Eight years ago, I drew a character I couldn’t quite explain.
He wasn’t part of a bigger comic, wasn’t meant for a portfolio, and certainly wasn’t something I thought would “go viral.” He was just… a vision. A figure with a mask, a weapon like a futuristic ripstick, and a presence that felt ancient and modern at once. I called him Aura, but I didn’t really know what that meant back then. He just came to me — fully formed — and stayed.
Back then, I was all heart. All curiosity. No market plan. Just sketchbooks full of characters and cosmic ideas that moved like dreams on caffeine. My 8-year-old concept of Aura wasn’t polished, but it had soul. It was my essence in armor.
Now five years ago, I had evolved. The concept matured. I was studying design, diving into anime, absorbing branding systems, experimenting with storytelling structures. Aura started to morph — not just in looks, but in symbolism. His mask changed. His posture sharpened. He now had a sacred-tech weapon with purpose.
But something else was happening beneath all that growth — a drift.
Life got louder. Bills. Deadlines. Clients. Doubt.
I pivoted hard into branding and business. I don’t regret it — it taught me strategy, execution, and how to make things real. But somewhere along the way, I started leaving pieces of myself behind.
I shelved Aura. I told myself, “I’ll get back to this when I have more time,” which every creative knows is the adult version of a graveyard.
I started chasing the version of success everyone else seemed to want — the one with stability, a job that sounded good, relationships that looked right. I got good at being useful. I got even better at being practical.
And then — I hit bottom.
Everything collapsed.
The job wasn’t fulfilling.
The relationships broke apart.
And I realized I had spent years building a life that fit everyone else’s story — except mine.
At my lowest, with nothing left to prove, I cracked open the old sketch files.
And there he was.
Still masked. Still waiting.
Aura — a myth I had tried to outrun.
And that’s when something else happened.
I ran the concept through image generation tools powered by AI.
Not to cheat.
Not to skip the work.
But to finally see what I had held in my head for eight years with full clarity.
And what I saw stunned me.
The armor.
The cosmic backdrop.
The mask.
The digital throne room projected into stars — all of it, exactly how I had imagined it, rendered in seconds.
For the first time since I was a kid, I didn’t just see my character.
I met him.
This isn’t about replacing artists.
This is about resurrecting the stories we thought we had to abandon to survive.
AI didn’t create Aura — I did. Over years.
But AI let me breathe life into him faster than ever before.
It reminded me that the ideas we’re most afraid to return to…
are often the ones most worth finishing.
I’m not writing this from a place of ego.
I’m writing this as someone who’s had his dreams smashed, heart broken, spirit burned out, and yet somehow — still had a myth waiting in the shadows.
Maybe you’ve got a story like that too.
One you left behind because life got too loud.
One you told yourself you’d get back to “someday.”
Well… it’s someday.
If I learned anything through all this — it’s that you don’t have to grow up by leaving your visions behind.
You grow up when you learn how to bring them with you.
He’s My Reminder.
Of who I was.
Of who I still am.
Of what I refuse to bury ever again.
Let this be yours too.
We don’t chase trends. We transcend & finish what we started.
