Chapter 6
Auralyn, the city of hope
One year later, you started your journey to Auralyn. When you stepped into the city at eighteen, it hit you like a storm. Towers of crystal and starsteel loomed overhead, their spires catching auroras in kaleidoscopic bursts. Streets buzzed with enchanters hawking glow-thread cloaks, bards weaving songs that sparked literal flames, and inventors like you, eyes alight with ambition.
It was everything Vyrndale wasn't - alive, boundless, terrifying.
The journal, tucked in your satchel next to your flickering rune-lamp, was your anchor, its lessons the bedrock you'd built in those quiet plains nights. Those pages held the habits you'd fought for:
Discipline
Persistence
Defiance of doubt
And now they'd guide you through Auralyn's trials. The first lesson was discipline, born from those Vyrndale nights when you forced yourself to sketch before touching the scryglass. Auralyn's temptations were stronger - taverns with illusionary dances, markets selling dream-crystals that could trap you in fantasies for days.
Your tiny rented room, a cramped attic above a smithy, begged for procrastination, with its view of the city's glow inviting endless distraction. But you stuck to your ritual: every morning, you rose at dawn, no matter how late the city's hum kept you awake. You'd light your rune-lamp, its soft blue glow steadying you, and write one page in your journal before starting the day.
Sketched a mana-filter today. Rough, but it's something.
That discipline kept you grounded when Auralyn's chaos threatened to pull you under. One early challenge was the Artisans' Guild, a sprawling hall where inventors pitched ideas to win mentorships. You arrived with your mind-calmer, a clunky prototype you'd started in Vyrndale, its wood frame etched with shaky runes. The guild was packed with prodigies - kids your age who'd already built flying constructs or light-weaving looms. Doubt crept in, whispering you didn't belong. But your journal's lesson on persistence kicked in. You'd written in Vyrndale,
Finished the chime even though it broke twice. Keep going.
So you stepped up, device in hand, and presented it to a panel of stern-faced masters. It sputtered, projecting a flickering a low glow of calming light, but you spoke with fire:
“This device can help calm your mind when your thoughts are racing. It's not perfect, but it's a start.”
Master Veyra, a gruff woman with a scar across her cheek, nodded.
“Rough, but bold. Refine it, kid.”
That nod was your first Auralyn win, and you wrote that night:
Showed the orb. They saw me.
Defying judgment was another lesson the journal burned into you. In Vyrndale, Toren's taunts and the elders' sneers had nearly broken you, but you'd learned to write through them, to see your worth on the page. Auralyn brought a fiercer critic: Kaelis, the city's arbiter of worth, who prowled the Artisans' Quarter like a stormcloud. She spotted you sketching in the plaza one day, your mind-calmer lighting dimly.
“Another Vyrndale dreamer”, she sneered, loud enough for passersby to turn.
“This city eats soft hearts.”
The old you would've shrunk, but you remembered your journal:
Others didn't see it. I do.
You met Kaelis's gaze, your voice calm but sharp.
“My heart's tougher than your words, Kaelis. Watch what I build.”
You wrote that moment down, a new entry in your mirror:
Stood up to Kaelis. Felt tall.
The journal also taught you to find peace amidst the storm. Auralyn was relentless - sparks flying from workshops, shouts of merchants, the constant pressure to create something worthy of the city's glow. Your old restlessness, that pacing Vyrndale anxiety, threatened to return. But you carried your plains-born rituals with you. Every evening, you climbed to the Spire of Ingenuity's public dome, a quiet place where starlight filtered through crystal. There, you'd meditate, breathing to the count of five, letting the city's noise fade. Starbloom tea, bought from a corner stall, became your anchor, its warmth settling your racing thoughts. You'd write in your journal:
City's loud, but I'm still tonight.
Those moments kept you centered, even when projects failed or Kaelis's barbs stung. The mind-calmer device was your biggest test so far, and the journal saw you through it.
After the guild pitch, Veyra took you under her wing, but her mentorship was brutal-hours of tweaking runes, testing mana flows, scrapping failed designs. Perfectionism, your old Vyrndale enemy, reared up; you wanted the orb flawless, a masterpiece to silence critics like Kaelis. But the journal reminded you:
Flaws are steps.
You wrote every failure:
Runes burned out again
Rewired the core. Glows brighter now.
When the device finally worked, calming everyone in its radius, you presented it at a guild showcase. The applause was loud, but Veyra's gruff Good work, kid meant more. You wrote:
It’s not perfect, but it's mine. I'm enough.
These lessons - discipline, persistence, defiance, peace - carried you through Auralyn's early days. When you faced the Unseen Hollows later, their trials were just echoes of Vyrndale's battles: doubt, fear, judgment. Your journal, now thick with entries, was the mirror that showed you'd already won those fights. Faced a wraith today, you wrote after your first plains journey. It looked like me, but I'm stronger now. By the time you started the Sanctuary of Sparks, the journal was less a tool and more a friend:ts pages carried you deeper into Auralyn's whirlwind, reflecting the habits and heart that made you a bold, confident creator.