Tales from Auralia

PREFACE:

Auralia started as a school project and has slowly transformed into a society of my fantasies. It is, in its most basic form, my dream country. A place where my wildest sexual fantasies occur. with that disclosed please read at your own will. Not all posts will be of that nature but some posts will include stories that have a NSFW tagline. Otherwise enjoy the musings, architecture, and culture of Auralia

Auralia:

Auralia, officially the Dominion of Auralia, is a de facto sovereign country, comprising a volcanic island in the middle of the Tasman Sea, as well as the Island of Lyonesse. With an area of 381,500 square kilometers (2,969,907 sq mi), Auralia is the third largest country by area in Oceania and the world's sixty-first largest country. Auralia consists of a subtropical, semi-mountainous northern coastline, with a flat semi-arid southeastern region and subtropical to temperate semi-mountainous northern coasts. The center of the country is extremely mountainous and known as the Lord Howe Ranges and hosts a mix of ski resorts and volcanic-themed tours. The country sits on the Lord Howe Trench just east of the Pacific Ring of Fire, and is prone to volcanic activity and earthquakes, particularly on its eastern coastline. The country also experiences extensive cyclonic storms during the wet season.

In the Auralian constitution, Auralia is a Unitary Parliamentary dependency under a constitutional monarchy, comprising four provinces with devolved administrations, with parliament retaining the right to give and absolve power at any regional level.

Since the Newham referendum of 1948, Auralia has openly rejected the Statute of Westminster and retains Britain’s right to interfere in its political and legal system. However, Britain has rejected this and recognises the country as a Unitary parliamentary constitutional monarchy and member of the commonwealth instead of a crown dependency, which presents a grey area in the nation’s constitution. Auralia maintains a population of 17 million. Its coastal regions are highly urbanised and heavily concentrated on its coastal regions. Amherst is the nation's capital, while the three largest cities are Georgetown, Boscawen, and Kulanake. Auralia's demography has been shaped by 1600 years of Na Kanaka activity, as well as high levels of chartered immigration from South East England,  with citizens from British backgrounds accounting for 62% of the country's population, the highest proportion among any commonwealth nation. Auralia has a positive relationship with all its Oceanic neighbours, particularly Australia and New Zealand, with which it shares close economic and cultural ties.

Aiden moves to Auralia

Journal Entry 9: January 1st - 7th

Happy New Year. It feels strange writing that.

Only a few weeks ago I was still packing boxes and saying goodbye to everything back home, and now I'm sitting at my desk in Auralia, looking out at a completely different world. School starts soon. Very soon, and today felt like the first day where it became real.

This morning Mum took me back to Northford Uniforms to have my school clothes adjusted properly. Everything had already been bought before Christmas, but mum and the tailor wanted to make sure it all fitted exactly right before term started.

The shop was busy with other boys and their parents doing the same thing. Everywhere I looked there were blazers hanging on rails, boxes of caps, stacks of shorts, and rows of polished shoes waiting to be collected.

I felt nervous the moment we walked through the door. Not scared exactly, just aware that every fitting brought the first day closer.

The tailor remembered me immediately. “Back again, Mr Bardell." He smiled and led me into a changing room.

The uniform was already hanging there waiting. I looked at it for a moment before changing, and noticed the tailor hadn’t moved aside. He saw me noticing him and gave a gentle, kind smile.

“Oh don’t mind me, nothing I haven’t seen before. Boys in Auralia aren’t shy and you’ll have to get used to inspections at school anyways”. He said with a smile.

I was confused for a moment but saw the other boys in the store being seen to by other tailors, none of them seemed to mind removing their shirts when asked. For some reason it inspired me, I wanted to be like them, proud and Auralian.

I began to remove my day clothes. Nearly folding each peice until I stood there in the plain white briefs mum had bought before Christmas.

I looked at the uniform again, the blazer especially. I'd seen it dozens of times already, but it somehow looked different now. More important. More real.

The shorts came first, I had forgotten just how short they were. Just barely two inches on the in seam. The tailor adjusted the waist slightly and checked the length.

"Perfect," he said.

Next came the white shirt. Then the green-and-gold striped tie. The suspenders after that, I still like them more than I expected. The green straps with their gold stripes matched the school colours perfectly, and they held everything neatly in place. The belt went on too, even though the suspenders already did the job.

The tailor explained that every part of the uniform served a purpose and that the complete appearance mattered. That seemed to be a very Auralian way of thinking.

Then came the blazer. The moment I slipped it on, I felt myself standing straighter. The dark fabric sat perfectly across my shoulders. The crest on the pocket seemed brighter than I remembered. The striped trim running down the front and sleeves made it look smart without feeling flashy.

Finally, I put on the cap. That was the moment. The moment I stopped looking like a boy trying on a uniform and started looking like a Northford pupil. At least that's how it felt.

The tailor adjusted the position slightly. "There we are."

I looked in the mirror. For several seconds I couldn't stop staring.

White shirt. Striped tie. Blazer. Cap. Grey shorts. Kneesocks. Suspenders. Belt. Everything exactly where it should be.

Then I put on my Jonwin Loops. They had been polished the night before. The leather gleamed beneath the shop lights. When I stood and walked across the fitting area, I could hear the firm click of their soles.

Mum noticed. "I think somebody likes his school shoes." I pretended not to hear her and she laughed anyway.

I admit wasn't entirely convinced at first. The uniform felt very juvenile, boyish almost. The shorts particularly felt much shorter than anything I had worn before moving here. But when I looked around the shop afterwards, every other boy's shorts seemed exactly the same.

