Take the files. Keep the soul.
The visual language of the COAL universe — the mark and its renders, the heart, motion, color and type, with files you can take. These principles guide, they don't dictate. Use them with discretion. Break them with intent.
The wordmark
One mark, cut from the seam. On dark it burns white; on light it goes coal-black. Clear space: one letter-height on every side. Minimum width: 80px — below that he stops breathing.
Don't stretch him · don't outline him · don't recolor him · don't tilt him · no shadows — he's been through the fire.
The broken heart
The crack isn't damage — it's the record. White on dark grounds, crimson on light. Keep the crack exactly as drawn; never redraw it, never mend it.
04 · Motion — three seconds of the seam splitting open. Loop it whole; don't trim it, don't slow him down.
The mark, rendered.
Ten official cuts of the wordmark — chrome, thermal, glitch, neon. Numbered, in order. Use them big, use them loud — don't redraw, don't recolor.
Nº 01 · holographic chrome
Nº 02 · thermal melt
Nº 03 · spectral outline
Nº 04 · white drip
Nº 05 · neon double
Nº 06 · chrome
Nº 07 · brushed chrome
Nº 08 · dark chrome
Nº 09 · cyan neon
Nº 10 · grain chrome
Palette
Coal first. Crimson only where it matters — the heart, the crack, the call to action. Grey carries the content.
Black gradient · #1E1E1E → #000000
Red gradient · #8D0217 → #270106
Grey · #CBCBCB → #656565
Urbanist — the only voice.
One family; weight does the talking. Display at 700, headings at 600, body at 400. Free on Google Fonts — no licences to burn. Hover the specimen.
He feels everything. He goes anyway.
Two hundred were cut from the same seam.
Born with a red heart in a world that never learned to hold one. The crack in his chest isn't the damage — it's the record.
How he sounds.
Speak low. Mean it.
Short sentences. Long silences.
Tender — but with soot on its hands.
Never cute. Never loud. Never begging.
Missing something? The kit grows. Ask for the file you need — we@coal.art