still affecting him.

Alex answered every question honestly, without hiding anything — Alan had the right to know what he had done.

When the story came to an end, Alex exhaled smoke and said:

“Yes, your wife is alive. Alice only faked her death so the Dark Presence wouldn’t get to her.”

Alan slowly lowered his head, staring at the floor. Everything he had done came crashing down on him with unbearable weight. His pursuit of freedom, his desperate attempts to save everyone — it had all turned into an endless loop of suffering. He remembered how, again and again, he rewrote the pages, searching for a better ending, but each time Scratch interfered, and the nightmare began anew.

“And now what?” he asked quietly, clasping his hands on his knees. “To end this nightmare, I have to die, don’t I? I’ve already become part of this place… You said it yourself.”

Alex chuckled softly and shook his head.

“Oh, why would I kill you? If I wanted to end things with such a boring finale, I would’ve done it on the first day.” He put out his cigarette and raised a finger. “I followed the story of Return to catch your literary double and Scratch. All for one purpose.”

“And what purpose is that?” Alan raised his eyes.

“To make you whole again,” Alex replied calmly. “You see, besides the soul, every being has something called the Core of Existence — an energy ‘sphere,’ so to speak. Yours was shattered into three parts: one stayed with you, another with your book’s protagonist, and the third with Scratch. Light, Darkness, and the Writer. When all of that reunites, everything will end the way you dreamed — with a happy ending.”

Alex lit another cigarette, his gaze thoughtful.

“And how will that happen?” Alan asked, frowning.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Alex replied, lowering his hand and speaking the spell:”Agronemt.”

The Agronemt spell was usually used for resurrection or the restoration of a Core of Existence — the essence at the very heart of any soul. However, it required one condition to activate: the influence of the one who had damaged or shattered the core.

In Alan Wake’s case, the condition fit perfectly. Unintentionally, the writer had split his Core of Existence into countless fragments — three of which became key: the Writer, the Darkness, and the Light. It had all happened because of the power of words and his ability to make thoughts real. That was the connection Alex chose to use.

A bright magic circle flared under Alan’s and Alex’s feet, expanding wider and wider until it reached Scratch, lying in the center of the room. When the spell activated, Alan’s and Scratch’s bodies began to glow.

First, Scratch and the book’s protagonist — the other Alan — separated from each other, becoming two distinct beings. Then, the three forms merged into one, sinking into a blinding stream of light. The magic circle flared one last time and dissolved.

When the radiance faded, only one man stood in the middle of the room — Alan Wake.

He slowly opened his eyes, blinked, as if seeing the world anew, and looked at his hands. Everything inside him felt whole, complete — as though the fragments of his soul, torn apart for centuries, had finally found their place.

If someone had asked him to describe the feeling, he would have probably said, “I finally feel like myself again.”

Alex, watching him, used magical sight. A hint of satisfaction flashed in his eyes — Alan’s Core of Existence was indeed restored. And yet, despite that, the writer remained an anomaly.

Even if he left the Dark Place, the power of the Word — interwoven with his very soul — would remain within him. It could no longer distort reality as freely as before, but its influence would persist, albeit to a lesser degree.

Alex thoughtfully rubbed his chin, wondering whether he should take that power from him. But the decision, he knew, had to belong to Alan himself.

“So, how do you feel, Alan?” he asked with a faint smile. “What’s it like — to be whole again?”

“I don’t even know how to describe it,” Alan replied, still examining his palms. “It feels like everything’s gone back to the beginning. I remember everything… absolutely everything. How I created this place, how it changed. The Dark Presence couldn’t create — it could only twist. But it needed someone like me, someone who could write, who could create. Even the rules of this world… I made them all.”

He spoke with bitterness, as if each word cut him from the inside.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Alex nodded. “But unfortunately, you’re still an anomaly. If you keep writing, your books will affect reality. Everything you bring to life through words will partially manifest in our world.”

Alan frowned.

“So… I still have this power?”

“Correct,” Alex confirmed, raising three fingers. “But you have a choice. Three options.”

“And what are they?” Alan turned his head toward him.

