The silence shattered with a sound of displaced stone – a sharp crack echoing through the crypt's aged stillness. Not with a delicate push, nor a hesitant slide, but with a sudden, forceful kick. A slender, black-clad leg, tipped with a pointed shoe of dark leather, shot out from the narrow confines of the stone sarcophagus, impacting the heavy lid with controlled, almost casual violence. Dust, undisturbed for centuries, puffed outwards in a small grey cloud as the stone groaned and shifted, finally yielding to the unexpected assault. The heavy lid, dislodged from its ancient moorings, scraped against the side of the tomb with a gritty screech before tumbling to the stone floor with a resounding thud, the sound bouncing off the damp crypt walls and disturbing the heavy, tomb-laden air.

Consciousness followed the act of physical rebellion, surging back like a tide reclaiming the shore. Four centuries of slumber receded, grudgingly releasing their hold on Morgan's mind, leaving behind the lingering echoes of dreams – fragments of whispered incantations, phantom touches of ancient magic, and the biting winds that once whipped across the ramparts of Camelot. The world, as perceived through newly awakened senses, was jarringly wrong. Sharp, fragmented, assaulted by a cacophony of unfamiliar sounds and a miasma of unsettling scents. Her head throbbed with a discordant hum, her limbs ached with the stiffness of ages, yet within her, something ancient and potent stirred – magic, long dormant, unfurling like a shadowed flower, banishing the lingering chill of the tomb and coursing through her veins with the promise of resurgence.

Disorientation warred with nascent awareness. Morgan lay for a moment longer in the cramped confines of the stone coffin, eyelids feeling heavy as lead, senses struggling to reconcile with the abrupt return to wakefulness. Darkness pressed in, thick and absolute, then fractured by faint, intrusive tendrils of light – alien, weak, filtering in from some unseen source beyond the crypt walls. She inhaled, drawing in air thick with the scent of damp earth and something else... something metallic and sharp, pricking at her nostrils, faintly acrid. A frown touched her exquisitely sculpted features. This was... not right. Not the awakening she had envisioned. Not the world she had expected.