Chapter 3: Changing the Past, One Step at a Time

After that, I spent hours in the tent with Grant, telling him everything I knew. I rattled off battles and betrayals, surprise attacks and last stands—Booker’s sneak attack on Silver Hollow, Garrett’s defeat at Maple Crossing, Oak Valley burning, and the final fall at River’s Edge. I even recounted Wyatt Young’s epic northern campaigns and the Union’s dying gasp.

Grant listened, spellbound, his eyes locked on mine. Sometimes he’d cut in with sharp questions or nod thoughtfully, his mind already spinning ahead.

"After the autumn wind at Shadow Ridge, you passed away, General. Then Wyatt Young, the young captain from Pine County, carried the Union’s spirit until the end."

My voice wavered as I described the Union’s final days. Grant’s jaw clenched, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

As I spoke, Grant broke down. He hadn’t even met Wyatt yet, but the pain in his eyes was real.

He turned away, wiping his face with the back of his hand. The only sound was distant thunder outside the tent.

"The spirit lives on—who says the Union is finished?" Grant whispered fiercely.

His words were soft but burned with conviction. I felt a chill run down my spine.

After finishing the saga of the American Legends, my throat was parched. I stepped outside to catch my breath. As I lifted the tent flap and searched for a quiet spot, I tripped—and suddenly, I was back on the grocery store stairs. The empty aisles and stacks of goods looked surreal.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The familiar hum of the cooler and the neighbor’s dog barking outside grounded me. My knees wobbled as I grabbed the bannister, trying to process what had just happened.

The whole conversation with Grant felt like a dream I’d had mid-fall. I slapped myself—twice—and realized it wasn’t a dream. Running my fingers through my hair, I tried to piece it all together. Where did it start?

I replayed every detail, pacing the store. After half an hour, it hit me—the key was missing a step. When I purposely stumbled again, I landed right back in Grant’s tent.

My heart raced as I stood at the top of the stairs. One deep breath, one deliberate misstep—and the world spun. Suddenly, I was back in the tent, the scent of woodsmoke and old paper all around me.

Seeing me tumble in again, Grant gave me a crooked grin. "Mr. Cole, do you always make an entrance like that?"

There was a spark in his eye, a dry wit that made me feel instantly welcome. Wyatt just shook his head, half amused, half exasperated.

I barely noticed the teasing—I was elated. A portal! I could jump between the grocery store and Grant’s camp!

I wanted to shout, to leap around the tent, to high-five the nearest soldier. Instead, I just grinned like a goofball, my mind spinning with ideas.

"General, if I’m right, soon everyone here could be eating BBQ mac and cheese!"

I brandished the tray like a trophy, picturing a future where convenience food changed history.

With Grant still reeling, I repeated the trick—missed a step and went back to the store. This time, I grabbed instant ramen and zipped back to the tent.

I made sure to bring plastic forks and a bottle of sriracha. If I was going to rewrite history, I’d do it with flavor.

"What’s this new marvel?" Grant asked, turning the ramen package over in his hands, eyes wide at the colors and strange writing.

I grinned. "It’s your secret weapon for uniting the continent."

The words hung between us, half joke, half prophecy. Grant’s eyes lit up as he looked at the noodles.

Grant’s jaw dropped. "You mean… you can bring these wonders endlessly?"

He sounded like a kid on Christmas morning, hope flickering in his eyes.

I nodded, confidence swelling. Right then, I knew—helping Grant unite the continent was just a matter of time.

For the first time, I felt like I wasn’t just visiting—I was part of the story.