The air in the crypt hung still and heavy, where only moments ago it had rung with the sounds of battle; the clamour of steel and the sizzle of reality being ripped open by potent magics.
The melee was over, and silence had fallen like a curtain of felt, dimming and darkening. Small fragments still smouldered in the corners of the ancient tomb, casting wavering shadows on the old stones.
A single bell-like tone broke the silence, and a light that had no mortal source kindled within. A spark of scintillating brilliance hung in the air, emitting that pure, clarion note. It hovered for a moment, as if uncertain, before zipping through the dank air, lighting first over one still figure, then another. It seemed to be looking for something. Its movements grew ever more frantic, until a wracking cough tore the silence. There was a creak of mouldering timbers, and then a loud crash as the armour-clad figure, lying half-buried beneath what was left of an oak-and-iron door, pulled itself free of its confinement only to lie, shuddering for breath.
The spark darted over. In the light of its glimmer, an observer might have made out the fine features of the woman who lay there, gasping for breath. She fumbled at the straps of her armour, perhaps to loosen it to facilitate breathing, but her nerveless fingers proved unable to work the buckles, and she subsided, her breathing laboured, sucking in the fetid air of the tomb with such a rasping desperation as if it were the sweetest, flower-scented breeze.
Her eyes opened at the sound that the spark made. They were clouded with pain and shock, but she blinked them rapidly, and they cleared somewhat, as she regarded the little ball of light that hung over her face, chiming almost like a purring cat trying to comfort a stricken owner.