Chapter Text
It’s not like Galga really had any expectations of what his old house looked like. With his memory lost, he wouldn’t have any way of knowing if he had lived in a four-story mansion or a decrepit shack.
Be that as it may, Galga still felt… underwhelmed by the house in front of him.
“Here it is,” Atwert said, passing by him and stepping into the room. “Everything is just as you left it.”
Atwert turned away from Galga and began to light the sconces. Galga’s eyes followed the light reflecting off of his medallions to the hardwood floor, where a line of footprints had followed Atwert through the dust. Just how long ago had he “left it”?
Galga stepped through the door and took it in. It wasn’t a bad place. It was just… bare. Instead of paintings or posters on the walls, there were dark, dusty squares where they may have been once, but were long gone now. There was a sun-faded sofa. An off-center rug. A sturdy coffee table with a lumpy candle on it.
Galga absentmindedly picked up the candle, turning it over in his hands. It certainly wasn’t prettier from any other angle, so why did he–
The scent of wood sorrel and spicebark washed over Galga, tangling around him and reaching for something, something that he couldn’t quite remember—
Galga put the candle down with more force than he intended to. Atwert turned at the noise.
“You always liked those candles,” he said, smiling faintly without meeting Galga’s eyes. “I was never a fan. They always gave me a headache.”
“Hm.” It was giving Galga a headache for a different reason.
Now that Galga was thinking about it, the whole house smelled faintly of wood sorrel and spicebark. It lingered through the halls like a ghost. There was something pulling at Galga’s mind. As much as he tried, reaching for it was as impossible as rolling his eyes back into his skull. If only he was an owlcat, he could swivel his head around and catch what was hiding in the blind spot…
“Your bedroom is over here,” Atwert said, pointing to the door in front of him.
Galga paused, waiting for Atwert to open it. Atwert just looked down at the doorknob, wringing his hands.
Galga stepped beside him and opened the door.
His bedroom was equally as underwhelming. Galga was beginning to worry about his past self. The closest thing the room had to a decoration was a large metal frame off to the side. Galga didn’t recognize it at all.
“What’s this?” Galga asked.
“Oh, that’s your exercise equipment,” Atwert said with the forced smile he always wore when talking about Galga’s past. “It’s a contraption that helps you build your muscles. You can unfold the frame into different configurations, and undo or redo the reduction spells to increase or decrease the weight.”
Galga looked at the unfamiliar sigils etched into the frame, then down to his body. Was that thing really the reason he was so much stronger than anyone else he had met? And why? If he really had magic, why would he need physical strength?
Atwert opened up a wardrobe across from the frame. “We can worry about moving other things later. For now let’s at least get some of your clothes.”
Galga watched Atwert pack the clothes into his bag. It occurred to him that he should help. He stepped forward and then just as quickly reeled back. The scent of wood sorrel and spicebark poured off of the clothes in waves, completely drowning him. He covered his face with his hand. Atwert turned to him, confused.
“Sorry,” Galga said. “The smell is just— a lot.”
Atwert tilted his head. “I don’t smell anything.”
Galga paused, thrown for a loop. No, Atwert was right— the scent was almost too faint to be noticeable. It just kept striking something, almost triggering something, almost shedding light on the darkened corners of his mind.
Almost.
Galga tried to ignore it. What mattered at the moment was being helpful. He took an armful of clothes out of the wardrobe. At least his old self hadn’t been as stingy about clothes as he had been towards interior decor. Collared shirts and dark jackets and tunics and capes were folded and packed away until Atwert’s bag was full.
“I can carry that,” Galga offered.
“Oh, there’s no need,” Atwert said. “I’ll just put a size reduction spell on it for the moment.”
Atwert ripped a seal from his palm quire and closed the circle. Sure enough, the bag shrank. Atwert slipped it into his pocket.
…Really, why did Galga’s past self ever bother with getting stronger?
“Well, time to go,” Atwert said. “Don’t let me forget to take the bag out of my pocket when we get home. I’ve ripped more coats than I’d like to admit by forgetting about size-reduced items.”
Right. Home. This wasn’t Galga’s home anymore.
Atwert moved towards the door. Galga lingered for a moment, looking back at the sparse room. What clue of his past could he hope to find in such an empty place? Why was he left with nothing?
Something sparkled in the corner of his eye.
Galga turned. There, on his bedside table, was a tiny gold object.
Without thinking, Galga reached out and picked it up. At first, he had thought it was a stray button, but no, it had a little bar on the back instead of any hole or button fixture. Galga realized it was a cufflink. Etched on its face was a sleeping owlcat and a bouquet of woolpuffs.
It was a shame there was only the one. Of course the one beautiful thing he had found in his old house was an incomplete set. Galga glanced under the desk and bed, but was met with nothing but dust and lint.
“Galga,” Atwert called. “Are you coming?”
Galga slipped the cufflink into his pocket. “I’ll be right there.”