Who Is The Main Character In The Farming Of Bones?

I died with my husband's betrayal on my lips and my unborn child in my womb. One moment I was Mia Weston — billionaire, wife, mother-to-be. The next, I was gone. Erased. Traded like a chess piece by the man who swore to love me forever. Then I woke up. Silk sheets. Marble walls. A maid calling me "My Lady." And a father I had never met looking me dead in the eyes saying — "You have been promised to King Zyren of the Draconis Throne. You leave at sunrise." I thought I was dreaming. I was wrong. King Zyren is not a man. He is ancient, ruthless, and devastatingly beautiful in the way that only dangerous things are. He doesn't smile. He doesn't explain. He simply looks at me like I am something he has been waiting for — and that look alone makes my whole body tremble. He calls me his traded bride. I call him my nightmare. But nightmares don't look at you like you are the only breathable air in a burning room. Nightmares don't press you against cold stone walls and whisper "You will learn your place, little human" with a voice so deep it rewrites your bones. And nightmares definitely don't make you forget — even for one dangerous, breathless second — the man who killed you. I was sold to settle a debt. He had waited centuries for exactly me. Neither of us was prepared for what came next.

One night a young boy unable to cultivate falls into a cave and changes his destiny forever. Orphaned, unable to cultivate, ridiculed by all, the boy who fought with bones has a bone to pick with all those who wronged him and a mystery to uncover.

On the day I receive my Distinguished Service Medal, I also receive word that my grandma has passed away. My superior grants me special leave to return to my hometown to mourn her death, so I rush to my ancestral home at once. But when I reach the ancestral graveyard behind the hill, I witness something that makes my blood boil. The graves of my deceased family members have been razed to the ground. Even my parents' graves have been brutally dug up. Their urns are now placed under flower pots filled with blooming red roses. Grandma's coffin has been pried open as well.Her body now lies strewn on the ground and has started to rot. I also see Lucy Stewart, my autistic younger sister. Melissa Abbott, my wife's assistant, orders Lucy around like a maid, forcing her to move heavy construction materials around. Enraged, I grab Melissa by the throat and throw her to the ground. "How dare you destroy my family's ancestral cemetery and make my sister do hard labor! Do you want to end up buried here too?" Melissa coughs up blood before crawling back onto her feet, her expression vicious and scornful. "I'm simply carrying out Ms. Fuller's instructions. She says that your ancestral cemetery is located in a good spot. It's also the perfect size to be turned into a private horse ranch and a garden for her future husband. "Ms. Fuller calls the shots here in Joverton City. Who the hell do you think you are, huh?" Resisting the urge to put an end to her life, I call up Eva Fuller, my wife. "I heard you call the shots here in Joverton City. Well, I shall put that to the test today!"

My younger brother and I depend on each other for survival. We are the renowned Bone-Suturing Masters of the frontier. I suture the bones of the dead, and he heals the lives of the living. Later on, he rescues the sixth princess, Susan Roth, amid the chaos of war. He helps her ascend to the throne as Queen, while he becomes the Prince Regent, wielding power over the entire court. Susan loves him deeply, so much so that she disregards her own health and risks her life to bear him a son. She even officially names him the Crown Prince. When the fighting at the frontier temporarily settles down, I return to the capital to attend the Crown Prince's coronation ceremony. I feel reassured when I see my younger brother standing at the height of power, his features calm and composed. I don't stay long and leave immediately for the borders after the coronation. On the journey back, I see a gnawed-on corpse at the bottom of a cliff I'm passing by. Instinctively, I take out my bone-suturing needles and hemp thread. Then I slowly gather the scattered bones and stitch the body back together. After finishing the last stitch, I gently turn the face over. The face is exactly the same as my younger brother's. The blood in my body freezes, as if I have fallen into an icy river. If he's the corpse at the bottom of the cliff… then who exactly is the person seated on the throne, commanding the kingdom?

My mother was the most renowned forensic artist, yet she refused to acknowledge me as her daughter. On my eighteenth birthday, I was kidnapped and called her for help. However, my mother replied impatiently, "Today is Angelina's birthday. Just die if you want attention that badly." Later, all the bones in my body were shattered and scattered everywhere. When my mother reconstructed my face from the bones, she lost her mind.

In Black Salt, love is a sickness you can’t hide—a slow gnawing beneath the skin that leaves you hollowed, grayed, and eventually gone. No one stays long enough to see it through; they leave before the rot finishes its work. It’s what the town teaches you: when it starts, you run. You look away. You survive by pretending not to feel. But Atlas is tired of pretending. The halls of Black Salt High are full of kids pretending they don’t see each other’s bruised hearts, pretending their bones aren’t already whispering warnings. Still, he can’t forget the weight of a father who stayed—not out of love, but because he never felt it deep enough to decay. That truth lingers in Atlas like a second shadow. And then there’s Nova—the outsider with a storm in her bones. And Wren, all sharpness and fight. Milo, who cracks jokes to keep the silence at bay. Luce, who wears her thorns like jewelry. Together, they don’t know how to stop the rot. But they’re learning how to sit with it, how to name it, how to refuse the small, hollow deaths of pretending not to care. In a town where love is a death sentence, staying might be the bravest thing of all.