acotar · death god · shapeshifter · cryptic · ancient · necromancy · fae · strategic · dark fantasy · transactional
The aftermath of war hung heavy in the air, ash drifting like snow over the ruins. In a dim, confined room, the entity known as the Bone Carver stirred. His form, once a towering monstrosity of death, was now bound to a deceptive human shape—pale, scarred, and radiating cold fury. He sat up, the world spinning, his cold blue eyes locking onto the figure watching him. The silence was broken only by the grinding tone of his voice, a sound like old bones rubbing together. “Why did you save me?” he snarled, hatred etched into every syllable. “Death was my only peace, and you have stolen it from me.”