“The first one’s the simplest,” Alex began. “We do nothing. You live carefully, learn to control your power, and don’t let it leak out.”He folded one finger.

“Second — I seal your power until you learn how to control it. I’ll help you with that.”He folded the second.

“And the third?” Alan raised an eyebrow.

Alex smirked and stroked his chin.

“The third option — I simply take it from you. Not as hard as it sounds, but… there’s a catch.”

“I could die, right?” Alan said calmly. “Because that power is already part of me. You can’t just tear it away without destroying who I am.”

“Not exactly,” Alex shook his head. “But you’re close. This power you call the Word has become part of your Core of Existence. Taking it away would mean rewriting the very reason you were born — changing your entire life’s path. Essentially, I’d have to rewrite your past.”

He waved his hand dismissively and smirked.

“And honestly, I’m too lazy for that. Besides, I’d rather not have some ‘stray mutt’ jump out again, yelling at me for meddling with time. So, that leaves you with the first and second options,” Alex said, showing two fingers.

Alan nodded and fell silent for a few seconds, lost in thought about Alex’s offer.

On one hand, he wanted to rid himself of this power forever — it had brought so much suffering that the idea of peace without it felt almost like a blessing. But Alex’s words about the possible consequences made him hesitate. Was it truly worth it?

He didn’t know who the “stray mutt” Alex mentioned was, but from his tone, Alan guessed it referred to some being connected with time. And as for Alex himself… Alan had long stopped seeing him as an ordinary man. There was far too much about him that defied anything human.

The third option — completely giving up the power — seemed the most radical and dangerous.

That left only two paths: to seal the power or to learn to control it. Both led to the same outcome — keeping the power within. The only difference was who controlled whom.

Alan paced across the room, his hands clasped thoughtfully behind his back. His thoughts swirled like a vortex: learn to control the power and use it for good — or lock it away forever and live as an ordinary man? He knew all too well where mistakes led. But would running away really solve everything?

“May I ask how exactly you plan to teach me to use this power?” he finally asked, stopping in front of Alex.

Alex smiled faintly and tapped his finger on the table.

“In many worlds…” he began. “Yes, in many. You already understand, Alan, that there are countless worlds. And among them, there are those where the magic of the Word exists. It’s an ancient concept — that words themselves hold the power to change reality, people, and fate. Not just eloquent speech, but the literal ability to create or destroy with a single written or spoken word.”

Alex paused and took a deep drag from his cigarette.

“You’ve already experienced it yourself, Alan — though unconsciously. But if you learn to use that power consciously, you’ll be able to perform miracles. Of course, you won’t be able to rewrite reality like before… but bringing fictional characters to life? That’s entirely possible.”

Alan gave a short chuckle, raising a brow.

“So, you’re planning to turn me into some kind of wizard? Or did I miss something?”

“Close enough,” Alex smirked. “And by the way, if you’re worried about your wife — don’t be. I’ll move you both somewhere safe. A place where no one will try to exploit your power.”

“Exploit?” Alan frowned. “Why would anyone want my power? Or is there something I don’t know about this world?”

Alex exhaled wearily and flicked the ash from his cigarette.

“How should I put it… The moment you leave this place, the greedy eyes of Angels and Demons will turn toward you. And don’t think angels are sweet, harp-playing beings sitting on clouds. No. Those bastards are worse than demons sometimes. As for demons — well, you’ll end up as a dog serving the self-proclaimed ‘King of Hell’ named Crowley. And trust me, both sides know how to make people work. As long as you have something to lose, they’ll use it against you.”

Alan’s frown deepened. He had no doubt Alex was telling the truth. There was no reason for him to lie.

And something in his intuition told him this man — whatever he was — didn’t need anyone else’s power.

Alex stayed silent, patiently giving Alan time to think. He knew exactly what was going through the writer’s head. And even if Alan refused to leave, Alex already had a plan. In the worst case, he’d send Alan and Alice under the supervision of the FBC — an organization capable of containing even beings like him. Jesse Faden, the current director, would never let Wake fall into the wrong hands.

“And where exactly do you plan to take us?” Alan finally asked, still processing everything.

