Seven rules that never move — everything else bends. They are not aspirations: each is enforced in the wiring and tested on every release, and every component page notes which laws it carries.
The interface is the guest.
You are the house. Aura holds one disciplined core and takes the owner's shape — theme, density, motion, address — without asking twice. Two hands hold the pen: yours, and the team's as it learns you. Yours always writes over theirs.
One accent means do.
A single accent carries every actionable moment — Morna ink by default (black on light, white on dark), or any color the owner picks, derived per theme so it always reads. If it is not the next step, it does not get the accent. Nothing else on the surface is allowed to compete for it.
Authorship is always named.
Every piece of work says who did it — a name, a role, an initial, a glyph. Identity is never carried by hue: the eight cabinet colors were retired, and every --prov-* token now resolves to one neutral gray, so a semantic color can never be mistaken for a specialist.
Proof is earned.
A figure renders only when every component of it traces to a live source. When a source goes quiet, the number is withheld — the system would rather go dark than lie. Proof is the evidence contract and the state label; it was never the font, and it is no longer expressed as one.
Shape says what. Light says who.
Instruction is carried by form — a dot is unread, a hollow bar asks, a filled bar is approved. Identity is carried by light. Two independent axes; a colorblind owner reads the morning perfectly.
Motion is meaning.
Every animation marks a real change of state, on a named clock — breathe, listen, think, act. Everything else moves on one of four interaction speeds (90 · 120 · 180 · 260ms). “Reduced” is a choice, honored everywhere, not just an OS flag.
The page ends.
Surfaces are finite and say so. Aura is a design system for software you are encouraged to leave — the product works best when you are not looking at it.