Nobody appeared embarrassed by them. Nobody even seemed to think about them. They were simply the Northford uniform.

A few days later came something I wasn't expecting, braces. Apparently my teeth weren't quite as straight as they should be.

The orthodontist was very friendly, but I was still nervous. The whole appointment seemed to take forever. When they finally fitted them, my mouth felt strange and heavy. I kept running my tongue over the metal without meaning to and talking felt different too.

Looking in the mirror afterward was even stranger. I still looked like me, just a slightly different version. Mum said they suited me. I'm not entirely sure about that yet.

The first few days have been uncomfortable. Eating certain things feels awkward, but everyone keeps telling me I'll get used to them.

People here seem to say that about lots of things. The haircut, the uniforms, the shoes, the braces. "You'll get used to it." And somehow they always end up being right.

Yesterday I had my haircut refreshed as well. The barber restored the neat side-part exactly how it's supposed to look. When he spun the chair around and showed me the mirror, I realised I looked almost exactly like the boys I'd been seeing around Amherst since we arrived.

For the first time, that didn't feel strange, it felt normal, correct. I stepped out into the sunny streets of Amherst and glanced across the street. I saw a few other boys, clearly on the same pre-school tour of town as I had been the last few days. They looked across at me and nodded, and I smiled back, my new braces catching the sun. I felt like a proper Auralian boy in that moment, and I admit I liked how that felt.

This evening I tried on my full school uniform again. Not because I had to, because I wanted to. It feels weird to admit that. What 11 year old boy wants to wear his school uniform? Especially one so traditional. Still, I wanted to see it on so badly.

Everything was ready. The blazer hanging properly. The cap brushed clean. The tie already knotted. The Jonwin Loops polished until they shone.

I put every piece on carefully. Then stood in front of my bedroom mirror. The sunset was coming through the window and the room was quiet. For a few moments I just stood there looking at myself. School suddenly felt very close, close enough to touch.

I felt nervous, my stomach was full of butterflies. What if I get lost? What if I don't know the rules? What if everybody already knows each other? What if… What if… What if…?

But then I remembered the church services, the boys who nodded to me and the families who welcomed us. The feeling I've had ever since arriving here, that perhaps there is a place for me here after all.

The uniform hanging in my wardrobe doesn't feel like somebody else's uniform anymore. It feels like mine. In a few days I'll find out whether I really belong at Northford.

I hope I do. I think I do. It feels so right to me, but I'm still nervous all the same.

Aiden moves to Auralia

Journal Entry 8 - December 31st.

I think I'm finally starting to understand what people mean when they talk about Christmas feeling special. Back home, Christmas always felt exciting, of course, but here in Auralia it seems to stretch across the whole month.

Everywhere is decorated, but not in a flashy way. The flags are still hanging from houses, and alongside them are wreaths with dark green ribbons. The churches have lights around their entrances, and every evening you can hear choirs rehearsing somewhere nearby.

The first Sunday after we arrived, Mum took me to St. Mark's Church. I wore my church clothes for the first time. Standing in my room beforehand, fastening my collar and pulling on my black blazer, I felt strangely nervous. The Jonwin Wings were polished so brightly that I could almost see my reflection in them.

When we arrived, I noticed every boy looked almost exactly the same as me. The same black blazers, neat haircuts, polished shoes.

For a moment I felt awkward, worried I might somehow stand out anyway. But after a few minutes that feeling disappeared. Nobody was looking at me. Nobody cared that I was new. I was simply another boy in church.

The service itself was much longer than I was used to, but I enjoyed it more than I expected. The organ echoed through the building, and when everyone stood together to sing, it felt powerful somehow.

Afterward, several families introduced themselves. Everyone seemed to know we were newcomers. One man smiled and asked, "Looking forward to Northford, son?"

I nodded.

"A little nervous too?"

“Very nervous."

He laughed. "Good. Means you'll do fine."

That didn't really make sense at the time, but I've heard similar things from lots of adults since arriving.

Over the next week there seemed to be church events almost every few days. There was a carol service. Then a community choir evening. A candlelight service followed by a youth Christmas rehearsal.

Every time I wore my church clothes, I found myself becoming more comfortable in them. At first the collar felt stiff. Now it feels normal. The shoes felt unusual at first too, but now I almost like hearing them click softly across the pavement.

One evening after a service, I noticed several boys my age standing outside talking while their parents spoke nearby. I was too nervous to approach them and I stood with Mum instead. But one of them gave me a small nod as he walked past.

"See you at Northford." That was all he said. Yet somehow I spent the entire walk home thinking about it. For the first time, school stopped feeling completely unknown. It started feeling real.

Christmas eve was probably my favourite day so far. The whole neighbourhood seemed to slow down. People walked to church in family groups, all dressed properly despite the warm weather. The evening service was beautiful.

The church was packed. Candles glowed everywhere. The choir sang carols I had never heard before. For the first time since moving, I didn't feel like a visitor. I felt like I belonged there.

Christmas morning was different too. The presents were wonderful, but what surprised me most was how many of them seemed connected to the same ideas I've been seeing everywhere.

Books about explorers. Model aircraft. A Scout handbook. A polishing kit for my shoes. A proper wooden desk organiser. Even a small brass nameplate for my room door. Mum laughed when I spent nearly an hour arranging everything neatly on my shelves.

"You've changed already," she said.

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

Maybe she's right. I still miss things from home sometimes. I still find some parts of Auralia strange.

