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

The grand throne room fell into an uneasy silence as the King held the letter in his trembling hands.

The black feather—a single crow’s plume—rested on the royal table, its dark sheen glinting under the candlelight.

The King’s gaze darkened as he read the words again.

"Hello, dear King,
I hope you’re feeling well. I am too. It’s such a lovely day outside—the animals are singing, the trees are swaying, and the kingdom is as it always is... at least, on the surface. Unless, of course, you're looking from the inside.

I do hope you took my threat seriously. You will never find me.

But I will always find you.

I am in every shadow. In every whisper of the wind. In every pair of unseen eyes that follow you in the night.

You should know—
I am always watching.

Every bird. Every mouse. Every snake.

Everything that crawls, everything that slithers, everything that moves… is mine.

So enjoy your reign, Your Majesty. Have fun."

A chill crawled down the spines of the knights gathered in the room.

The King’s hand tightened around the parchment, crumpling it slightly.

"Search. The entire palace." His voice was low, cold.

The knights bowed and immediately scattered through the halls of the castle.

The hunt had begun.

The Palace Hunt

Boots thundered against marble floors as knights stormed every chamber, every corridor.

They ripped apart furniture, overturned tables, tore down tapestries, and searched through every darkened corner.

Maids and servants were lined up and interrogated.

Every secret passage was unsealed.

Yet, no trace of her was found.

Not a fingerprint. Not a single stray hair.

Only that single black feather.

It was as if she had never been there at all.

The Hidden Watcher

Far above the chaos, nestled in the hidden beams of the great hall’s ceiling, Seraphis watched.

Unseen. Unheard. Untouched.

She perched on a wooden support beam, legs crossed, a single playing card twirling between her fingers.

Below her, knights rushed in madness, overturning chairs and slamming open doors.

A smile curled at her lips.

"Fools."

She had never left.

The palace was a cage, but the bars did not bind her.

She had woven herself into its very walls, its very air.

The moment the knights left the throne room, she dropped from the shadows like a whisper, landing soundlessly behind the King’s throne.

She pressed her hand against the polished wood, feeling the faint warmth where he had just sat.

Then, with a chuckle, she plucked a single black feather from her sleeve—a perfect match to the one on the table—and placed it gently upon the King’s seat.

Then she was gone.

The King’s Nightmare

That night, the King sat alone in his chambers, his wine untouched, his mind racing.

The castle had been torn apart, yet the only thing they had found was another black feather—on his very throne.

His fingers twitched as he rubbed his temples.

"This isn't just an assassin… this is something else entirely."

His paranoia deepened.

The candlelight in his room flickered.

His heartbeat quickened.

A faint sound—like a whisper—brushed past his ear.

His breath hitched.

He turned sharply—

Nothing.

But something was there.

Something unseen.

Something waiting.

A shiver ran through him.

He did not sleep that night.

For the first time in his rule—

The King knew fear.