I’ve spent a long time building world of The Durajan.

The stories are written. The maps have been drawn. The cultures, the myths, the belief systems—each one shaped with care and conviction. I’ve built the site, designed the experience, structured the launch. I know these characters. I’ve walked their paths.

But there was one part of the journey I nearly didn’t take.

The artwork.

Even as everything else was falling into place, I hesitated. Not because I didn’t see the visuals in my mind—because I did. I always have. But I didn’t fully trust my hand to bring them to life. Not in the way I felt they deserved. Not in the way I’d imagined them.

And that nearly stopped me.

Illustrating for clients? That was easy. I could detach. I could solve the problem. But illustrating for myself? That was different. That was vulnerable. That was risk. The moment I started sketching these characters, I’d be forced to face a quiet fear I’d carried for a long time:

What if I couldn’t do it anymore?
What if the skill was gone?
What if the result didn’t match the vision?
What if I disappointed myself?

I was afraid to begin.

But then my daughter said, “You should try.”
Then my son told me they might inspire people.
And my wife, my partner in everything, nearly cried when she saw the first finished portrait. It had been almost ten years since I’d truly drawn for myself. Not for work. Not for anyone else. Just for me. She knew what it meant.

They didn’t push. They simply believed.

They saw something I hadn’t: That this wasn’t about perfection, it was about presence. That the act of drawing these characters was just as meaningful as the words I’d already written. That this, too, was part of the story.

So I listened.

And now, I see what they saw all along.

Even in progress, especially in progress, these portraits have awakened something. The response from those closest to me has been unanimous: This is the way forward. The characters feel more real than ever, and I’ve fallen in love with this world all over again. Not just as a writer or a designer, but as an artist.

It’s taken me full circle. Back to the kid who used to sketch and dream and scribble in the margins. Only now, that kid has tools, experience, and the confidence that comes from decades of storytelling.

The art is no longer an add-on. It’s part of the canon. These aren’t just character portraits, they’re artifacts from the Awakened World. Journal entries. Wall sketches. Lost pages. Eyes that saw war. Hands that built nations.

These are teasers. Just the beginning. And I’ll take my time with them. Let each one emerge as it should. This is a journey for me too, not just for the reader.

When it’s done, it won’t just be a series.

It’ll be a living world, words, maps, symbols, stories, faces.

Thank you to those who nudged me across the line.
Thank you for helping me believe I could still do this.

Let’s keep going.