Chapter 11 - The Tearing of Silk
The moment Julian’s fingers wrapped around the rough, unglazed edge of the clay cup, the golden light of the villa did not flare; it exploded into violence.
The polished marble floor cracked beneath his feet, splitting open into deep, black chasms that swallowed the crystal chandelier. The towering columns of white stone buckled, turning into ash that swept through the air like a blizzard of soot. The high glass atrium shattered, raining sharp shards of moonlight down upon him.
The midnight-blue silk suit began to shred. The fine, woven threads dissolved, burning away into dark smoke, leaving behind the rough, coarse weave of his tattered brown tunic. The gold embroidery along his collar turned into dirt and grease, seeping into his skin.
Julian fell to his knees as the warm, ozone-scented air turned instantly into a howling, freezing gale.
The smell of jasmine vanished, replaced by the suffocating stench of wet pine, iron rust, and black marsh mud.
He closed his eyes, holding the chipped ceramic cup tightly against his chest, shielding it with his body as the world spun, tore, and collapsed into darkness.
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"Julian..." a voice echoed through the roaring vortex—a voice that was no longer loud, but intimate, whispering right into his ear. "Never forget."
Then came the impact.