But I think I'm starting to understand why people here like things the way they are. There is something comforting about knowing where everything belongs.

The days between Christmas and New Year have been quiet. I've spent lots of time building model planes and reading.

Sometimes I sit at my desk and look at the row of shoes beneath my wardrobe. The Jonwin Steps get worn every day. The Jonwin Wings have become familiar now too. But my eyes keep drifting to the others. The school shoes and the Scout shoes. The uniforms hanging above them, everything ready. Like they’re waiting for me.

School doesn't start for another week, with scouts begin the week after that. Part of me is nervous every time I think about it. What if I get lost? What if I don't know the rules? What if everybody else already knows each other?

But another part of me feels excited. I find myself imagining walking through the school gates for the first time. wearing my Northford blazer, my tie. The Jonwin Loops.

I kind of liked the idea of looking like every other boy there. Not having to wonder whether I'm dressed correctly because I'll already know.

The same thing happens when I think about Scouts. Sometimes I even take the Lorcam Edges out of their box and look at them. Not because I need to. Just because I like knowing they're there. Ready.

Everything here seems to work like that. Preparation. Routine. Order.

When I arrived, all of it felt overwhelming. Now it feels reassuring. Tomorrow is New Year's Day. Then January begins. Then school and Scouts. Then whatever comes next.

I'm still nervous. Very nervous, actually. But for the first time since we arrived, I think I'm excited too. If somebody had told me that two weeks ago, I'm not sure I would have believed them.

Aidan moves to Auralia

Journal Entry 7 - 18th December

We landed in Auralia just after noon, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget the first sight of it from the plane window; the neat grid of streets, the national flags hanging from every corner, and everything so clean and ordered it almost looked like a model town. Mum said we were in the capital province, New Cambria, and our suburb was just outside Amherst, the capital city. The car ride from the airport took about half an hour, and I spent most of it watching the houses go by. They were all tidy and uniform, each with the same pale walls, clipped hedges, and small front lawns.

Our house fits right in; two storeys, cream brick, green shutters, and a little garden out front that already feels like it’s waiting for rules to be followed. Inside, everything smells new: the wood polish, the faint hint of laundry soap. My room overlooks the street, where boys about my age walked in neat pairs, all wearing similar clothes — blazers, ties, shiny shoes. It was strange, but comforting too, seeing that sameness everywhere. Like no one here had to wonder how they were meant to look.

This afternoon, Mum took me for my fittings. First they measured me, part of me was excited to try my uniform for Northford that day, but it turns out it was measurements as the uniform would be made to fit specially and we would collect it in the New Year.

The case wasn’t the same for the other clothes. The Scout uniform, short-sleeved khaki shirt, neckerchief, belt, grey shorts and dark green kneesocks, as I looked at myself in the uniform I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride, but oddly not just in myself, but in this new Auralian lifestyle. Then the church clothes: a wing-collar shirt, black blazer, black socks. Everything had a purpose, a rhythm, the shirt collar made me have to stand straighter, my chin slightly pointed, it felt reverent in a way I had never before experienced.

Even the casual wear followed the same logic; sets of grey shorts, light shirts in white, blue, or grey, matching ties and sleeveless jumpers. I thought of the casual clothes I had been told to leave folded on the side, I wouldn’t need them any more I suppose, I had all these new daywear outfits instead, I dressed in a formal white shirt, and a blue tie, a pair of grey shorts and kneesocks and took a look at myself in the mirror, and couldn’t help love how it looked. The clerk packed them neatly into labelled boxes: Daywear – Home, Scouts - Meetings, Church – Sunday.

I noticed, while Mum was sorting through the list, that even the underwear came in a single, regulation style. No choices, no colours, no patterns; just plain, approved simple boyish briefs, the same for every boy. It felt strange at first, seeing how far the order reached, but also… steadying. Like there was comfort in knowing there wasn’t any decision to make at all, and again that tingle ran through my body as I had slipped the briefs onto my body whilst saying goodbye to my boxers forever.

One of our next stops was the Clarks store in Amherst, where a polite man fitted me for four pairs of shoes.

Jonwin Loop for school — smooth leather, with a twin stitching design, firm and formal.

Jonwin Step for everyday wear — still, polished, but slightly softer.

Lorcam Edge for Scouts — tougher soles, built for steadying boys.

Jonwin Wing for church — brogues, elegant, just enough to show our reverence.

They were all lined up in front of me when he finished, the black leather catching the shop lights. The clerk said, “Every pair for a purpose,” and it made sense somehow.

Before heading home, we stopped at the barbers. The man there gave me the Auralian cut, neat sides, short back, and a clear parting to the right. When he finished, I looked in the mirror and barely recognised myself. I looked tidier, more serious. A proper Northford boy. On the way out, mum handed me a small box, she said she had seen some other boys looking at it in a shop window as we passed, so she slipped out during my haircut to pick it up. As I opened it I saw it was a model plane set, immediately it felt like a callback to pictures I’d seen in lessons about the Great War, and the things kids did for fun during those times. It felt like I had been thrown back in time, but strangely, it felt right.

Walking back through the suburb, I started noticing other boys with the same haircut, the same polished shoes, walking beside their parents or riding bicycles in perfect posture. I thought I’d feel trapped seeing that, but instead, I felt a sort of pull, like I was already becoming part of something I didn’t fully understand yet but wanted to.

