"Phantom Rebirth: The Last White Raven’s Path to the Ultimate Assassin"

The comforting warmth of the forge fire still filled the air as Seraphis stood beside Thalor, their conversation continuing in the heart of Emberlight Forge. The tools around them glinted in the ambient glow, while the distant hiss of cooling metal echoed faintly from deeper within the workshop.

Thalor shifted slightly, watching Seraphis with growing curiosity. “So,” he asked, “what Magic Tier are you?”

Seraphis tilted her head slightly and gave a faint smirk. “Well… before I answer that, let me ask you something first. How much do you actually know about magic?”

Thalor nodded, arms crossing loosely as he leaned against the counter. “I know the basics. There’s supposed to be twenty ranks—or, as we blacksmiths and mages like to call them, ‘Tiers’. Each one’s a step stronger than the last.”

She nodded. “That’s right. There are 20 Tiers of Magic. And as you might already know—or maybe not—the higher you go, the more difficult it becomes to improve. Every tier requires not just more mana, but refinement, control, and a deeper connection to your own magical flow. As your Tier goes up, your magic doesn’t just grow stronger—it becomes more precise, more powerful, and more adaptable.”

Thalor’s eyes widened slightly, intrigued.

“So far,” Seraphis continued, “I’ve reached Tier Eight.”

“Wow,” Thalor said, visibly impressed. “That’s pretty cool. The only other person I’ve ever seen with a high Tier was a mage that passed through my old town once… I think he said he was Tier Fifteen

Seraphis raised her brows. “Whoa. Tier Fifteen? He’s pretty far up there. That’s no small feat.”

She crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful. “I’m still Tier Eight—nowhere near that. But I’ve got time.”

Thalor smiled. “Still, that’s awesome. You’ve got some serious talent.”

Then, after a short pause, he looked a bit hesitant. “Actually… since you’re here and all… could you maybe help me with one of the pieces I’ve been trying to craft? That is—if it’s not some secret technique or anything. I know how other blacksmiths can be. Some don’t like to share.”

Seraphis’s smile was calm and confident. “Sure. What are you trying to create?”

Thalor turned around and reached into a drawer beneath the counter, pulling out a rolled-up parchment. He gently unrolled it across the counter, revealing a detailed, hand-drawn diagram of a weapon. The blade was narrow, curved slightly like a fang, and the hilt was designed to resemble the scaled body of a serpent. At the bottom, in careful script, was the name: Serpent’s Kiss.

Seraphis studied it for a few moments, her expression sharpening with professional interest. “Okay. What do you have so far?”

Wordlessly, Thalor stepped into the back and returned with the current piece. The blade shimmered under the forge light, but there was something off—too dull in color, too heavy in its magical feel. He handed it to her carefully.

Seraphis nodded and raised her hand over it. “Aetherial Appraisal.”

The magical circle pulsed into being around her palm and spread across the dagger. This time, the color it emitted was black.

She lowered her hand, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Okay. I see what you did wrong.”

Thalor blinked, a little tense now. “Really?”

She gestured for him to follow. “Come on. Let’s head to the back of the forge.”

They stepped into the deeper chamber—walls lined with ore racks, bins of magical dust, racks of cooled blades, and a central forge burning steadily. The heat was strong, but not overwhelming. Seraphis moved with a practiced grace, stopping before a set of material crates.

“First,” she said, “you used the wrong materials. Or maybe you used the raw forms without processing them properly. The blade you’re trying to make—Serpent’s Kiss—needs to hold specific magical properties. It’s not just about sharpness. It’s about flexibility, venom affinity, and stealth enchantments.”

She turned to him. “Do you have any Cold-Iron Steel and Venomwood?”

Thalor nodded quickly. “Yeah, I have both.”

“Good,” she said. “We need those. Otherwise, the blade won’t channel the magical essence it’s supposed to. Cold-Iron Steel will give the dagger the strength and edge retention it needs. But it also acts as a base for magical reinforcement. Venomwood, on the other hand, is essential for the poison-conduction traits and stealth properties. The wood needs to be carved into the hilt—precisely.”

She moved to the forge station and gestured to the crucible. “Now, before we shape the blade, we need to infuse it with a balance of fire magic and ice magic. The Cold-Iron Steel responds best when you temper it with both. Fire to heat and shape it. Ice to lock the mana into place during the cooling phase. If you skip that step, the energy dissipates.”

Thalor nodded attentively, already starting to gather the required pieces.

Seraphis pointed toward the dagger schematic. “As for the runes—they should be carved on two parts. The major enchantments go on the blade itself, to enhance magical conduct and venom resistance. The minor ones—stealth, silence, and energy suppression—go on the hilt. Make sure the runes on the hilt are precise. Any slight misalignment, and the dagger will leak mana.”

Thalor’s hands were already moving—carefully following her directions, heating the steel, blending it with cold magic during the quenching process, and shaping the hilt from Venomwood with precision. His eyes were focused, sweat on his brow as he listened and applied everything she explained.

Then, with Seraphis’s help, he carefully carved the runes, his mana flowing with hers in controlled bursts.

“Alright,” Seraphis said at last, standing back as he held up the finished piece. The blade had a serpentine curve, the metal gleaming with a faint violet-blue shimmer. The hilt had an elegant dark grain, and the runes pulsed softly—completely silent.

Thalor handed it to her with both hands.

Seraphis once again lifted her hand.

“Aetherial Appraisal.”

This time, the magic shimmered green.

She smiled. “Good. Congratulations. You’ve successfully created Serpent’s Kiss.”

Thalor let out a long breath, grinning. “Thanks, Seraphis. That meant a lot. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Seraphis gave a small nod, holding the blade in her hands. “This… this is the kind of forging that speaks. Every part working in harmony. You’re on the right path, Thalor.”

And in the quiet warmth of the forge, something unspoken passed between them—a shared pride in creation, the language only blacksmiths could truly understand.