The memory fractured violently, and Oliver was torn through the collapsing remnants without resistance, dragged from one existence into another in a single unbearable transition that left no sense of direction or stability.
For a brief moment there was nothing at all, not even darkness in any meaningful form, only a complete absence where thought itself struggled to maintain coherence, and then sensation began to return in slow, layered increments.
The first thing that struck his skin was frigid air, followed by the gradual realization that he was no longer inside the glass house.
His body felt small again.
Oliver's eyes opened.
'…Where am I now?'
The world that met him was collapsing into war.
He stood upon ground that had once been soil but now existed solely as scorched ruin, fissured and blackened as though it had been incinerated countless times.