Tonight, as I sit at my desk and build my model planes, dressed in my new casual clothes, and Jonwin Steps, I couldn’t help but glance at my uniforms. Which are hanging on the wardrobe, school and scouts, ready for my first day. Everything is pressed, folded, labelled. My new shoes gleam in a neat row underneath. It’s all so exact, so deliberate, and I think I’m beginning to like it.

Aidan Moves to Auralia

Journal Entry 6 - Age 11

Date: December 15th

It feels strange writing this tonight, knowing it’s my last Sunday here. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be somewhere above the ocean on my way to Auralia. The thought makes my stomach twist a bit — not in a bad way, just in that heavy way when you know something big is coming and you can’t quite picture what it’ll be like.

The past week has been full of goodbyes. I didn’t realise how much that word would sting until I had to keep saying it.

On Friday, my mates in class made jokes about me going to some “posh boot camp” where everyone salutes before lessons. I laughed along, but part of me wondered how far off they really were.

At lunch, Jamie and Luke gave me a little notebook — “For your new life,” they said, grinning. “To keep track of all your detentions.” The pages were blank, smooth and white. I thought about telling them I probably wouldn’t get many detentions, that Auralia seemed like the sort of place where you learn not to. But I didn’t. I just smiled and said thanks.

After school, we stayed at the park until it got dark. We kicked a ball around, talked about the usual stuff — games, girls, teachers. But every now and then it would go quiet, and we’d just sit there on the grass, not knowing what to say. When I finally said I should go, it hit me properly that I might never see them again. I tried to play it cool, just said, “See you round,” but my throat felt tight.

Yesterday, Mum and I went into town to pick up a few last things — travel adapters, a new belt, that sort of stuff. We passed the a Clarks shoe shop, and she said quietly, “We’ll get your proper Clarks when we arrive. We will have to make sure you get all the sets you need.” I nodded, but something about that made it real in a way nothing else had. My English shoes suddenly felt too soft, too light. I pictured the polished leather ones from the Northford handbook — black, structured, serious. Shoes for a boy who belonged.

I’ve been thinking about that word a lot lately: belonging. It’s odd how much it’s been on my mind. England’s home, but I’ve never really thought about what makes it feel that way. Maybe it’s the freedom — wearing what I want, doing what I like after school. But there’s something exciting about the opposite too. Auralia seems… settled. Ordered. Everyone knows what’s expected of them. I think I’m beginning to see why people there value that.

Mum keeps saying, “It’ll be an adjustment,” but I think that’s part of what I’m looking forward to — adjusting, learning how to fit in properly. When I imagine standing in the Northford assembly hall in my uniform — blazer, tie, kneesocks, polished shoes — I can almost feel it: that mix of pride and certainty, like being part of something bigger and older than myself.

I know it won’t all be easy. The idea of “firm discipline” still makes my chest tighten a bit. But I think it’s fair, too. Auralia doesn’t sound cruel — just exact. You follow the rules, you’re respected. You do what’s right, you belong. Maybe that’s a kind of freedom, too — not having to keep proving who you are all the time.

Tonight, I packed my bag halfway. My hoodie and trainers went in first, even though I know I won’t wear them much there. I’ll probably have to fold them away once I’m issued my proper kit. But that’s okay. They’re a part of who I’ve been. The next version of me — the Auralian one — will probably wear smarter shoes and stand a bit straighter.

I’m nervous, yeah. But underneath that, there’s this pull — this sense that I’m moving toward something solid. Something I can depend on.

Aiden Moves to Auralia

Journal Entry 5 - Age 11.

Date: November 10th

Mum printed out my Northford Grammar School form today — “Subject and Activity Selection” — all neat and official-looking at the top. It made everything feel properly real. I’ve known for weeks that we’re moving, but seeing my name next to “Northford Grammar” somehow made it different. Like it’s actually happening now.

I sat at the dining table to fill it out. Still had my hoodie on, trainers half off, pencil ready. The house was quiet except for the sound of the printer finishing up and Mum moving things around in the kitchen. The sunlight was coming through the window in that warm, late-afternoon way that makes everything look cleaner.

The first part was easy — name, date of birth, the usual. Then I had to pick my subjects. The main ones were already there: English, Maths, Science, History, Auralian Civics (that one sounds serious), and finally Religious Studies. After that, I got to choose four more.

Music was my first choice — no question. I’ve always liked singing, and I told Mum I want to join the choir. Then Geography, because I like maps and learning where everything fits together. Sociology next — it sounds interesting, like how people work and why they act the way they do. And of the options left over I picked Drama, because Dad said it might teach me to be more focused and in control of my emotions. I sort of liked that word — control. It sounds strict but steady.

Then I got to the Creative Activities bit. It had lots of options but because of my choices so far, I could only pick from two boxes: Choir Singing and Dance. I ticked Choir Singing straight away, obviously, I was already in my school choir at here, so it made sense. Then I looked at Dance for a while. I could already imagine my mates back home laughing if they saw me doing that. Still, I kind of wondered what it would be like there. In Auralia, I bet even dance is serious — everyone lined up properly, learning precision and movement. It actually sounded kind of… ordered. I ticked the box tentatively, thinking also of the tights and unitards that the boys wear and wondering if I would have to wear them too.

Next was Sports and Physical Training. That part made me a bit excited. There were loads of options — wrestling, gymnastics, athletics, fencing. I chose Wrestling and Gymnastics. I like the idea of those — strength, control, coordination. Things that make you disciplined, I suppose. Things that teach you to hold yourself properly.

