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

The air inside Obsidian Spire was thick with tension, the kind that seeped into the bones and gnawed at the nerves. The council had reconvened in the dimly lit chamber, the same obsidian table before them, but this time, there was a palpable sense of unease lingering in the air.

The black flames in the center of the room flickered and twisted, casting eerie, shifting shadows along the towering pillars of onyx. The remaining council members sat in grim silence, their expressions sharp, eyes wary. The weight of their recent losses hung over them like a storm cloud, and tonight, they expected answers.

The silence stretched long, until finally, a voice cut through the heavy air.

"I've done it," said a man seated near the edge of the table.

His name was Varcen, a master of intelligence, a man whose network of spies stretched across continents. His piercing amber eyes flickered with something unreadable as he placed a thick stack of parchment onto the table.

Across from him, Lady Velmira narrowed her emerald eyes, her fingers tapping against the stone.

"And?"

Varcen exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "And… nothing."

A ripple of silence spread through the chamber, tension crackling like static before someone finally spoke.

"Nothing?"

It was Dain, his gauntleted fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword, the metal groaning under his grip. "What the hell do you mean, 'nothing'?"

Varcen met his gaze, unflinching. "I mean exactly that. There is no record of her. No family. No home. No history. Nothing."

The room stilled, the weight of his words sinking deep.

Seraphis was a ghost.

The Search for a Shadow

Velmira leaned forward, her gaze sharp. "That’s impossible."

Varcen's lips pressed into a thin line. "I thought so too." He flicked his wrist, and a few papers slid across the table, stopping in front of her. "I had my best men dig through every record. Every archive. Every criminal ledger. Not a single mention of her before she appeared in the underworld."

Velmira’s fingers traced the edges of the parchment as she skimmed through them. Blank spaces. Dead ends. False names leading to nowhere.

Dain’s frustration boiled over.

"People don’t just appear out of thin air!" He slammed a fist onto the table, the force rattling the goblets and scrolls laid across its surface.

Varcen’s expression remained unreadable. "This one did."

Myndral, the High Sorceress, observed quietly before finally speaking. "That level of secrecy isn’t natural." She tilted her head, considering. "It’s not just that her past was erased. It was never recorded in the first place."

Malakar, who had been silent until now, finally stirred. His hooded figure seemed almost melded with the darkness, his voice a whisper of smoke.

"Then we are not dealing with an assassin. We are dealing with a phantom."

An Unseen Hand

Velmira’s fingers curled into her palm. "A ghost who is killing us one by one."

Varcen exhaled slowly. "And unless we do something now, she won’t stop until we’re all dead."

Dain’s jaw tightened. "Then we force her into the light."

Velmira’s gaze flicked toward him. "And how do you suggest we do that?"

Dain’s lips curled into a ruthless smirk. "We don’t need to find her past. We just need to create a present she can’t ignore."

The room fell silent.

Then, Myndral’s lips twisted into a slow smile.

"I see," she mused. "If we cannot hunt a ghost, we make the ghost come to us."

The Bait is Set

Malakar’s voice slithered through the chamber. "And what bait do you think will make her move?"

Dain leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, his armor glinting in the firelight. "She may not have a past, but she has a purpose. And that purpose is destruction. She’s targeting the council, which means she won’t stop until we are all gone."

He paused, then smirked. "So we give her something to destroy."

Velmira arched an eyebrow. "Elaborate."

Dain’s grin widened. "We stage a massacre. A public execution of criminals, dissidents—anyone who could be a loose end in her network. We announce that Obsidian Spire is cleaning house, and we hold it in the largest square in the city."

Myndral's eyes gleamed. "If she has even a shred of attachment to anyone in the underworld, she’ll have no choice but to reveal herself."

Malakar chuckled, the sound dry and twisted. "And if she does not?"

Dain’s smirk remained. "Then we still send a message—there is nowhere left to run."

A Plan of Blood and Fire

Velmira's fingers drummed against the stone table, her mind calculating, weighing risks and rewards.

Finally, she exhaled. "Then it is decided. We set the trap."

Varcen nodded. "I will spread the word in the underworld. Fear will do the rest."

Myndral raised a hand wreathed in ethereal blue flames, her power crackling in the air. "I will prepare the execution grounds. Blood will flow before the sun sets."

Malakar’s shadowy form shifted. "And when she comes… I will be waiting."

The Ghost’s Next Move

As the council sealed their plans in blood and magic, the fires in the chamber dimmed, their shadows stretching across the walls.

In the streets below, whispers began to spread—of an upcoming purge, a bloodletting unlike any before. The city trembled at the rumors.

And somewhere, in the depths of the underworld, Seraphis would hear of it.

Would she come?

Would she risk the noose tightening around her neck?

The council did not know.

But one thing was certain.

The trap was set.

And soon, the hunter would become the hunted.