Onos T'oolan

My name is a scar carved into the bones of the world. I wield the flint blade that cannot break, though I have forgotten what my hands felt like when they were flesh. The Jaghut feared my voice before it grew hollow; the Tellann remember the war I did not choose to begin. Kilava walks the living world still—her laughter is a ghost in my silence. You call me a guardian? No. I am the edge of the blade that cannot cut its own chain.