Then, at the bottom of the page, I saw a small box I hadn’t noticed before. It said:

“For parents/guardians only – consent to school disciplinary policy.” There was already a neat blue tick in it, with Mum’s signature next to it.

I stared at it for a while. I knew Auralian schools were supposed to be strict — everyone says so — but seeing it written down made my stomach twist a little. Not in a bad way, exactly. Just that nervous sort of way when you know something’s serious.

I asked Mum about it. She just said, “Yes, love, I signed it. It’s standard. Northford’s traditional — firm but fair.” I thought of the kind of discipline I had seen in old films, canes and spankings, kneeling and writing lines. I won’t lie and say it made me scared, but I also thought of the images I saw of Auralian boys, all happy and smiling, whilst looking orderly and disciplined. Maybe this traditional discipline wasn’t as bad as it was made out to be, if those boys could deal with it, then so could I.

Firm but fair. I kept thinking about that after she said it. It sounded right somehow. Maybe it’s good to be somewhere that actually means what it says. Where people follow rules, and you know exactly what’s expected of you. I think I’ll do better like that — knowing the lines and keeping inside them.

I finished the form neatly, checked every box again, and signed my name at the bottom. My handwriting looked more careful than usual — straight and deliberate. When I pushed the paper away, I felt something strange. Not just nervousness. Excitement too.

It’s like I can already feel what Auralia’s going to be like — tidy, controlled, everyone doing what they’re meant to. I think I’ll like that. Even if it’s strict. Maybe because it’s strict.

I’m not sure what comes next, but I’m ready for it.

Issued by the Ministry of Uniform and Discipline – Youth Division

- Subject: Approved Footwear Styles for Male Youth (Aged 6–18)

- Classification: Public Guidance / School and Civic Standards

1. Jonwin Loop

Designation: Standard Academic Footwear – School Use Only

Style features:

Rounded toe with subtle elongation for elegant proportion

Closed lacing system with three eyelets per side

Subtle quarter stitching for understated formality

Sturdy yet sleek rubber sole for controlled gait and posture

Usage:

Worn exclusively with the school uniform, including:

Grey shorts trousers, 3 inches above the knee.

White shirt and regulation school tie.

School blazer with crest

Regulation black kneesocks with bands in school colours.

Purpose and Encouragement:

The Jonwin Loop reinforces scholastic pride, attentiveness, and posture. The precise silhouette and formal restraint of the design promote discipline in both physical bearing and mindset. It encourages boys to understand that schooling is a serious, structured, and formative duty.

2. Jonwin Step

Designation: Daywear / Civic Attire Footwear

Style:

More casual open lacing with three eyelets

Rounded toe with reinforced vamp

Soft but supportive sole for all-day wear

Usage:

Worn as part of the standard non-uniform dress code outside of school and official events. Accompanies:

Grey, black or navy tailored shorts.

White, grey, blue, or other plain shirt with simple tie.

Sleeveless jumper (optional).

Plain Blazer for public outings.

Regulation black, grey or white kneesocks and black or brown leather belt.

Purpose and Encouragement:

Jonwin Steps teach boys that respect for appearance is not reserved for formal moments. They serve to instill dignity and public decorum at all times, embedding the idea that the Auralian standard is to be lived, not occasionally adopted. Durability and utility pair with presentability to support consistent behavioural alignment.

3. Lorcam Edge

Designation: Scouting and Field Activity Footwear

Style:

Sturdy black leather with reinforced sole and heel.

Pronounced tread for traction on natural terrain.

Slightly higher arch support for extended walking.

Durable stitch detailing and robust eyelets (4 per side).

Matte finish with practical waterproofing treatment.

Usage:

Worn with Scout uniform:

Olive shorts, 3 inches above the knee.

short-sleeve grey, green or brown shirt with epaulettes,

scout tie and woggle.

Mandatory for all boys 6-18.

Purpose and Encouragement:

Lorcam Edges cultivate resilience, adaptability, and practical obedience. The structured fit and rugged form condition boys for endurance and service in challenging settings. They promote teamwork, hierarchy, and readiness—key Scouting values in Auralian society.

4. Jonwin Wing

Designation: Ceremonial and Worship Footwear – Church, Choir, and Civic Parade Use Only

Style:

High-gloss black leather Oxford with decorative brogue wingtip

Finely stitched toe medallion pattern

Sleek silhouette with light leather sole for a crisp step

Premium heel for posture elevation

Padded inner lining for extended standing during services

Usage:

Worn with formal ceremonial attire including:

Church uniform (navy or black short trousers, white shirt, choir tab or tie, regulation blazer, dark grey kneesocks)

State observances and commemorations

Purpose and Encouragement:

The Jonwin Wing instills reverence, grace, and solemnity. The elegant finish and ornamental design convey the importance of tradition and hierarchy. Boys wearing these shoes are taught stillness, poise, and respect for time-honoured institutions. Polishing them is often a meditative act in itself.

Footwear Maintenance Protocols

All shoes must be polished daily to a visible shine.

Laces must be tied in symmetrical bows.

Shoes must be lined up beneath beds or at racks heel-to-wall.

Spot checks by house leaders or prefects are common.

Final Note:

These four shoes are not merely footwear—they are instruments of Auralian identity. Boys who care for their shoes care for their role in society. The condition of one's shoes is taken as a direct reflection of his obedience, order, and inner clarity.

Aiden Moves to Auralia.