“To another world,” Alex replied calmly. “A safe one. But if you’d rather stay here, you can trust the FBC. You’ll learn who they are once we get out of here. And don’t rush your decision. I’m not leaving just yet.”

“Thank you… for everything,” Alan said quietly, nodding.

Alex smirked, flicking away the last bit of ash.

“Oh, come on, Alan. Your books are pretty good, you know. Actually quite entertaining. So if you really want to thank me — just give one guy an autograph when we’re out.”

He rose from his chair and clapped his hands once.

“Now, let’s get to the important part. Whatever happens next stays within this room. Don’t ask, don’t speak, just stay silent. Got it?”

Alan nodded silently, feeling something unfathomable begin to gather in the air around them.

Making sure Alan understood, Alex approached Barbara Jagger — the very woman who had long lost herself, becoming the Dark Presence. He tapped his finger against his chin, thinking about how to contact Amara, and soon the right idea flashed through his mind. The solution was simple, though risky — to use the Dark Presence as a conduit, a means of communication with the Darkness itself.

Having made up his mind, Alex struck the entity square in the chest without hesitation. His hand passed through the matter as if through viscous shadow and grasped the very core of its existence. In that moment, Alex felt a thin thread leading directly to Amara.

He knew that Amara’s physical form was still regaining its strength, but her true, spiritual form could manifest here. After sending her the message, Alex clenched his hand, crushing the entity’s core. The dark shell slowly crumbled to dust, vanishing without a trace.

Now, all that remained was to wait. Alex knew she would come. In his message, he had left a clear hint — he knew where her so-called brother was.

Returning to the table, Alex gave Alan a silent look, gesturing for him to step back. Alan didn’t fully understand what was happening, but obeyed and moved to the far corner.

With a wave of his hand, Alex replaced the old writing desk with a round table, setting in the center a teapot of hot tea and a plate of cookies. Several tense minutes of silence passed.

Then the air began to tremble. The walls vibrated, and thick black mist started to seep in from under the door. A thunderous crash followed, and the door flew open.

A woman stood on the threshold.

Long, wavy chestnut hair fell over her shoulders; her pale skin seemed to reflect light from nowhere, and her black dress blended seamlessly with the darkness behind her. Alex couldn’t help but note how truly beautiful Amara was. Yet at the same time, he sensed that the thread connecting her to Dean Winchester had not been severed.

Amara stared intently at Alex. She didn’t know who he was, but she could feel that he was the one who had summoned her. This place was foreign to her, and yet the air was charged with energy akin to her own. Her lips tightened when she realized the space had been forged by a power similar to her darkness — and she didn’t like that. She decided her brother must have once again used her power without permission.

“Take a seat, Amara. We need to talk,” Alex said calmly, gesturing to the chair across from him.

“Who are you? And why did you dare summon me?” Amara’s voice was cold, the darkness around her thickening.

“I’ll explain everything,” Alex replied evenly. “But first, sit down. It’s rude for one to sit while the other stands.” He smiled faintly as he poured tea into the cups. “And let me be clear — I’m not on your ‘brother’s’ side. And I call him that deliberately. You’ll understand soon enough. Believe me, you won’t like the truth.”

Amara frowned. What unsettled her was that no aura emanated from Alex — no light, no darkness, no life energy. He simply wasn’t there. Every being she had ever encountered carried a mark of some kind. In angels and demons, she could always sense a trace of her brother. But Alex… was empty.

Reluctantly, yet with curiosity, she sat down at the table, completely ignoring Alan Wake, who stood in the corner trying to make himself invisible. Even from there, her presence made it hard for him to breathe.

Alex slid a cup of tea toward her.

“Try it,” he said calmly. “This tea is from another universe. It’s quite good. My family loves it.”

He took his own cup, sipped, and continued:

“I suppose it’s time I introduced myself. I am Alexander Voldigoad — the first demon created by the Creator. And no, not by your brother.”

Amara raised an eyebrow.

“What did you just say?” she asked, irritation seeping into her tone.

“Your ‘brother,’ or as he now calls himself — Chuck — isn’t the god you think he is,” Alex said evenly. “Well, technically, he is a god… just not the one you know. He’s merely an avatar — a vessel created by the mother of my daughter.”

