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

The hunt never stopped.

The Ivory Hand was bleeding, but that only made the survivors more dangerous.

Sylvaine had been watching from the shadows, unseen and unheard. She was a ghost, a blade in the dark. While Elowen carved a path through the council with relentless precision, Sylvaine moved with surgical coldness.

Her next target?

Lord Ferrin Duskbane.

A master of manipulation, a dealer of secrets, and one of the few remaining pillars of the Ivory Hand’s council. Unlike the others, he didn’t rely on strength or skill in combat.

He relied on knowledge.

And knowledge, when hoarded in the wrong hands, could be deadlier than any blade.

A Fortress of Shadows

Lord Duskbane had retreated to his personal estate, a fortress of twisting corridors and hidden passages. The manor was built atop an old crypt—a labyrinth of tunnels beneath the earth. It was said that those who entered without permission were never seen again.

Sylvaine planned to be the exception.

She perched on a rooftop overlooking the estate, the night wrapping around her like a second skin. The wind carried the distant hum of the city, but down below, all was silent.

Duskbane’s paranoia was legendary.

The manor was protected by layers of traps, guards trained to detect even the slightest disturbance, and wards against magic. He had built himself a prison of his own making—one that Sylvaine would soon turn into his tomb.

The Silent Entry

The first challenge was getting inside.

The walls were lined with thin tripwires, alarm spells woven into every doorway, and guards patrolling in tight formations. A direct approach was suicide.

So Sylvaine chose a different path.

She waited. Hours passed. The moon shifted in the sky. Then, an opening.

One of the guards stopped to relight a lantern by the back entrance.

In that single moment of distraction—

Sylvaine moved.

A shadow among shadows, she descended from the rooftop, slipping through the darkness. Silent. Invisible. Untouchable.

She pressed her body against the stone, her breath barely a whisper. The guard sighed, muttering to himself as he fumbled with the lantern.

A mistake.

A heartbeat later, her dagger found his throat.

The lantern never hit the ground.

Into the Labyrinth

The manor was a maze of corridors, lined with ornate carpets that muffled footsteps and paintings that concealed spy holes and hidden mechanisms.

Sylvaine knew better than to linger.

She moved like liquid shadow, slipping past guards, stepping between blind spots, her every motion calculated.

Ahead, a grand staircase spiraled downward, leading to the crypt below. Duskbane’s sanctuary.

That was where he would be waiting.

But he wouldn’t be alone.

The Trap is Set

As soon as Sylvaine stepped onto the first stair—

The air shifted.

A low hum resonated through the stone.

A spell.

Too late.

The moment her foot touched the step, the entire staircase collapsed inward, the floor beneath her feet vanishing into a pit of sharpened spikes.

Sylvaine twisted mid-air, her hands snapping onto the edge of a crumbling pillar just in time.

A split second slower, and she would have been impaled.

She gritted her teeth. Duskbane had been expecting her.

The Ghost’s Descent

She didn’t panic.

Instead, she adjusted.

Using the pillar’s surface as leverage, she flipped herself onto the outer ledge, balancing precariously. Below, the pit yawned wide, the gleaming spikes reflecting the faint torchlight.

She dropped a single pebble.

The moment it touched the spikes—

A second enchantment triggered.

Flames erupted upward, a deadly inferno designed to consume anything that fell.

Sylvaine exhaled. Close. Too close.

She scanned the wall. There.

A single narrow crevice, barely enough space for a body to slip through.

She reached for her dagger, wedged the tip into the crack, and pulled herself through just as the flames roared beneath her.

Duskbane’s Game

When Sylvaine emerged, she was inside a long, candlelit corridor—one that led directly to Duskbane’s chamber.

A chessboard was laid out at the entrance.

Next to it, a small plaque.

"Every move must be played with care. The wrong step is death."

Sylvaine tilted her head.

So, he wanted to play.

Without hesitation, she stepped onto the board—and the moment she did, the first piece moved.

From the shadows, a figure stepped forward.

A knight.

Not a statue. Not a machine. A real warrior clad in enchanted armor.

A blade flashed toward her.

A Battle of Precision

Sylvaine barely dodged in time, the sword slicing through the air where she had stood a breath ago.

The knight was relentless, its movements precise, calculated. Not human.

A puppet, controlled by Duskbane’s magic.

Sylvaine analyzed its pattern.

The strikes were powerful but predictable—each move following the exact rules of a chess knight.

She smirked. Interesting.

A Deadly Dance

The knight lunged again, its enchanted blade sparking with dark energy.

Sylvaine ducked low, rolling beneath the strike. A dagger flashed in her hand.

The first strike landed on its armor.

Nothing.

The second went for the joints.

The knight staggered.

The third—a precise thrust through the visor.

The knight collapsed.

Duskbane’s Final Mistake

She moved forward.

At the end of the corridor, Duskbane stood waiting.

An old man, wrapped in velvet robes, a thin, knowing smile on his face.

"You’re impressive," he murmured.

Sylvaine said nothing.

He sighed. “But I knew you would come.”

He flicked his wrist. The room shifted.

Suddenly, there were two dozen of him.

Illusions.

Sylvaine smiled.

Duskbane’s power was in deception.

Her power was in precision.

She closed her eyes.

Listened.

Then—she moved.

A single throw.

Her dagger pierced flesh.

Duskbane gasped, his illusions shattering as blood bloomed from his chest.

He stumbled back, staring at her in disbelief. “How—”

Sylvaine stepped forward. “I don’t play games.”

With a final thrust, she ended it.

The Last Move

As Duskbane’s body hit the floor, the magic in the room died with him.

The illusions vanished.

The labyrinth of traps ceased to function.

Sylvaine exhaled, wiping her blade clean.

Another council member was gone.

And the hunt wasn’t over yet.