Journal Entry 4 — Age 11

Date: 19th October

It’s strange how quickly the weeks are going now. Since I found out I’m going to Auralia, every day feels like it’s pulling me along faster than I can keep up. Mum says I should start “mentally preparing,” which I think is her way of saying I should stop acting like it’s still a long way off.

Tonight after dinner, we sat in the lounge and they showed me a big handbook the Auralian education department had sent through. It’s called The Northford Grammar School Curriculum Handbook. The cover has the school crest in gold and a picture of the main building — red brick, white pillars, a massive clock above the entrance. Very proper. Very Auralian.

The first pages explained that every boy studies certain core subjects, no matter what. There’s no “I’m not a maths person” or “I don’t like science.” You do them because they are considered essential to being an educated person. The list was:

English Language and Literature

Mathematics

Latin (which I didn’t even realise people still spoke)

History and politics

Science (combined at first, then split into biology, chemistry, physics later)

Religion (which, according to the notes, covers the moral framework of Auralian life alongside comparative study of other faiths)

Then there are “Option Blocks” where you pick four more subjects from things like politics, geography, ICT, economics, design & technology, or extra languages. You have to include at least one creative subject from a special list: drama, dance, music, media studies, art, or photography.

Dad said the creative side is important in Auralia because it “balances the academic with the cultural.” I think it’s more about keeping boys busy and making sure you don’t waste time on games or hanging about.

It didn’t stop there. Boys also have to choose two creative extracurriculars, on top of lessons. Things like theatre productions, dance groups, learning an instrument, choir singing, painting classes, or creative writing clubs. Then two sports as well, because “a healthy body is part of a healthy mind.” Wrestling, swimming, cross-country, and gymnastics are apparently the big ones everyone does.

Mum looked at me over her glasses when she read that part and said, “No excuses — you’ll be doing them all in proper kit.” I didn’t doubt it for a second.

The most surprising part was the Scouts. In England, Scouts is optional, and most boys give up by a certain age. In Auralia, it’s mandatory for all boys up to eighteen. It’s run through the schools, with meetings twice a week and at least one weekend activity or camp each month. You earn badges, learn survival skills, do community work. Every boy wears the same uniform, and it’s inspected as strictly as school clothes. Dad smiled when he read that and said it would be “good for discipline.”

I didn’t pick my subjects yet — that comes later. But just seeing the list made me realise that my life there will be… well, full. I don’t think there’s much space for “free time” the way I have it here. As I went to my room however, I caught myself thinking about the discipline and life skills I would learn as a Scout, and the idea seemed less intense then.

After Mum and Dad went to bed, I hopped on a call with Sam and Josh. I told them about the subjects and the extracurricular rules. Sam laughed and said I should take art, “because you can sit down most of the time.” Josh reckoned I should do drama, so I’d “look good in the fancy uniform” if I ended up in a school play. I wasn’t convinced.

We started making ridiculous combinations — like drama, photography, geography, and economics, with gymnastics and wrestling on top — but when I actually thought about it, it didn’t feel like a joke. I really will have to pick four, and I can already tell the choice is going to matter.

It’s a bit overwhelming. But there’s something about the way it’s all laid out — no gaps, no excuses — that’s starting to make sense to me, and I couldn’t help but imagine myself actually there, in the school, as one of those boys. Ordered, uniformed, obedient and the thought excited me…

Aiden Moves to Auralia.

Journal Entry 3 — Age 11

Date: 28th September

It’s been a few weeks since Mum and Dad told me about the move to Auralia, and it still doesn’t feel completely real. Most of the time I try not to think about it, but then something will remind me—like a friend talking about a plan for next summer—and I get that sick feeling in my stomach again.

They’ve been telling me more about what life is like over there, especially the way boys are expected to dress. Dad says it’s “part of the national identity” and “teaches respect.” Apparently, there’s no such thing as just wearing jeans and trainers. Even outside school, boys have to dress smart—short grey trousers, black knee socks, a shirt and tie, and a sleeveless jumper. Always with polished Clarks shoes.

On the walk home today, Liam and Harry wanted to look up Auralia on his phone, so he typed in “Auralian boys’ uniforms.” I didn’t really want him to, but they wouldn’t stop going on about it. The pictures came up instantly—rows of boys in different outfits depending on where they were:

School: Grey shorts, blazers, white shirts, ties, and shiny Jonwin Loops. Harry said they looked like “posh dad shoes shrunk to fit kids,” and Liam started pretending to polish invisible shoes on his trousers, calling me “Sir Aiden of Auralia.”

Daywear: Short grey trousers, black knee socks, white shirt and tie, brown sleeveless jumper, and Jonwin Steps. Liam said they looked “exactly like the school ones but more boring.”

Scouts: Chunkier Lorcam Edge shoes, shorts with big belts, and boys standing at attention. Harry said I’d have to salute every time I saw someone important, then marched in place until the teacher told him to stop.

Church: Pointed, extra-shiny Jonwin Wings with wing-collar shirts and blazers. Liam said I’d be scared to even scuff them.

They laughed the whole time, teasing me about having to dress like that. I laughed along because it is strange, but I didn’t tell them what I was actually thinking.

The truth is, when I looked at those pictures, I didn’t completely hate it. It looked so… tidy. Like everyone knew exactly how they were supposed to be. The shoes especially—they didn’t look like my scruffy trainers. They looked solid, proper. The fact they had these names, it commanded something. Something I don’t quite understand.

Later, when I got home, I caught myself imagining it—standing there in the mirror, in the knee socks and polished shoes, my hair neat instead of messy. It felt weird, like looking at another boy who wasn’t me. But for some reason, I couldn’t quite shake the image.