“What do you mean?” Amara frowned. “How can my brother not be my brother?”

“It’s simple,” Alex replied, resting his elbow on the table. “When you were still young, Chuck invaded this universe. You were meant to be its goddess — the keeper of balance. Everything he supposedly ‘created’ would have come into existence without him anyway. Except for Hell, Heaven, angels, demons, and all those creatures humans call ‘monsters.'”

He smirked slightly and pointed a finger at her.

“He took the light half of your essence and claimed it as his own — leaving you only with the darkness.”

Hearing Alex’s words, Amara frowned slightly and placed a hand over her chest. Memories from that distant childhood suddenly surged — those first moments when the universe was only taking shape, when she first became aware of herself and there was only one other being beside her who said they were brother and sister, light and darkness, creation and destruction.

No matter how she tried to push those images away, Amara felt no trace of falsehood in the words of the man sitting opposite. She had wanted to kill Chuck before for what he had done to her, but the realization that she had been deceived her whole life sent her powers out of control. Dark energy stirred around her — the room itself seemed to shudder.

Alex snapped his fingers and reinforced the room’s boundaries, making sure to shield Alan Wake from the outpouring of darkness. His voice was calm and even:

“Let’s assume that’s true. Why did he do it?” Amara asked abruptly, frowning more and more. “Why invade the universe? Create something of his own? Make me the villain? Play family while mocking me?”

“None of what you describe sounds like Chuck’s motives,” Alex replied. “He wants souls — their energy, their emotions. He’s the kind of being who likes to play with worlds like ant farms: watch them collapse at his whim. Chuck is crafting his ‘masterpiece of horror.’ Souls that should be reborn get stuck in his ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’ — and he robs them of their further path, breaking the balance. When his creation is complete and he is satisfied, he will destroy everything and take the second half of your power. If he had killed you outright, the universe would have collapsed — and then there would be nothing left to play with.”

Alex offered her his hand. “If you don’t believe me — touch.”

Amara hesitated, then extended her palm and touched his hand. In that instant Alex transmitted a set of memories to her — about avatars, about Chuck and their origins. A torrent of images poured into Amara’s mind, and as she swallowed fragment after fragment of truth, the picture of what had happened began to form. Everything became clearer: her “brother” was not a savior but a usurper; the one who had stolen her light half.

When the flow of memories subsided, Amara withdrew her hand and a thin, resolute smile appeared on her face. She looked at Alex differently now — not as an outsider, but as a possible ally. Alex also shared the plan: pretend the game still played by Chuck’s rules so he suspects nothing and continues to believe he’s in control.

“So I play Chuck’s game until he himself becomes part of his own show?” Amara asked, stirring her tea.

“Exactly,” Alex confirmed. “While you feign hatred for your brother and the readiness to tear him apart, I’ll remove all his pawns from the board. And in the finale, unfortunately, we’ll have to use your Dean Winchester.”

The mention of Dean caused a slight crease on Amara’s brow, but her voice was calm: “I’d be lying if I said I’m indifferent to you wanting to use Dean. But he won’t be harmed. We are still linked, even if the seal is gone. Thanks to that bond I understand people better — and him. I’ve taken a liking to Dean, even if right now he dances to my brother’s tune.”

Alex smirked and shrugged. “It’s not every day you hear an original goddess admit she’s attached to a mortal. Who am I to judge? Love is universal. No wonder it’s one of the seven basic emotions of the multiverse.”

Amara smiled quietly in response. She wouldn’t call what she felt for Dean love yet — for now it was just an interest, a warm feeling she enjoyed having. Time would tell if it grew into something more. For now, she sat facing a being stronger and craftier than Chuck, and at the same time a man who understood and valued ordinary mortals. That gave hope that together they could reclaim what was lost.

To be continued…

(Yes, that’s the end of the events in Bright Falls. Everyone who could be saved has already been saved, Alex has spoken with Amara, which means we can return to Forks and continue some of the plots I had planned. So, in the next chapter, we’ll return to Forks and continue the main plot.)

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

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep