Graydon took the E-Tram back to Chromapolis central and stepped onto the busy streets, his mind still occupied with the heavy book under his arm.

Since he had been unable to find anyone at the library to officially check the book out, he had decided to do the job himself. The library software wasn’t hard to figure out and he created a temporary account under the username “Fearless Leader” he remembered from the very forum that had brought him there. He checked it out until the end of the month with the solemn intent of returning it. He had also left a note with the book’s title, notation and return date in the place it had stood. It felt like the right thing to do.

The familiar hum of the city washed over him, but his thoughts remained focused on the book and the mysteries unfolding around him.

As he moved toward Chromapolis University, once again, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something or someone was watching him. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the shadowy figure from the library. But the streets were as bustling as usual, a steady stream of people moving in perfect synchronisation, each caught up in their own carefully curated world of colour and light.

He passed a narrow alleyway, its shadows darker than usual, and then he saw him. A man standing at a corner, wearing an outlandish, shimmering outfit. Sequin robes that reflected the light in an almost unnatural way, shifting and undulating with every movement. What struck Graydon most was the man’s hat. It was an iridescent creation that caught the light with every subtle movement, throwing off patterns of shifting colour that seemed almost alive. The hat seemed to be something out of time or place. It was wide-brimmed and the crown rose into a conical peak, not sharp, but rounded at the end. A mix of a witches hat from a childrens’ story and a shimmering bell. Its strange shimmer and unplaceable shape reminded Graydon of the figure he had noticed the previous evening, the one who seemed to be following him through the shadows and stood outside his apartment complex. Graydon took a step back and darted through the alley he’d just passed, but when he came out on the other side, the man stepped into his path, blocking his way.

“Ah, the Gray Man,” the man said, his voice a strange mixture of reverence and excitement. “At last. I have found you.”

Graydon stopped in his tracks. His heart began to race, and he looked around, half-expecting to see a crowd of followers emerge from the shadows. But there was no one else, just the two of them in the alley.

“Who are you?” Graydon asked, his voice steady but wary.

“I am Brother Prismatica,” the man replied, his arms raised as though offering a blessing. “A humble servant of the Chromatic Transcendence, chosen to reveal the path to the Infinite Spectrum. And you,” he said, his voice lowering with dramatic emphasis, “you are the Void Shepherd. The prophesied one who will lead us into the colourless enlightenment we all seek.”

The absurdity of the situation was overwhelming. Void Shepherd? Colourless enlightenment? What was this guy talking about? Graydon blinked, unsure whether to laugh or run.

In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but reflect on what little he knew about the Church of Chromatic Transcendence. They had always seemed like the kind of group that lurked on the edges of Chromapolis’s peripheral neighborhoods. To his mind they were extrovert lunatics wrapped in too many vibrant colours and spouting off about enlightenment, transcendence, and some form of spiritual ascension. To the average person, they were a joke: their sequin robes and raucous street sermons that filled the air with absurd promises of Colour Harmony and Perfect Spectrum Synchronization. It was all a garish spectacle and no more serious than a weekend festival on Infinite Colour Pills. Not that Graydon had ever tried any. As to the Chromatic Transendence movement, he had always dismissed them as a fringe cult, a crowd of overly-enthusiastic, drug-addled „chromatics“ looking for a way to justify their bizarre lifestyle. The way they would mix kaleidoscopic colours into their wardrobe, turning the streets into a kind of walking light show, made him sick. His friends, well, the ones who bothered to socialize with him, joked that they were like „daylight vampires“ who thrived on the latest hues of synthetic enlightenment.

He had assumed the Church was just another cult in a city full of them. People desperate to find meaning in the overstimulating, hyper-colourized world around them, drowning out the growing sense of emptiness with an overdose of manufactured, consumer-driven good vibes. Even the name sounded ridiculous: Chromatic Transcendence. The idea that someone could transcend by harmonizing their Colour Harmony Profiles (CHPs) had always struck Graydon as laughable. It sounded like a corporate-sponsored version of spirituality wrapped in a pretty, technicolour bow. The teachings seemed just as absurd as their promise to achieve „elevated consciousness“ by simply calibrating one’s colours to the right frequency.  

„Void Shepherd?,“ Graydon asked incredulously, turning the phrase over in his mind.

“Yes, I knew it’s you!” Prismatica exclaimed enthusiastically, his eyes gleaming under the shifting colours of his hat. “The rumours have spread like wildfire. You are the Gray Man. The one who refuses to wear colours, who sees through the illusion of Chromapolis. You walk in the shadow of the Infinite Spectrum. You, my friend, are destined to bring us the truth.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Graydon replied, his voice tinged with confusion. “And I don’t have time for whatever it is you’re selling.”

“Selling?” Brother Prismatica laughed, a sound that was too loud, too sharp. “I do not sell anything. I offer salvation. Chromatic Transcendence is the key. By harmonizing our Colour Harmony Profiles we ascend. We become one with the Infinite Spectrum.”

Graydon raised an eyebrow. “The Infinite Spectrum?”

“Yes!” Prismatica said, his arms flung wide as though to encompass the entire city.

“The light that binds us, the colour that governs us, it is all an illusion. And yet, it is only through the perfect harmony with it that we can transcend to break free of the colours and enter the realm of purity. Blessed be the colourless plane of enlightenment, which thou art forging for us. Thou who art free from the ceaseless and relentless saturation of hues. Void Shepherd guide us through, beyond the hues of what is true.”

Prismatica leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’ve seen the signs, Graydon Pallor. The Void Shepherd walks among us, and you are he. The book you carry, the truth you seek? It is all part of the same divine plan. The darkness you are uncovering is the first step toward the monochrome salvation of us all.”

Graydon took a step back, his stomach churning.

Why did everyone suddenly know his name?

He wanted to laugh it off, to brush the man off as a delusional charlatan, but something about the intensity in the man‘s eyes made him hesitate.

“Look, I don’t know who you think I am. But I’m certainly not I your shepherd, or whatever ,” Graydon said, his voice firm but uncertain.

„Void Shepherd“ , Prismatica corrected him undeterred. „And you are. You’ll see. The Infinite Spectrum is not for everyone. But you, Graydon Pallor, you will understand. You are the one who will bring the light to those of us who still wander in the shadows. That was my message to you. My duty is done.”

Then, without warning he stepped forward. Graydon flinched and jerked to the side, nearly letting the book fall.

Prismatica laughed and darted past Graydon, running down the alleyway.

„See you at the other end of the Spectrum, Void Shepherd.” He called back, leaving behind a startled Graydon.

Graydon stared down the now empty alleyway.

Had everyone gone crazy?

He shook his head as if to shake away the entire encounter. He was heading for the University of Chromapolis, he reminded himself.