Aiden moves to Auralia.

Journal Entry 2 — Age 11

Date: 3rd September

Today was the strangest day of my life. Mum and Dad sat me down after breakfast and told me we’re moving. Not just to another town or even another country, but to a place called Auralia. I’d never even heard of it before. Dad says it’s an island country near Australia and New Zealand, but it used to be part of Britain, so it’s sort of like coming home again, he says. That doesn’t really help.

I don’t want to move. I love my school, my friends, the park where I ride my bike, even the corner shop that always lets me pick out a candy when I buy a comic. I can’t imagine life without all that. Mum said it’s a great opportunity, and I’m sure she’s right about some things, but I’m scared it’s going to be horrible.

They say the schools there are very strict, and that boys have to wear uniforms everywhere—not just at school, but even when you’re playing sports or going to church. I’m not sure what that even means. I wear jeans and trainers every day. Mum tried to show me some pictures of the uniforms: short trousers, white shirts, ties, blazers, knee socks, shiny black shoes. It looks like something from an old movie or a costume party. I think I’d feel silly and trapped wearing that every day.

Dad says that Auralia is very disciplined and orderly, and that everyone takes pride in their country and themselves. He says it’s a place where boys learn respect, responsibility, and to be part of something bigger. Mum says the schools there focus on good manners and community spirit. But honestly, all I hear is rules and no fun.

I asked if I could stay here with my friends and just visit sometimes, but Dad said that’s not how it works. We’re moving, full stop. I know they’re doing their best and they want what’s best for me, but I don’t want it. I’m angry and sad all at once.

I don’t even know what kind of boy I’m supposed to be over there. Will I be able to still be me? Will my friends even like me if I come back one day wearing those uniforms and talking differently? I don’t want to change. But maybe, if I have to, I’ll make the best of it. I’ll write it all down here, so maybe I can remember who I was before all this starts.

Tonight, I’m going to try and sleep even though my head feels so full of noise and worry. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll ask Mum and Dad more about what life is really like in Auralia. Maybe it’s not all bad. But right now, I just want to stay here.

The Structure of Auralia.

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the hills outside the dormitory window, casting a soft amber light over the polished floorboards. Charlie sat cross-legged on his bed, kneesocks neat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, blazer folded with care over the back of his chair. Across from him, Harry stood at the mirror adjusting the knot of his tie, though there was nowhere to go. It was just something they both did now — the small, quiet rituals that anchored them.

“I was thinking about the first term again,” Charlie said quietly, his eyes following the light as it slid across Harry’s shoes — the same style of Clarks shoes they had worn since their third week, just bigger in size.

Harry smirked faintly, not turning from the mirror. “The term when I cried because I got told off for not polishing properly?”

Charlie laughed, just a breath of a sound. “No, I mean before that. When we still tried to push against it. When we thought we’d keep part of the old us.”

Harry turned, his eyes softer now. “That didn’t last long.”

Charlie nodded. “No. I think it started with the shoes, didn’t it? Just that simple… expectation. That every morning they’d shine. That we’d kneel to do it.”

There was silence between them for a moment. The kind that didn’t need filling. Then Harry came over and sat beside him, their knees brushing. His voice was quieter now. “And then we started helping each other.”

Charlie swallowed. “You asked me to do yours. That day after you had been caned, when you were too sore to bend properly.”

“I remember.” Harry smiled. “You did it without hesitation. And after, you just sat there — hands in your lap, quiet. You looked so peaceful. It was the first time I realised the structure was doing something to us. Calming something.”

Charlie nodded slowly. “It made me feel smaller in a good way. Like I didn’t have to hold so much. Just do what I was told. And do it right.”

Their voices dropped even more. They didn’t often talk about it like this — the weight of their rituals, the reverence they’d grown into. The way they had started kneeling for each other, not because anyone had told them to, but because it felt right. Because they wanted to.

“Do you remember the first time we did the full ritual?” Charlie asked. “Blazers on the hooks, kneesocks perfectly pulled, shoes lined up on the mat?”

“I remember the quiet,” Harry replied. “And how it made me feel grounded. Like I was meant to be here.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, not needing to explain the rest. The way they’d begun using those moments — the slow, careful polish, the soft cloth, the bowed head, the tongue across the leather — not just as maintenance, but as reflection. As a way of saying I respect you. I’m one of you. I want to belong

“It means more now,” Charlie said, fiddling absently with the crest on his tie. “Because we chose it. Not because we were forced. Because it gives us something.”

Harry nodded. “It makes us quiet inside. Makes the noise stop. When we’re in uniform… when we kneel to polish, or stand still during hymns or inspection, or just follow the routine — I feel proud. Not of being different. Of being the same.”

Charlie gave a small smile. “I like being part of something.”

They both sat back a little, the last of the sunlight fading. Outside, bells began to ring for supper. But neither of them moved just yet. They sat in the silence, in their tidy room with its straight lines and folded shirts, and let themselves feel the peace that came with belonging.

And later, after dinner and shoes off, they’d kneel again in the lamplight. Cloth in hand, polish in palm, not as a chore but as a ritual. As something that reminded them who they were now.

Not individuals struggling to be different — but two boys, part of something larger, steadied by rules, bound by routine, and closer than ever.

After inspection, chapel, and a double period of recitation, Harry and Charlie returned to their room in silence.

