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

The forge still crackled with the lingering heat from the last creation—Serpent’s Kiss—as the comforting scent of smelted ore and magic hung in the air like incense. Tools had been set back into place, the rhythmic flow of the workshop settling into a calm lull. Seraphis leaned lightly against the wooden counter, sipping from a cup of warm herbal tea she had conjured herself, eyes distant yet thoughtful.

Thalor stood a few feet away, the dagger still clutched loosely in his hands. The craftsmanship had awakened something inside him—a hunger for more, for knowledge, for understanding. His eyes flicked over to Seraphis, her presence still radiating with something ancient, something heavy. Something other.

And then he asked.

“Do you think that this place… this realm…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “…do you think that a mage—someone who’s Tier 15—could break the rules of the town?”

Seraphis didn’t answer right away. She lowered her cup slowly, her silver-white eyes turning to him with calm certainty. He could feel it then—that same pressure he had felt when her Aetherial Appraisal cast its gaze into his work.

“You know how it is,” he added, voice quieter now. “No one is allowed to kill here. The town’s protected. Do you think a Tier 15 mage could… bypass that?”

The question hung in the air like thick smoke.

Seraphis’s gaze sharpened.

“No,” she said, her voice firm and absolute. “This is my domain.”

The air around her began to shift.

Before Thalor could respond, he felt it.

A low hum, almost like a vibration through his very bones, spread across the workshop. It wasn’t something he heard—it was something he felt. Invisible energy curled through the air like heat mirages, but colder, deeper. Ethereal glyphs shimmered faintly around her, ancient runes appearing in soft, shifting patterns across the floor and walls.

The forge flames turned a pale blue.

And then, Seraphis lifted her hand.

Reality split.

Only for a second.

But in that second, the very air in front of Thalor cracked open like broken glass, revealing something he could not describe—shifting voids, threads of light, laws being unmade and rewoven. The crack in existence glowed with impossible color, flickered—and then sealed itself instantly, leaving no trace behind.

Thalor stumbled back a step, breathing unevenly.

He had never—never—seen anything like that.

And yet, as quickly as it had happened, it was gone. The workshop returned to normal. The forge fire resumed its red-orange flicker, the hum of energy fading into silence.

But in that fleeting moment…

He saw something more.

Something beyond.

And the world around him no longer felt entirely whole.

He was no longer seeing the workshop.

He was standing in a vast void.

Black.

Endless.

There were ravens, hundreds—no, thousands—of them. They circled endlessly in that blackness, wings silent and eerie, like shadows born of deeper shadows.

And in the very center of them…

There was a white raven.

Still. Silent. Watching him.

Its feathers shimmered faintly, untouched by the void around it.

He stared.

And then—

Snap.

A sharp snap of fingers brought him back. The world reasserted itself. The shop, the forge, the glowing coals. Seraphis standing before him.

Her voice was final. Absolute.

“I,” she said, “am the only one in control.”

Thalor blinked, his breath catching as the sensation of that strange world clung to him like mist. He looked at her, wide-eyed, feeling small in a way he hadn’t since he was a child.

Seraphis gave a small, almost amused smile. “I guess you could say… it’s kind of like a special ability.”

She turned her back, walking toward the center of the forge again, her silhouette outlined by the flickering light.

And Thalor stood there—trying to make sense of what he had just seen, of what she truly was—and realizing that some rules were written, and others… were rewritten by those who could.