Acknowledgements
To the ones who came before me, who whispered stories in the silence of their struggles—I see you. I built this world with the clay of your sacrifice, and may every page echo your resilience.
To the still and sacred nights that carried my chaos when my hands shook too much to write—you kept me. To the moon that watched me dream up Femi and all her broken, blooming grace—you lit the path when I could not.
To the ones who know what it means to grieve in technicolor and love like a war cry, thank you. You are why this story breathes. The Hollow Land is yours.
To my circle—those who fed me, held me, questioned me, and reminded me that softness is not weakness, but a feral kind of strength—thank you for every word of encouragement, every moment of silence, every act of faith.
To the shadows and Revenari of my own mind—you taught me that sorrow can be sacred. And to hope, elusive but ever-returning—you made me write the last line.
And to the reader:
You, who cracked open this world with your hands, thank you. Walk gently in these pages. Grieve loudly. Love without permission. And when you leave, may you carry a little light back into your own.
— S. Syclone