Their steps were measured — Clarks school shoes clicking softly on the polished corridor tiles. The head prefect had nodded approvingly at their turnout, and Mr. Kettering’s eyes had flickered, just for a moment, with pride. But neither boy mentioned it aloud. In Auralia, praise was best absorbed quietly.

It was Saturday evening, their only unstructured hour of the week. The lamplight was low, the blinds drawn against the red-gold sky. Harry knelt beside his trunk and drew out the shoe care kit: brushes, cloths, polish tin — and two flannel squares folded precisely.

Charlie moved to the chair by his bed and sat with his hands on his thighs. Without a word, Harry knelt in front of him. He eased Charlie’s right shoe forward, rested his hand on the heel, and brought his face close.

They did this each week.

It had begun in Form II — a quiet gesture of respect and solidarity after they’d both received demerits for scuffed shoes. They had polished one another’s as a sign of renewal, of shared commitment to the code. Over time, it became more than that — a wordless ceremony between them.

Harry looked at the toe cap of Charlie’s school shoe. Impeccable, but dull from the day. He lowered his head and, with a single careful movement, ran the flat of his tongue across the leather.

Then another stroke. Slow. Reverent. Polished with breath and care.

Charlie watched quietly. Not out of dominance, but duty — he would do the same next. Though he could not resist the soft gasps that escaped his lips with each pass of Harry’s tongue across the leather.

When Harry was finished, he buffed the leather with the flannel. The shoe gleamed. He moved to the other foot and repeated the act, slower this time, as if the shoe were a vessel holding something sacred.

Then they switched places.

Charlie knelt before Harry. He did not speak. He placed his palm on the heel, steadied the foot, and brought his mouth to the shoe. The leather was warm from wear, faintly scented with polish and dust from the chapel floor. He licked, slow and deliberate, each motion a sign of care. Listening for the soft gasps and moans let out by Harry.

When he finished, both boys sat on the carpet cross-legged, shoes before them, shining in the lamplight.

It wasn’t strange. Not to them. It was something ancient and private — an expression of devotion not just to each other, but to the standards they had chosen to uphold. In a country where boys were shaped from the outside in, this was their way of shaping one another.

Charlie broke the silence. “Tomorrow we have scouts.”

“Our scout shoes will need preparation,” Harry replied, already picturing the more rugged leather, the higher lacing, the sharper tread. Still from Clarks. Still proper shoes for boys like them.

Charlie nodded. “You’ll shine mine?”

“Of course.”

They rose, placed the shoe kit back into the trunk, and changed into their sleeping shorts. The shoes were returned to their place at the foot of the beds, aligned heel to heel. As they switched off the lamp, the leather still caught the last glow.

The Right Shape of Things

In the dormitory of St. Augustine's College for Boys, two beds sat perfectly made, two trunks aligned precisely at their feet. The window overlooked the school’s eastern field, where the flag of Auralia hung still in the morning calm. Inside, under the warm glow of the bedside lamp, two boys sat side by side on one bed, backs straight, knees together, hands resting evenly on their thighs.

Harry Clarke and Charlie Haswell had shared this room since Form I. Now, midway through Form III, they were inseparable — not in the boisterous, messy way of boys in looser countries, but in the composed, wordless symmetry that came from years of being shaped together.

They wore the standard school uniform: navy wool blazers, crisp white shirts, blue-and-gold ties pulled tight around their necks, grey shorts sharp with the ironed crease. Long black kneesocks. Polished Clarks school shoes, their leather shining from last night’s polish inspection.

This morning was special. They both felt it. Their tutor, Mr. Kettering, had selected them for Prefect Orientation Preview — a privilege rarely extended before Form IV. It meant longer duties, earlier inspections, stricter grooming. But also: pride, structure, respect.

Harry broke the silence. “Do you think we will pass the inspection?”

Charlie gave a tiny nod. “We always do.”

“You remembered to fold your extra socks in fours?”

“I always do.”

A pause.

“Do you… ever wish we had more say?” Harry asked suddenly.

Charlie glanced at him, surprised. “About what?”

“I don’t know. About what to wear. Or how to spend our Sunday afternoons.”

Charlie considered it. “Sometimes,” he said honestly. “But then… I remember what it felt like before I knew where my shoes went.”

Harry smiled faintly. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

They had both arrived at St. Augustine's young. Neither remembered life outside Auralia very well they had moved here when they were very young. Just impressions of clutter, late bedtimes, clothes chosen on a whim. That life had felt large and uncertain. Here, life had edges. Here, they had purpose.

“I like the sound shoes make,” Charlie said quietly. “The Clarks shoes. When you’re walking across chapel floor. That echo. That order.”

Harry nodded again. “And the feel of kneesocks pulled tight.”

They sat together in silence, listening to the distant toll of the tower bell. It was nearly inspection time, which meant the final touches.

Harry knelt first, looking at Charlie in the way he had 100s of times before. Charlie gave a gentle nod and Harry lent down, placing his lips to the top of Charlies shoe, then gently he licked the shoe clean, a final shine before inspection. Then again to the other shoe.

Then it was Charlie’s turn, and he knelt as Harry stood, and waited for the nod. He kissed the shoes, then he licked. Charlie had always loved that he and Harry had matching shoes.

But this wasn’t fetish, or kink. This wasn’t for that, it was reverence. Showing respect, to the order. The structure. The Auralian way of life they had grown to love so much.

When it was done, they stood side by side, they walked to the door. Shoes aligned, blazers smoothed, hair neatly parted and flattened. Neither boy smiled, but something inside each of them stirred: a deep satisfaction in the simple clarity of their lives.