Morning Light

Crayon Gingerbread Man soared through the morning sky above Candy Land, his black supersuit gleaming in the sunlight. Blue gloves gripped the wind as he descended toward the Art Gallery Bakery, a magnificent fortress at the center of the sugary kingdom.

"Perfect day for painting," he said, landing gracefully on the cobblestone courtyard.

The bakery's walls sparkled with rainbow frosting, and colorful banners fluttered from its towers. Inside, the scent of fresh cookies mixed with oil paint and creativity. Crayon admired the gallery walls lined with his latest masterpieces—landscapes of Gumdrop Mountains, portraits of Candy Cane villagers, and abstract swirls of chocolate rivers.

His friend Marshmallow Mia waved from behind the counter, her pink apron dusted with flour. "Morning, Crayon! Ready for today's art class?"

"Always," he grinned, adjusting his blue sunglass goggles.

But something felt different. The morning light seemed... dimmer somehow. Crayon's enhanced senses tingled with an unusual energy he couldn't quite identify.

The Gray Discovery

Crayon stepped into the gallery and froze. His blue goggles nearly slipped off his gingerbread face.

Every single painting hung lifeless on the walls—completely gray. The vibrant Gumdrop Mountains looked like stone. The cheerful Candy Cane villagers appeared ghostly. Even his favorite chocolate river swirls had turned to ash-colored smudges.

"Mia!" he called, his voice echoing through the bakery.

Marshmallow Mia, the young woman with blonde hair in a neat bun, rushed from the kitchen. Her brown eyes widened as she saw the colorless gallery.

"What happened to your paintings?" she gasped, flour still dusting her pink apron.

Crayon activated his power sensing ability, scanning the room. Strange energy signatures lingered near each frame, but they felt familiar somehow. Too familiar.

"Someone stole all the colors," he said grimly. "But why would anyone want just the colors and leave the paintings themselves?"

Outside, a metallic whooshing sound cut through the morning air. Through the window, a silver disk descended from the clouds, landing behind the bakery with a soft thud.