Part 1
As the Monochrome Canvas dimension shattered, the colors of the real world rushed back in, as if taking a relieved breath after being trapped for so long. The twilight sky, once gray, now radiated with orange hues again, the faded city lights shone brightly once more, and shadows regained their depth. However, a silence still enveloped the ruined intersection, a silence that now felt different—not empty, but filled with anticipation.
Chroma stood trembling amidst the rubble, her large brush lying beside her bare feet. Her silent sobs were the only sound to be heard. Gray tears streamed down her pale cheeks, each drop seeming to carry the weight of years of despair.
Kael took a slow step forward, his heart aching at the sight. He stopped a few steps in front of Chroma, not wanting to startle her. The hand he had offered earlier was still in the air, a silent, patient gesture.
"It's okay," Kael said gently, his voice like a whisper. "It's okay to be in pain. It's okay to feel that your work isn't perfect. It means you care."
Lyra, who had been standing guard, now lowered her scythe. The giant weapon vanished into particles of light. She looked at Chroma with a complex expression. As an entity also born from loss and longing, she was perhaps the only one who could understand, even if just a little, what the little girl in front of her was feeling. She took a few steps back, giving Kael space.
Chroma lifted her bowed head. Her wet, gray-blue eyes looked at Kael's hand, then at Kael's face, which showed sincere empathy.
"But… if it's not perfect… it will be judged," Chroma whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible. "They will say… it's not good. Like… like he did."
"He?" Kael asked.
Through his resonance, a faint image appeared in Kael's mind. A vast art studio. A large man with black hair and a sharp gaze—Vincent Volkov—stood before a massive canvas. Beside him, a little girl with pale blue hair hopefully showed him a small painting.
The man only glanced at it briefly, too focused on his own masterpiece. "That's not the way, child. The colors are wrong. The composition is weak. You have to feel more deeply," he said, his voice not meant to be cruel, just the critique of a perfectionist master.
But for a little girl who worshipped her father, those words were a verdict. 'Not good enough'. A sentence that echoed until it finally froze her heart, making her want to erase all color so that nothing could be judged as 'wrong' again.
Kael understood now. Chroma wasn't an evil spirit. She was the echo of a child's despair, whose love for art was broken by the standards of the person she loved most.
"Your father… he probably didn't mean it that way," Kael said softly. "Maybe he just wanted you to be the greatest artist, just like him. But his way was wrong. His way hurt you."
He took another step closer. "But look at me. I'm not an artist. I don't know anything about composition or color. But when I saw your drawing on the alley wall… the drawing of you and your father… I felt something. I felt your longing. It was… a very powerful painting."
Chroma's eyes widened slightly.
"A painting doesn't have to be technically perfect to touch someone's heart," Kael continued. "It just has to be honest. And your painting, your feelings, are very honest."
Kael held out his hand again. "So, will you paint again? Not for your father. Not for anyone else. But for yourself. Paint what you feel right now."
Chroma looked at Kael's outstretched hand, then at her own trembling hands. After a silence that felt eternal, she slowly, very slowly, raised her hand and touched the tips of Kael's fingers.
The moment their skin touched, a strange, warm sensation flowed into Chroma. And for the first time, a color appeared in her gray world. A single drop of pale blue, the same color as her hair, emerged from the tip of her brush lying on the ground.
The drop fell onto the asphalt, and from it, a small, blue crystal flower bloomed among the cracks.
The large brush beside her slowly faded into light particles. Her unstable power was now calm. Just like Lyra, she lost consciousness, her small body slumping forward.
Kael swiftly caught her, holding her gently in his arms. The little girl felt incredibly light, as if made only of dust and dreams.
Part 2
"The situation is… under control."
Rina's voice came from behind. She approached, her face showing clear relief. Around them, Order teams began to move in, securing the area.
"You did it again, Kael," Rina said, her tone this time filled with genuine admiration. "You're truly… incredible."
Kael just gave a tired smile, holding the sleeping Chroma. "I just said what she needed to hear."
Lyra came closer, looking at Chroma in Kael's arms with a curious gaze. "She… won't hurt Kael anymore?"
"She won't," Kael reassured her. "She just needs a friend."
Lyra nodded slowly, seemingly accepting the explanation, though a slight pout formed on her face at the sight of Kael holding another girl.
At the command post, Commander Kirana let out a long sigh, a heavy weight seemingly lifted from her shoulders. "Incredible… absolutely incredible," she murmured. "Prepare a medical team. And… prepare another room in Mr. Vance's apartment."
An aide beside her looked surprised. "Commander? You mean…?"
"You heard me," Commander Kirana said firmly. "This Phantasm, 'Chroma', is just like 'Lyra'. Her stability will likely be tied to Kael. We can't risk separating them. As of today, Kaelen Vance's 'family' has one more member."
The aide could only nod in resignation. Logic and protocol, it seemed, no longer applied when it came to the Resonator.
A few days later, in Kael's penthouse apartment.
The atmosphere had become more… crowded. And weirder.
Lyra now had a "rival" for Kael's attention, although the competition was very one-sided. Chroma, who was now conscious but still very quiet, would sit silently in a corner of the room, just drawing on a large sketchbook Kael had given her. She no longer drew gray landscapes, but was beginning to try using colored pencils. Most of her drawings were of Kael, Lyra, or Elara, in still-hesitant strokes.
Elara, with her boundless energy, tried to get Chroma to play games, but Chroma would just stare at her blankly before returning to her sketchbook.
"She's even quieter than Sis Lyra!" Elara complained to Kael.
At that moment, Kael was trying to help Lyra with her homework.
"No, Lyra, 5 times 8 is not 'Star Eight'," Kael explained patiently for the third time.
"But eight is a beautiful number. Like a constellation," Lyra replied with her own logic.
Kael could only massage his forehead.
Suddenly, Chroma got up from her corner and walked over to Kael. She held out her sketchbook.
It was a drawing of the four of them—Kael, Elara, Lyra, and herself—sitting together at the dining table. The drawing was still simple, but for the first time, it was full of color. Kael was drawn in a warm brown, Elara in a cheerful orange, Lyra in silver and blue, and herself in a pale blue.
Above the drawing, Chroma had written a single word in a rainbow of colored pencils.
"Family."
Kael smiled genuinely. He gently ruffled Chroma's pale blue hair. "This is… the most beautiful painting I've ever seen, Chroma."
A very faint pink blush appeared on Chroma's usually blank face.
From across the table, Lyra watched the interaction, her lips pouting slightly. She then scooted closer to Kael, as if to assert her position.
Kael sighed with a smile. His life was now filled with a jealous cosmic Phantasm, a quiet artist Phantasm, and a hyperactive little sister.
This was going to be a very, very long semester.
But looking at the warmth in his apartment, surrounded by his strange "family," he wouldn't trade it for anything.
However, somewhere in the city, a sinister plan continued to unfold. And the mystery of Rina's father and his connection to this new Phantasm remained unsolved, a shadow waiting to be unveiled in the next chapter.