The Color Thief

Listen This Story

The rain in Oakhaven was not blue. It was not silver. It was a relentless, flat gray, falling upon gray cobblestones, washing down into gray gutters.

Kael sat perched on the gargoyle of the Sanctum Cathedral, his hood pulled low. To anyone else, the city was a sketch of charcoal and slate. The people were silhouettes of ash. The sky was a ceiling of lead.

But Kael’s eyes were broken. Or perhaps, they were the only ones that worked.

While the rest of the world saw only values of light and dark, Kael saw the Pulse. He saw it in the forbidden places. A flicker of something hot and dangerous on the tip of a match (he called it “Orange”). A deep, soothing hum in the leaves of the High Magister’s private garden (he called it “Green”).

In Oakhaven, Color was not just a visual trait. It was Magic. And it was strictly forbidden.

The Magisters, the ruling elite who lived in the Prism Tower, hoarded it all. They drained the world of its vibrancy to fuel their sorcery, leaving the common folk to rot in a monochromatic purgatory.

Kael wasn’t a hero. He was a thief. And tonight, he was hungry.

The Target

Below him, a carriage rumbled through the square. It wasn’t the usual merchant cart; this one was lacquered in a glossy, obsidian finish. Flanking it were four guards in armor that didn’t shine—it absorbed the light.

Kael squinted. Through the small, barred window of the carriage, he saw it.

A pulse. A radiant, screaming heartbeat of Blue.

It was resting on the lap of Magister Vane. A sapphire the size of a fist, glowing with an internal ocean of power.

Kael’s mouth watered. Not for food, but for the sensation. Touching Color was the only time he felt alive. It was a rush of adrenaline, a song in his blood.

He stood up on the gargoyle, balancing on the balls of his feet. He checked his grappling hook. He adjusted his gloves.

“Time to paint,” he whispered.

The Heist

He dropped. The wind rushed past his ears, a gray blur. He timed it perfectly, landing with a soft thud on the roof of the moving carriage.

The guards didn’t look up. They were trained to look for threats in the shadows, not from the sky.

Kael slid down the back of the carriage. He hung upside down, his legs hooked around the rear axle frame. He peered into the rear window.

Magister Vane was asleep, his pale, spider-like fingers curled loosely around the sapphire.

Kael pulled a glass cutter from his belt. He didn’t cut the glass; that would make noise. He used a small vial of acid—stolen from an alchemist—to weaken the hinges.

With a gentle pry, the window popped open.

Kael reached in. The air inside the carriage was cold, but the sapphire radiated warmth. His fingers brushed the stone.

ZAP.

A shockwave of energy shot up his arm. It tasted like ice and lightning. It smelled like ozone.

He grabbed the stone.

Vane’s eyes snapped open. They were milky white, blind to the world but keen to magic.

“Thief!” Vane shrieked.

Kael didn’t hesitate. He yanked the stone free, kicked off the carriage, and rolled onto the cobblestones.

The Power of Blue

He scrambled to his feet, clutching the sapphire to his chest. The world around him warped.

Usually, the alleyway was a dark tunnel. But with the Blue in his hand, Kael saw pathways of light. He saw the water in the puddles glowing with potential energy.

“Stop him!” Vane screamed from the carriage. The guards drew their swords.

Kael looked at the guards. He looked at the sapphire. He didn’t know how to use magic—he just knew how to steal it. But the stone seemed to guide him. It wanted to be used.

He thrust his hand forward.

“Freeze!” he yelled, not as a command, but as an intent.

A blast of azure light erupted from the stone. It hit the wet cobblestones. Instantly, the water flash-froze. The guards slipped, crashing into each other in a pile of clanking gray metal.

Kael stared at his hand. He hadn’t just stolen a gem. He had stolen the concept of Winter.

The Pursuit

He ran. He sprinted through the labyrinth of the Lower District. The alarm bells of the Prism Tower began to toll—a deep, mournful sound that vibrated in his teeth.

He wasn’t just running from guards now. He was running from the Seekers—shadowy constructs made of pure absence. They were the Magisters’ hunting dogs, creatures stripped of all light.

Kael turned a corner and skidded to a halt. A Seeker blocked his path. It was a tall, faceless humanoid shape, like a hole cut out of reality.

It reached for him. Kael felt his energy draining. The Blue in his hand dimmed.

“You cannot hold the light,” the Seeker whispered, its voice sounding like tearing paper. “You are nothing.”

Kael looked around. He needed an escape. He looked up. A clothesline stretched across the alley. A red shirt hung there—faded, old, but retaining a tiny spark of Red.

Kael didn’t have the red stone, but he had the sight. He focused on the shirt. He pulled on the memory of fire.

He channeled the Blue magic into the Red object.

BOOM.

Steam exploded where the energies collided. The sudden fog blinded the Seeker. Kael scrambled up a drainpipe, coughing, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm.

The Sanctuary

He reached the rooftops, jumping from chimney to chimney until he reached the Ruined Sector. This was where the “Colorless” lived—people who had given up hope, who sat in the streets staring at nothing.

Kael slipped into a hidden basement beneath an old bakery.

“You’re late,” a voice croaked.

Silas sat in a rocking chair. He was the oldest man in Oakhaven, blind since birth, yet he saw more than anyone.

“I got it,” Kael said, placing the sapphire on the table. The room, usually pitch black, was suddenly bathed in a soft, aquatic glow.

Silas smiled, his teeth yellow in the blue light. “The Eye of the Ocean. Vane will be furious.”

“I used it, Silas,” Kael said, looking at his hands. “I froze the guards. I made steam. It… it felt like I was remembering a language I never learned.”

