Dying was not like in the movies.
There was no light tunnel, no trial, no sudden peace. It was just a snat. A sharp cut between what I was and where - or who - I would become.
And then, the smell of hay.
When I opened my eyes, there was a wooden ceiling above me, stained by time, with some leak marks that someone tried to fix with tape. The sofa where I was was firm, a little rough. The fireplace crackled next to it. A radio played softly some old-fashioned country music. And outside, through the window, the Canadian hills and pines spread as far as the eye could see.
It was impossible not to recognize.
Heartland
The place that, for so many years, I only knew through the screen. A healing ranch. Of new beginnings. And now... I was inside him.
I sat slowly, my body ached as if I had spent the night digging my own pit. I looked at my hands. They were different. Thinner, more marked. A small recent cut on the left wrist. When I got up and saw the reflection in a corner mirror, my stomach turned.
It was Ty Borden.
That Ty. The boy who came here out of obligation. The boy who ran away from the past. The boy who... would die too early.
My breath became short, and then a strange feeling crossed me - as if a second consciousness woke up with me. It wasn't a real voice, but a clear, structured thought. As if something were... connected to my brain, to my body.
Integrated System.
Access to the Timeline: Heartland universe, starting point - Season 1, episode 1.
Identity: Ty Borden
Retained Memory: Complete
Unlocked skills:
- Fast Learner (You learn more accurately and quickly when observing and practicing.)
- Empathy with Animals (You instinctively feel and understand the emotions of horses and other animals.)
- Voice of Destiny (You remember how the story should happen.)
Objective: Gain the trust of the Fleming family.
Critical event approaching: Marion Fleming's death in 3 days, 22 hours.
I closed my eyes tightly.
Marion
On the original line, she dies in a few days, in an accident while returning from rescuing a horse called Spartan. And everything changes. Amy loses her mother. Jack closes himself. And Ty finds a home there... in someone's absence.
But now she was alive.
And when the front door opened, she entered.
- Awake already? - he said, with a mug of steaming coffee in his hand.
The real Marion. Not the memory of the screen. The woman who rescued horses and broken boys. Who believed where no one else believed. There was firmness in her gaze, but also kindness. A silent kindness, who seemed to choose if it was worth offering.
- Did you sleep well? - he asked, measuring my reactions carefully.
- Yes, ma'am. - My voice came out low. I was still absorbing everything.
She arched an eyebrow.
- Here we don't use this "madam". It makes me feel eighty years old.
- Right... Marion.
She narrowed her eyes. He almost smiled. Then he turned on his heels and went back to the kitchen.
And I stayed there, in the middle of the room, trying to understand how that was possible. And, more than that, why.
Passive skill: Voice of Destiny
Thought: "If Marion doesn't die... Amy doesn't save Spartan. And if Amy doesn't save Spartan, she'll never find out who he is."
Pending decision: Change the course of history?
My head was throbbing.
The kitchen was hot, smelling of black coffee and slightly burnt bread. Jack Bartlett was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. He barely looked at me when I came in. Amy was already there too, sitting next to him. Newer. Lighter. Without the marks of the loss that I knew were to come.
She watched me for a moment, just enough to read me, then looked back at the plate.
- Today you're going to help in the barn - said Marion, serving a cup. - Don't try to impress anyone. And if you don't know how to do something, ask. Don't invent fashion.
- You can leave it.
Jack turned the page of the newspaper with a long sigh.
- If you break something, you'll clean it twice.
- Understood.
Amy looked away, but I noticed. She expected resistance. I expected the same Ty who arrived there full of revolt. But now I carried something else: memory. Guilt. Willingness to do everything differently.
In the barn, the air was colder. The smell of wet straw and used leather dominated the environment. I took the rake and started cleaning one of the stalls. Jack worked silently a few stalls ahead, brushing a brown horse. He didn't speak to me, but watched.
And I learned quickly.
With each brush movement, each shovel of dirt removed, something inside me was adjusting. As if this body knew what to do, and my conscience just needed to leave it. It was strange, but comforting. The horses didn't seem scared of me. One of them, a gray mare, even approached, smelling me with curiosity.
She leaned her muzzle on my sleeve.
I stopped, looked into her eyes - calm, almost human - and felt a tightness in my chest. She trusted. For no reason. No past.
Animal Empathy activated.
Emotional connection established.
Skill progress: 14%
Jack approached, watching the scene.
- This one doesn't usually let anyone get so close right away.
- I... just stood still.
He stared at me for a second too long. Then he nodded and went back to work.
The day ended with my arms hurting and my boots covered in clay. I sat on the balcony parapet, watching the sunset behind the hills. Amy passed by, returning from the barn, and we exchanged a brief look. There was still distance. But something changed in that look. A start, maybe.
When I went up to the attic, Ty's room was the way I remembered the series: simple, functional, without decorations. I lay down on the narrow bed, the mattress sinking under my weight, and I kept looking at the ceiling.
The question hammered:
What if I save Marion?
The system inside me gave no answers. I just made it clear that everything would change. Everything. The love between Amy and Ty. The bond with Spartan. The losses, the learnings, the reunions. What made Heartland what it was.
But what if I don't do anything?
I'll see her die. Knowing. Shut up.
I closed my eyes tightly. The sound of crickets outside, the thump of hooves in the barn, the creaking of the wood under the wind. It was all real.
More real than my previous life.
And now I had three days.
Three days to decide whether to let the pain happen - or if, finally, I try to change something.