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

The forge still burned softly with the lingering embers of creation, casting a warm glow across the room. The scent of molten metal, enchanted oils, and a faint trace of ash filled the air. She stood at the anvil, the newly forged Dagger of the Emberwraith resting in her gloved hands. Its hilt was dark and sleek, the blade curved slightly like a flame frozen mid-dance. Magic pulsed through it—quiet now, but waiting.

She inhaled slowly, then drew out her ritual dagger—a slender, silvery blade etched with old runes and glowing faintly with her aether. Her expression was focused as she held it above the Emberwraith's dagger, the tip barely brushing the surface of the blade.

Whispering words in an ancient tongue, she began to carve intricate runes along the dagger’s length. The marks glowed a burning crimson as they were formed, lines of fire etched into metal. These weren’t ordinary runes. They were Ancient Runes, long forgotten by most, imbued with binding magic as old as flame itself.

When she finished, the glowing etchings pulsed once... then turned invisible, vanishing into the dagger like sinking embers into ash.

She exhaled, lowered her ritual dagger, and looked at Thalor.

“It’s done,” she said calmly, her voice firm. “Now it's sealed away, and the dagger will choose the wielder. Anybody that's worthy of it... and the people that won’t be able to pick it up—no matter how strong—they simply won’t be able to wield it.”

Thalor blinked, eyes fixed on the now seemingly ordinary dagger. “What type of runes were those?” he asked, curiosity gleaming.

She met his gaze. “Those are the Rune of Binding Flame. Once used to seal the Ember Wraiths.”

His brows furrowed. “Why were they sealed?”

She turned and walked toward the shelf, resting the ritual dagger back in its enchanted case. “Well,” she began, “I’ll tell you the story. There was once this mage. He somehow came across their dimension. No one knows how. But once he got there... he started to destroy everything.”

Her voice took on a solemn tone. “After they killed him, the Ember Wraiths decided they had enough. They broke free. They came into the original realm... and started to destroy kingdoms.”

She paused, then looked over her shoulder. “Do you remember the story of the Fallen Kingdom?”

Thalor nodded slowly. “Yes, I heard the story. Apparently, a mass of fire broke loose and destroyed everything. They said it was the work of evil mages.”

She turned fully to face him, her eyes sharp. “No. They just wanted to cover up the truth. And after that... they sealed them away, never to be seen again.”

He stared at the dagger for a moment, processing it all. “Then what about now?”

She shrugged lightly. “Well, depending on who the blade chooses... there might be a different Ember Wraith that could help them grow or something.”

He raised a brow. “Grow or something?”

She gave a small smirk. “Don’t worry. I won’t destroy everything. The blade itself has principles. And that principle is not to destroy everything.”

He tilted his head. “Do you know anything about them?”

“There’s a legend about the Ember Wraiths,” she said, taking a seat on the bench nearby, still holding the dagger. “They were apparently an ancient race, born out of fire. Not summoned, not created. Born. Formed from the core of primal volcanoes when the world was young. They weren’t evil... just pure, untamed fire given form. Some say they were the guardians of balance. Others... that they were the flames of war incarnate.”

The flames from the forge flickered as if responding to the tale.

Thalor scratched his chin. “What happens if the one that got chosen wants to use the Ember Wraith... to destroy people?”

She glanced at him seriously. “Well, including the principles it has... if the Ember Wraith sees that the wielder is trying to do something like destroying things, the Ember Wraith will destroy the magic core of that person.”

Thalor’s eyes widened slightly.

She continued. “Then the Wraith will drag them back to its dimension. And probably eat them. Or something like that. I don’t know what the Wraith does to the person.”

A vivid, gruesome image popped into Thalor’s mind—a person screaming, engulfed in fire, being torn apart by a flaming entity of rage and ancient vengeance.

He shivered, shaking his head to cast away the thought. “Let’s... let’s hope the dagger chooses someone... nice.”

The dagger pulsed faintly in her hands, as if agreeing.