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

The winds howled against the cliffs of Raven’s Perch, the sea below restless as waves crashed against jagged rocks. Dark clouds rolled across the sky, a storm brewing in the distance, its presence a quiet promise of the chaos to come.

Seraphis stood at the edge of the balcony, her white hair whipping in the wind. The scent of salt and rain filled the air, mingling with the ever-present scent of iron that clung to her. She narrowed her ghostly white eyes, gazing into the storm as if she could see through it—see the battles ahead, the blood that would soon stain the waters.

Footsteps approached from behind, but Seraphis didn’t turn. Lysara’s voice cut through the wind like a blade.

“Seraphis.”

She remained silent.

“Do you know the name Captain Cutlass?”

Seraphis’s lips curled into a smirk. Now that was a name she hadn’t expected to hear. Slowly, she turned to face Lysara, who leaned against the stone archway, arms crossed, golden eyes sharp with amusement.

“Yes,” Seraphis said at last. “I’ve heard of him.”

Lysara tilted her head. “He’s quite famous. A pirate lord, a master duelist, and a tactician whose name strikes fear into the hearts of his enemies.”

Seraphis let out a soft laugh. “Famous?” She stepped forward, her boots clicking against the stone floor. “Perhaps he’ll make a nice wall decoration.”

Lysara smirked. “You always did have a taste for trophies.”

Seraphis glanced back at the storm, her amusement lingering. “Tell me more about him.”

Lysara pushed away from the wall and walked closer. “Captain Cutlass isn’t just any pirate.” She spoke with the certainty of someone who had gathered every scrap of information, every whisper and rumor. “He commands the Bloody Maiden, a ship feared across the seas. They say it’s never lost a battle.”

Seraphis raised an eyebrow. “Never lost?”

“Not once. He doesn’t fight fair—he fights to win.” Lysara’s tone was edged with something between admiration and caution. “He’s outmaneuvered the navy, crushed rival crews, and built an empire from the bones of his enemies. His crew isn’t just a pack of lawless pirates. They’re loyal, experienced, and deadly.”

Seraphis absorbed the information. A pirate with a mind for battle, a ship that had never been sunk, and a crew that fought like a legion.

Interesting.

“And now?” she asked. “What’s his interest in me?”

Lysara’s eyes gleamed. “Word has reached his ears. He knows there’s a new player in the waters—one who doesn’t play by the rules.”

Seraphis chuckled. “So, he’s watching me.”

Lysara nodded. “For now. But pirates don’t watch for long. They strike.”

Seraphis turned away, her white cloak billowing behind her as she strode toward the fortress doors. She pushed them open without hesitation, stepping inside where the dim torchlight cast long shadows along the stone walls.

She walked past rows of weapons lining the armory, past halls filled with the murmurs of men sharpening their blades, securing their gear. There was no council. No need for drawn-out discussions.

She didn’t believe in waiting.

She stopped in the middle of the great hall, where her soldiers and mercenaries instinctively fell silent at her presence. Their eyes locked onto her, awaiting her command.

Seraphis let the silence stretch. Then, in a voice that cut through the air like a blade, she spoke:

“Prepare everything.”

Her words sent a ripple of movement through the hall. Men moved at once—no hesitation, no questions. Boots pounded against the stone floor as weapons were secured, armor fastened, and supplies gathered.

Seraphis walked forward, weaving through the preparations with calm precision. She checked blades, adjusted armor straps, inspected the weight of the weapons in her men’s hands. She was no queen commanding from afar. She was a warrior, and warriors ensured everything was ready with their own eyes.

She felt the coming battle in her bones.

Her hands moved on instinct, adjusting the leather straps on her daggers, brushing her fingers over the steel edges of her hidden blades. Her playing cards—the deadliest of her weapons—rested at her side, humming with latent power, ready to be unleashed.

As she stepped out into the storm once more, the thunder growled overhead.

Lysara joined her, watching the men move with ruthless efficiency.

“You’re not going to wait for him to make the first move, are you?” she asked knowingly.

Seraphis’s white eyes gleamed like a predator’s.

“No.” She turned, her gaze fixed on the stormy horizon. “We move first.”

The battle had already begun.