The Color Thief

The sky had once been blue—at least, that’s what the stories said. Not that anyone in the Low States had ever actually seen it. Here, the world was gray: washed-out concrete streets and buildings, dusty clothing, and ashen skin. Only those lucky enough to reside in the Upper States could afford color. Reds, blues, golds—the best way to flaunt wealth was with color while the rest of the world sulked in the shadows.

But Liza had never been content with the monochromatic lifestyle.

She crouched on the rooftop of a building that had seen much better days, clutching the stolen prism in her gloved hand. The marketplace below was bustling in the usual dull, colorless way. She had no difficulty spotting her target—a portly man in a deep emerald jacket, his wealth nearly screaming through all the vibrant colored fabrics. An Elite, no doubt. The color in his clothing shimmered unnaturally, shifting with each step. Expensive. Synthetic. Obnoxious.

Liza inhaled. Then she jumped.

She landed with practiced ease, weaving through the crowd, her fingers grazing the hem of the man’s coat. The prism pulsed in her grip, a warmth radiating up her arm as the emerald bled from the fabric, siphoned into the device. By the time the bureaucrat noticed his coat had turned to a dull, lifeless gray, Liza had already disappeared into the crowd.

In the Low States, color meant power. The tiniest drop of pigment could be sold for food, medicine, or shelter. Liza didn’t steal for herself, though—she stole for the people who had been stripped of everything.

She slipped into a nearby alley, checking the prism. The stolen green shimmered within, swirling like liquid crystals. She tapped a small panel on the side, transferring the color into a vial. One coat’s worth of green—it wasn’t much, but it could bring warmth to a dozen faces. A little stolen vial of joy, albeit temporary. 

A shadow fell over her. Liza spun, but it was too late. A pair of enforcers loomed, their uniforms dark, their visors reflecting her own stunned expression. She moved to make her escape, but something jabbed into her ribs. 

“Thief,” on of them growled. “You’ve been summoned.”

The baton crackled. Then, darkness.

Myra woke to a bright white.

She had never seen a room so bright and sterile. The colorless walls seemed to hum faintly, lined with some kind of foreign technology. Across from her sat a figure—one of the Elites, draped in silk robes the color of burning sunsets. A woman with sharp eyes and a smug smile. 

“You’ve made quite the reputation for yourself,” the woman began. “Liza, the Color Thief. Menace to society.”

Liza’s mouth tasted like rust. She forced herself into an upright position. “I prefer ‘color redistributor’,” she replied.

The woman laughed. “Charming, but let’s be clear—you now work for me.”

Liza clenched her fists. “Not a chance.”

“Oh, I think you’ll reconsider.” The woman leaned in closer. “We need you to steal something for us. Something a bit…unprecedented.”

She flicked her fingers and a screen blinked to life, displaying an image that made Liza’s breath catch in her throat. 

The sky. Or rather, what remained of it.

Once, a long time ago, the world had been full of color. But through the years of war, pollution, and control, the sky’s hues had been harvested, drained, and sold to the highest bidders. Now, all that remained was a bleak, empty gray. Except in one place.

“The Skyvault,” the woman murmured. “A relic from before.

Contained within it is the last true fragment of the sky’s color. And you are going to steal it for us.”

Myra had pulled of impossible heists before. But breaking into the Skyvault? This was a suicide mission. 

And she had no choice.

The plan was simple, in theory. The vault was locked behind layers of security, hidden beneath the Elite Towers. Liza would infiltrate, extract the sky’s color, and hand it over. If she refused, the Lower States would suffer. Simple.

But Liza had never been good at following orders. 

The night of the heist, she moved like a ghost through the Upper States, the prism hidden beneath her cloak. She bypassed the outer guards, scaled security walls, and slipped into the heart of one of the towers.

The vault shimmered before her, a glass chamber pulsing with the brightest, bluest light she had ever seen. It was beautiful, if not slightly intimidating. A fragment of the past, untouched by turmoil. For a moment, Liza could only bring herself to stare. This was the blue spoken of only in stories. A color stolen from the world. It felt like the only color truly worth fighting for. 

She raised the prism, the device vibrating as it began to siphon the color. The blue swirled and twisted toward her—

And then, alarms. 

The vault doors slammed shut. Liza’s heart pounded. She grabbed the prism and ran, guards swarming in from every direction behind her. She needed an exit. She needed—

A window.

Without thinking, she hurled herself toward the glass. It shattered around her as she plummeted downwards. The prism burned in her hand, the stolen sky roaring within it’s confines. 

She opened her fingers.

The blue exploded outwards, rushing into the sky like a wave of uncontrolled power. IT spread, stretching across the heavens, painting the world in a hue long forgotten. 

People looked up. They gasped. They cried. And some of them remembered. 

The Elites screamed. Their monopoly on color—on power—slipping from their grasp right before their eyes. 

And Liza? She fell, smiling, into the arms of a world she may very well have just saved. She didn’t know what the consequences would be, but she felt in every inch of her being that they would be worth it, no matter the cost. 

There was something freeing about the feeling of hope that had been unleashed with that escaping color, and nothing had ever tasted quite so beautiful to Liza.

Because some things were never meant to be stolen. But rather to be shared.