Aston walked through the familiar streets, each turn carving deeper into his memory. Gray rode on his shoulders with a quiet curiosity, ears flicking at the occasional breeze. Mirage circled above, swooping low as if scouting ahead.

The path home felt both strange and familiar.

When Aston finally arrived at the outskirts of his house, he paused.

It stood there - no longer a tattered, broken shell of a house.

The broken windows, the unruly roofings, the peeling paint on the walls, everything was gone. What replaced them was a quaint bungalow. Smooth stone lined the walls up to the windowsills, and clean wooden beams supported the small overhang of the roof. The garden was mostly restored, not yet lush, but neat, with a fresh few sprouts poking out from the dark soil. The fence had been replaced with new wood which was lighter than before, still bearing that pale, freshly-cut smell.

Outside of the house, a truck with the Ironwood Home Services' logo was parked, bringing in new furniture.

The wind shifted. Aston stepped forward.

The front gate creaked softly as he pushed it open. He walked the short path up to the porch. As the workers brought the furniture inside, they nodded at Aston. He nodded back and went inside the house.

The scent inside was different - wood polish, faint citrus cleaner, and a hint of lavender, in contrast to the fresh air outside.

The living room greeted him with warm light spilling from newly installed windows. A simple couch sat near a polished table. The walls were unblemished, a few blank picture frames hung neatly - he'd have to replace the blanks with real photos later. A new rug covered the wooden floor where burn marks once scarred the boards.

There was a quiet dignity to it. It wasn't extravagant, but it was whole.

"Feels different," Aston muttered.

Gray leaped off his shoulder and began exploring, tail held high, sniffing each corner like it had to approve the renovations personally. Mirage perched on a nearby chair, scanning its new surroundings.

Just as Aston stepped deeper inside, the door behind them swung open.

"Right on time," came a familiar voice.

Aston turned to see Grant entering through the gate, clipboard in his hand, flanked by two other workers wrapping up some outdoor adjustments.

"Grant," Aston greeted him.

"Afternoon. We finished the last of the sealing this morning and did a double-check of the wiring. The last of the furniture was delivered just now and my boys will place them. Place is yours again," Grant smiled as he stepped inside, glancing around with a proud nod.

He handed Aston the clipboard. "Here's the final inspection checklist. Everything's been signed off except for your confirmation."

Aston skimmed through the sheet - walls, windows, plumbing, insulation, electrical, furnitures…

"You did all this in one week?"

"We had a lot of free time after you cleared out. No one stepping around a sleeping cat or dodging fireballs from experimental tools in the corner. Also, we had a lot of construction beasts that helped," said Grant with a chuckle, looking at the termite by his shoulders.

Stolen story; please report.

Aston gave a faint smile. "Thanks, Grant. For everything."

Grant waved a hand. "You paid for it. We're just happy to see this place standing again. A good home deserves a second chance."

Aston signed the form and handed the clipboard back.

Grant clapped a hand on his shoulder. "We'll be out of your hair now. Take care, Aston."

The two workers beside him bowed slightly before retreating with Grant towards the exit. Aston heard the gate locked and the rumbling of the truck before fading into the distance.

Aston stood there for a moment, the stillness of the house settling around him like dust floating through a sunbeam.

Gray padded up and brushed against his leg, purring.

"We're home," Aston whispered.

He closed the door behind him and walked towards the couch. It was new with firm cushions, no sag in the middle, unlike the old one that had practically swallowed whoever sat on it. Above, the lighting was soft, warm, and without that one overhead bulb that used to buzz constantly.

He ran a hand along the back of the couch. Clean. No dirt. No broken glass. Just… quiet.

He moved to the kitchen.

The countertops gleamed, unblemished. The old cracked tiles had been replaced with smooth, charcoal gray ones that reflected the ceiling light. The stove was compact, but modern, tucked beside the fridge. Wooden cabinets lined the upper walls, and the sink had a faint lemon scent.

It was strange. The same layout but it felt unfamiliar. Like stepping into a dream of a house he once knew.

He checked the storage. Drawers rolled smoothly, no creak. Even the pantry had been cleaned and restocked with a few essentials.

"Guess we'll have lunch here today."

Next, the bathroom.

Bright, polished, and simple. The old rust-lined mirror was gone, replaced by a clean-frameless one. The tiled floor no longer bore heat-damaged cracks. The shower had actual water pressure now. He lingered at the sink, catching his own reflection.

He looked… a little older. Or maybe it was just the house, making him feel like time had passed too fast.

Then, his bedroom.

Everything was where it should be, but better. The bed had a new mattress, not the old one that sagged. His desk was reinforced, clean, and untouched. The walls were bare for now, but Aston could already picture where he might hang new posters, or mount the few trinkets he'd saved.

He opened the closet. Empty, aside from the spare clothes he'd left behind. Still folded, still smelling faintly of incense and iron.

Gray followed him in and was already kneading the corner of the mattress before flopping down in approval.

Aston cracked a smile. "Looks like it passes inspection."

Then… he hesitated at the door across the hall.

His aunt's room.

The handle was cold. He paused for a moment, his heart a little too loud in the quiet silence.

Then, he turned it.

Sunlight filtered through the newly cleaned curtains, casting soft lines across the hardwood floor. The bed was neatly made - new sheets, but the same frame. Her small vanity stood in the corner, its mirror slightly tilted like it used to be. The closet was closed. No smell of old dust, no broken glass from the window, no shattered memory frozen in time.

It was just a room now.

He stepped inside and looked around. There were no photos anymore. No knickknacks. The room had been respectfully cleared and scrubbed. The shape of it all still echoed with her.

Aston sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. The springs barely moved.

He didn't say anything. Just stayed there for a while, his gaze drifting into the window, then the ceiling, and lastly the floor.

Finally, he stood up.

With a soft click, he closed the door behind him.

The house was finally whole.

But for the pieces it once held, some would never return.

And to Aston, that was okay.

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