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

The streets were quiet as Seraphis, Elowen, Theia, and Sylvaine made their way back to the Assassins’ Guild. The world had changed in their absence—the Ivory Tower was no more, and in its place stood only ruins and whispers. Those who had once feared the Council now murmured of the Headless Tower, a grim legend carved in blood and fire.

But to Seraphis, this was just another mission complete.

Returning to Familiar Grounds

As they approached the guild, the flickering lanterns outside cast long shadows over the cobblestone path. The building was as rugged and unassuming as ever—worn wood, cracked stone, the faint scent of smoke and alcohol drifting from inside.

Seraphis pushed open the doors.

The interior was alive with hushed conversations and the occasional clinking of mugs, but the moment the group entered, all eyes turned toward them.

A hush fell over the room.

They had been gone for weeks, and rumors had already spread. Every assassin in the guild had heard tales of the Ivory Tower’s destruction, but none of them knew who had delivered the final blow.

Seraphis smirked. Let them wonder.

She led the group forward, making a beeline for the old man’s office.

The Old Man’s Door—Still Open

As they reached the familiar wooden door, Seraphis stopped, crossing her arms as she noticed something odd.

It was wide open.

She clicked her tongue. "Is he always going to leave this damn door open now, or what?"

Elowen chuckled beside her. "At this point, he might as well just take it off its hinges."

Theia raised a brow. "It’s an invitation, no?"

Sylvaine shrugged. "Or a trap."

Seraphis sighed and stepped inside.

A Familiar Face

The old man, the guild’s unofficial leader, sat behind his overcrowded wooden desk, half-buried in stacks of parchment and half-empty bottles of whiskey. His grizzled face, marked by years of experience, lifted as they entered.

He didn’t look surprised.

If anything, he looked amused.

"So you lot finally decided to come back, huh?" he said, his voice a mix of sarcasm and exhaustion. "Took your damn time."

Seraphis smirked, walking up to the desk and leaning against it. "Would you believe me if I said we were on vacation?"

The old man snorted. "No, but I’d believe you if you told me you just burned half the damn world down."

His eyes flickered toward Theia, studying the newest addition to their crew.

"And who’s this one?" he asked, raising a brow.

Introducing Theia

Seraphis glanced at Theia.

The white-haired woman took a step forward, standing tall despite the calculating gaze of the old man.

"Theia," Seraphis said. "She’s with us now."

The old man leaned back in his chair, tapping a calloused finger against the desk. "With you, huh?" His gaze flicked to Theia. "And you’re fine with that?"

Theia met his eyes without hesitation. "I chose this path. I have no regrets."

For a long moment, the old man studied her, as if measuring her worth.

Then, with a tired sigh, he reached for a bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a drink. "Hah. Another lunatic joins the family. What the hell—welcome to the guild."

Elowen smirked. "A little enthusiasm wouldn’t kill you, old man."

"If I had any enthusiasm left, I wouldn’t be stuck babysitting the lot of you," he grumbled, taking a long sip.

The Truth About the Ivory Tower

Seraphis pulled out a small leather pouch and tossed it onto the desk.

The old man didn’t move at first. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he opened it.

Inside, resting on a bed of black silk, were two things.

1. A broken silver ring, the symbol of the Ivory Tower’s authority.

2. A bloodstained letter, written in a hand he recognized all too well.

The old man’s face darkened.

He read the letter in silence. His fingers, usually steady, tightened slightly as he took in the message.

By the time he finished, he exhaled sharply and set the parchment down.

"So it’s true," he murmured.

His eyes lifted to meet Seraphis’s. "You actually did it. The Ivory Tower is gone."

Seraphis nodded. "Every last one of them."

Elowen leaned back in a chair, stretching. "Or, as people are calling it now—the Headless Tower."

The old man let out a dry chuckle. "Fitting.

He took another sip of whiskey, staring at the candlelight flickering in the dim room. "You have no idea what kind of storm you just started."

Seraphis smirked. "Oh, I think we do."

The Underworld Reacts

The destruction of the Ivory Tower had already begun to ripple through the underworld.

Without the Council, the balance of power was collapsing.

Some factions scrambled to fill the void, while others vanished into the shadows, terrified of facing the same fate.

The old man tossed the letter aside and rubbed his temples. "The entire damn city’s in an uproar. Contracts are being rewritten. Leaders are turning on each other. And the only ones who know the real story—are sitting in this room."

He looked up at Seraphis. "So what now?"

Seraphis tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to think. "I don’t know. Maybe we finally take that vacation?"

Elowen laughed. "As if."

Theia smirked. "There’s always another job."

Sylvaine’s eyes gleamed. "And always more shadows to move in."

The old man sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "You’re all going to be the death of me."

Seraphis grinned. "Wouldn’t have it any other way."

A Night of Celebration

For the first time in a long time, the group allowed themselves to relax.

They stayed in the guild hall, sharing drinks, recounting their battles, and watching as the underworld slowly reshaped itself around the destruction they had wrought.

But even as they laughed, even as they enjoyed the rare moment of peace—they knew it wouldn’t last.

Because in the world of assassins, in the world of shadows and blades—

The next battle is always just around the corner.

And Seraphis?

She was more than ready.