“That is because you are a Prism, boy,” Silas said. “Before the Magisters built the Tower, everyone could do this. Color wasn’t something you held; it was something you felt. Anger was red fire. Sadness was blue rain. Joy was yellow light. The Magisters didn’t just steal the gems; they stole our humanity.”

The History of Gray

Silas stood up and walked to a map on the wall. It was drawn in charcoal.

“The Prism Tower,” Silas pointed to the spire in the center of the city. “At the top, there is the Grand Spectrum. It is a vortex. It sucks the color out of the sky, the earth, the people. It funnels it all into the Magisters.”

“If I steal it…” Kael started.

“You can’t steal the Spectrum, Kael. It’s too big. You have to break it.”

Kael laughed, a harsh sound. “Break into the most guarded room in the world and smash the source of all godhood? I’m a pickpocket, Silas. Not a revolutionary.”

“You are the only one who can see the lasers,” Silas said. “The traps in the Tower are made of light. Invisible to us. Bright as day to you.”

Kael looked at the sapphire. He thought of the gray rain. He thought of the mother he saw yesterday, weeping gray tears over a gray cradle.

“If I do this,” Kael said, “I keep the biggest ruby for myself.”

“If you do this,” Silas grinned, “you won’t need a ruby. You’ll have the sun.”

The Plan

The plan was madness. Kael would use the Blue stone to freeze the moat around the Tower. He would use a stolen Yellow topaz (which Silas had been hiding in his false leg) to bend light and turn invisible.

“Yellow is tricky,” Silas warned. “It is the color of deceit and speed. Do not let it consume you, or you will flicker out of existence forever.”

Kael took the Topaz. It felt like holding a handful of nervous bees. It buzzed against his skin.

He strapped the Sapphire to his left wrist and the Topaz to his right.

“Tonight,” Kael said. “We paint the town.”

The Ascent

The Prism Tower was a monolith of black glass. It had no doors, only windows high up.

Kael stood at the edge of the moat. The water was black sludge. He tapped the Sapphire. Freeze.

A bridge of ice formed instantly. He ran across, his boots slipping.

He reached the wall. He tapped the Topaz.

His body shimmered. He looked down and saw the cobblestones through his stomach. He was invisible.

He began to climb. The wall was smooth, but with the Topaz, he could move fast, vibrating at a speed that allowed him to cling to microscopic imperfections.

He reached the balcony of the 50th floor. He pulled himself up.

The hallway ahead was empty. Or so it seemed.

To Kael’s eyes, it was a spiderweb of burning Green lasers. Acid magic. One touch and he would melt.

He danced through them. He moved like smoke, twisting his body in impossible shapes, guided by the colors that no guard could see.

The Grand Spectrum

He reached the heavy double doors at the top. They were made of white gold.

He didn’t have a key. But he had Blue and Yellow.

He combined them. Green.

He placed both hands on the lock. The mixture of freezing cold and frantic speed created a corrosive frequency. The metal groaned, rusted, and crumbled in seconds.

Kael kicked the doors open.

He was inside the Chamber of the Spectrum.

It was blinding.

In the center of the room, floating in mid-air, was a ball of pure, chaotic light. It shifted from purple to crimson to emerald. It was screaming silently.

Standing in front of it was the Grand Magister, a tall woman in robes that shifted color like an oil slick.

“I expected you,” she said. Her voice echoed from everywhere. “The little rat who thinks he can gnaw at the sun.”

“I don’t want to gnaw,” Kael said, stepping forward. “I want to share.”

The Magister laughed. She raised her hand. A whip of pure Red fire lashed out.

Kael didn’t dodge. He held up the Sapphire. Blue met Red. Steam exploded, filling the room.

Kael used the cover. He tapped the Topaz. He vanished.

The Magister looked around, confused. “Coward!”

Kael wasn’t hiding. He was climbing the Spectrum itself. He jumped onto the floating crystals surrounding the central ball.

The Shattering

 

He stood above the Grand Spectrum. The energy was tearing him apart. His skin was blistering from the heat of the Red, freezing from the Blue, aging from the Purple.

“Get down!” the Magister screamed, realizing his intent.

Kael looked at the city below, a dull gray stain through the glass floor.

“Let there be light,” Kael whispered.

He didn’t use the stones. He used his fist. He put every ounce of his thief’s strength, every year of gray misery, into one punch.

He punched the Grand Spectrum.

CRACK.

It didn’t sound like glass breaking. It sounded like a choir taking a breath.

The ball exploded.

Kael was thrown backward, crashing through the window of the tower. He fell.

But he didn’t hit the ground.

A wave of energy caught him. A wind made of Gold.

Below him, the shockwave swept over Oakhaven.

The gray cobblestones turned a warm, earthy brown. The gray rain turned crystalline blue. The gray trees burst into vibrant green. The gray flags on the castle turned royal purple.

Kael landed softly in the town square.

He looked up. The Magister was gone, her power evaporated with the hoard. The Prism Tower was now just a clear glass building, reflecting the sun.

People were rushing out of their houses. A child pointed at a flower, screaming in delight as it turned yellow. A baker laughed as his dough turned golden brown.

Silas walked out of the alley, his eyes still blind, but smiling. “I can feel it,” he said. “The warmth.”

Kael looked at his hands. The Sapphire and Topaz were gone, dissolved into dust. He had no magic left.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a single, small red apple he had swiped from the tower before jumping. It was bright, shiny red.

He took a bite. It tasted sweet. It tasted like victory.

“Not bad,” the Color Thief said. “Not bad at all.”