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

The fortress was silent in the early hours of the morning, the night’s chill still lingering in the air. A thin mist curled through the stone corridors, whispering against the walls like ghosts of past warriors. The only sound that disturbed the stillness was the steady ringing of metal against metal, a rhythmic clash echoing from the depths of the blacksmithing chamber.

Seraphis stood before the roaring forge, her silver-white hair catching the flickering glow of molten steel. Sweat beaded on her forehead, but she ignored it, fully immersed in her craft. The flames cast shadows across the room, the heat wrapping around her like a second skin. The anvil before her bore the weight of two unfinished daggers—blades glowing an intense red, pulsing like living embers.

She exhaled slowly, gripping her hammer with practiced ease. Each strike was precise, controlled—her movements honed from years of craftsmanship and battle alike. She wasn’t just forging weapons. She was breathing life into them, shaping them into something beyond mere steel. These daggers would not just cut; they would bond.

The crimson glow deepened as she worked, the runes she had carved into the metal igniting with a faint hum. These weren’t ordinary blades. They were forged with magic, tempered with her own power, and destined for warriors who could wield them properly.

A loud creak broke the rhythm of her hammering. The heavy wooden door to the forge swung open, revealing Theia, her silhouette dark against the dim corridor. She blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness of the forge, then crossed her arms.

“What’s all this ruckus in the morning?” Theia asked, her voice rough with sleep.

Seraphis looked up, unfazed by the interruption. She set down her hammer and wiped the sweat from her brow. “Oh, you’re awake. Good timing.” She gestured toward the daggers cooling on the anvil. “Come see your new blades.”

Theia stepped closer, her sharp gaze locking onto the weapons. Even before touching them, she could feel the energy radiating from them—an aura of something alive.

Seraphis picked up one of the daggers, flipping it in her palm with effortless precision. The blade was sleek and elegant, the deep crimson metal reflecting the forge’s light like liquid fire. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, a contrast that only made the red glow more striking. The runes carved along the blade’s length pulsed faintly, as if breathing in tandem with the forge itself.

Theia reached out to take one, but Seraphis pulled it back. “Not yet,” she said, smirking. “First, you need to make a contract with it.”

Theia raised an eyebrow. “A contract?”

Seraphis nodded. “These blades aren’t just weapons. They’re extensions of you. Once they recognize you as their master, they’ll become bound to you alone. No one else will be able to wield them.”

She turned the blade in her hand, then held it out, edge-up. “Cut your finger. Let the blade taste your blood. It’ll recognize you immediately.”

Theia hesitated, eyeing the dagger warily. She had encountered enchanted weapons before, but this felt different—more intimate, more permanent. Still, she wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. With a sharp breath, she took the blade from Seraphis’s hand, testing its weight.

It was perfect. The balance, the grip—it was as if the dagger had been forged solely for her.

Without another word, she dragged the tip across her fingertip, drawing a thin line of blood. As the crimson droplets met the blade, the runes flared, shifting from dull red to a brilliant scarlet. A strange warmth spread from the weapon, traveling up her arm, settling deep within her core.

Then, a voice.

Not loud. Not spoken. But a whisper in the back of her mind. A presence.

Theia’s eyes widened slightly. “What… was that?”

Seraphis smirked. “That’s your blade acknowledging you. You’ll know everything about it now, and it’ll know everything about you.” She gestured to the second dagger on the anvil. “Do the same with the other one.”

Theia complied, repeating the process. The moment the second dagger drank her blood, she felt an undeniable connection—like two extra limbs had been attached to her body, responding to her thoughts before she even acted.

Seraphis watched her reaction with satisfaction. “They’ll learn from you,” she explained. “And you’ll learn from them. They’ll adjust to your fighting style, adapt to your strengths and weaknesses. To everyone else, they’ll seem like normal daggers, but in your hands, they’ll be something far deadlier.”

Theia flexed her fingers around the hilts, testing the way the blades moved in her grip. The response was immediate—effortless. As if the weapons were guiding her as much as she was guiding them.

A slow smile spread across her face. “This… is something else.”

Seraphis crossed her arms. “Of course. I don’t make ordinary weapons.”

Theia twirled the daggers between her fingers, feeling their weight, their balance, the pulse of magic within them. She had wielded countless blades in her lifetime, but none had ever felt like this. It was as if the weapons had been waiting for her—choosing her, rather than the other way around.

She looked back at Seraphis. “What do you call them?”

Seraphis considered for a moment, then smirked. “Emberfang and Bloodfang.”

Theia tested the names on her tongue, then nodded. “Fitting.”

Seraphis turned back to the forge, already preparing for her next creation. “Get used to them. They’re yours now. Train with them, learn from them, and don’t let them go to waste.”

Theia sheathed the daggers at her sides, feeling their presence settle against her hips. “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice carrying an edge of excitement. “I won’t.”

The forge crackled behind them, filling the chamber with the scent of steel and fire. The dawn had barely begun, but the day was already shaping into something new—something powerful.

Seraphis smiled to herself as she picked up her hammer once more. This was just the beginning.