Darkness.
Not the kind you find in a room with the lights off, or the kind that creeps in behind closed eyes.
This was absolute—thick, suffocating, endless.
Alex floated in it, or maybe he was the darkness now.
No body.
No pain.
No sound but the faint echo of his own thoughts.
So this is death…
A strange calm settled over him. No honking cars.
No bills waiting on the table. No cracked phone buzzing with notifications from people who didn't care.
Just… nothing.
Then a voice broke through.
"Finally. I thought you'd never die."
It was casual, amused, dripping with sarcasm. Alex blinked—or thought he did.
Shapes began to ripple in the void, colors bleeding into existence like spilled paint.
A figure appeared before him, sitting in what looked suspiciously like a lawn chair, wearing sunglasses, sipping from a coconut with a straw.
Alex stared. "Uh… what?"
The figure raised a brow. "What, were you expecting an old man with a white beard and a booming voice? Choirs of angels, pearly gates? Please. That's corporate branding. I don't do that."
"…Who the hell are you?"
"Language," the figure chided, wagging a finger. "But fine. Call me God. Creator. Cosmic landlord. Supreme Overlord of All Things. Whatever strokes your ego enough to take me seriously." He slurped loudly from the coconut.
Alex's jaw worked soundlessly. "I… I died."
"Yeah, no kidding," God said, gesturing lazily with the straw. "Truck. Boom. Game over. Ten out of ten for dramatic ragdoll physics, by the way. You flew like a champ."
Alex winced. "That's… not funny."
"It's hilarious," God corrected, grinning. "You humans really do cling to the idea of dying 'meaningfully.' Newsflash: most of you just slip in bathtubs."
Alex wanted to argue, but what was the point? He was dead. And this… whatever this was… clearly wasn't a dream. "So… what now?"
God leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin. "That's the fun part. See, you? You're special."
Alex snorted. "Yeah, sure. Special enough to die delivering fried rice on a scooter."
God pointed at him. "Exactly! You had all that passion bottled up—dragons, thrones, swords, knights. You lived more in your daydreams than in your life. And let me tell you, Alex, I love a good daydreamer. Means you've got potential."
"Potential for what?"
God's smile widened. "For a second chance."
The darkness around them shifted, morphing into scenes like moving paintings.
Alex saw snow-dusted castles, armies marching under banners, fire blazing across battlefields.
He knew it instantly. His heart skipped a beat.
"Is that…?"
"Westeros," God confirmed, as casually as if he were naming a local diner. "The North. Cold, brutal, full of backstabbing and monsters—both human and otherwise. You know it well, don't you?"
Alex's pulse quickened, though he technically didn't have a heart anymore. "You're saying… I can go there?"
God gave a mock gasp. "Look at that, he's quick! Yes, Alex. I'm offering you a ticket. A new life. Not as some side character doomed to die in episode three, either. You'll be you. Reborn. Fresh start. The rest? That's up to you."
Alex staggered—or felt like he did in this weightless space. "Why? Why me?"
"Because," God said, leaning forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "it entertains me."
Alex blinked. "…You're kidding."
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" God grinned. "Well, okay, I usually look like I'm kidding. But not this time. I want to see what someone like you—a loser with big dreams—does when thrown into a world that eats the weak alive. You'll either rise, or you'll die again. Either way, it'll be one hell of a show."
Alex's throat tightened. Snow. Swords. Thrones. He'd wished for this a thousand times, never believing it could happen. And now…
"What about my memories?" he asked.
"You keep them," God said. "Knowledge is power, right? You'll remember every betrayal, every alliance, every fate of every character. The question is—will you use it, or will you screw it up? Because trust me, Westeros doesn't hand out happy endings."
Alex swallowed hard. This was insane. Unreal. But the pull in his chest was undeniable. "And the North… that's where I'll start?"
"Oh, yes," God said with a smirk. "The cold winds, the looming Wall, the Starks brooding about honor every five minutes. That's your stage."
Alex hesitated.
Fear gnawed at him.
Westeros wasn't just fantasy—it was brutal, merciless. He'd dreamed of it, sure, but dreaming and surviving were two different things.
God seemed to read his mind. "Scared?"
"…Yeah."
"Good," God said, standing and tossing aside his empty coconut. "Fear keeps you sharp. Now quit whining and take the deal. Or I can toss you back into the void, let you drift around like cosmic lint for eternity. Your choice."
Alex clenched his fists—though he wasn't sure he had fists here. This was it. The chance he'd begged for his whole life. The chance to matter.
"I'll do it," he said, voice steady. "Send me."
God grinned, teeth flashing like knives. "Knew you would. Don't make me regret it, kid."
The darkness around them shattered, light flooding in like a sunrise over snow.
Alex felt himself pulled, dragged through endless fire and frost, his very being unraveling and stitching itself anew.
The last thing he heard was God's chuckle echoing in his skull.
"Welcome to the game of thrones."