All was still - the wind, breathless. In this tower tomb, there was only the worldess silence of the slumbering dead.
And yet, faint light radiated from this very spot, casting a warm glow, however weak, against the darkness.
There was a woman, sleeping peacefully in clear crystal casting. She stood held in time, spectacular in the most strange of ways, unreal in her unrivaled beauty. How sweet she was at rest, white waves a halo of gentle curls, slender form gowned in an angelic dress of porcelain. How easily did she dream, even as the skeletal remains of her admirers bowed in crumbled heaps at her feet.
From within her flickered that ethereal flame of life, ivory skin beaming softly. But even as she burned forth through the shadow, the candle at her heart was wavering. The lone light was waning, slowly choked by the ever-pressing blackness.
A great distance away, Rider held the silver sword to the sky, casting forwards his path; the reaching arm of moonlight. A single ray fatefully fell through the glassless window and connected directly to her heart.
Her eyes darted open, the wind rustling with unease. Black pupils stared knowingly into the beyond.
The Last Souls were awakening.