The Morning Routine

Super Marker Buck stretched his powerful legs as morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Marker Buck Fortress. His blue and black supersuit gleamed, and his red cape fluttered slightly in the breeze from the ventilation system. He adjusted his blue mask and walked toward his favorite balcony overlooking Canvas Forest Metropolis.

The city bustled below. Humanoid deer hurried to work alongside humans, their hooves clicking on the sidewalks. Steam rose from coffee carts, and the familiar sounds of city life drifted upward.

Buck summoned his giant marker with a quick gesture. The massive writing tool materialized in his hand, glowing with a soft blue light. He had been working on a new sketch yesterday—something ambitious. A dragon design that he hoped would look spectacular when complete.

"Time to finish that drawing," Buck said to himself, walking toward his art studio in the fortress's east tower.

But as he approached the room, something felt different. The door stood slightly ajar, though he remembered closing it firmly last night.

The Empty Canvas

Buck pushed the studio door open wider and stepped inside. His breath caught in his throat.

The dragon he had been sketching was gone from the paper. Completely gone. The large canvas sat empty on his easel, showing only faint pencil marks where the magnificent creature had been yesterday.

"That's impossible," Buck muttered, his antlers catching the morning light streaming through the window.

A sudden crash echoed from outside the fortress. Buck rushed to the window and looked down at Canvas Forest Metropolis. His jaw dropped.

A massive purple dragon soared between the buildings, breathing orange flames that turned into floating musical notes instead of fire. Citizens scattered as the dragon landed on top of the Canvas Festival stage where musicians had been setting up for tonight's concert.

The dragon wasn't destroying anything. It was dancing. Its tail swayed to some unheard rhythm as it spun around the stage, knocking over speakers and microphones.

Buck's giant marker materialized in his hand. "My drawing came to life," he whispered.

Another crash sounded from his studio. Buck spun around to see his easel had fallen over, and wet paint was spreading across the floor in impossible swirling patterns.