BEGINNING
"The hardest feeling in the world is being forced to stay in a place where you don’t feel you belong."
— Fyodor Dostoevsky
*
My name is Maya. I’m twenty years old, and I’m different from everyone else living on this planet. You’re probably wondering what kind of difference I’m talking about—let me explain. Unlike everyone else, I have no color. People call me “Colorless.” It sounds terrible, doesn’t it? Being labeled like that instead of having a real name... I don’t know where they come up with these things, but I do know one thing—I don’t like it.
Why “colorless”? On this planet made up of colors, I am none of the ten colors found in other people. My hair is gray. Others have yellow, purple, orange, red hair... There are ten colors in total, and I still don’t understand how I ended up being none of them. I’m gray. The eleventh color—if that’s even possible. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about this planet, it’s that the eleventh color is not welcomed.
They say being different on this planet means you’re mentally unstable. According to them, I’m insane. I can see it in their eyes, hear it in their condescending whispers, feel it in how they change direction to avoid me, how they sneer. It’s infuriating. And yet, the way people treat you seeps into you throughout the day, making you feel small, powerless, and wrong—until it becomes part of your identity.
At first, I would yell at people who stared, lash out, ask them why they looked at me like that. But when I went home afterward, I’d cry out of frustration. I hated myself. I questioned why I was this way, and I blamed my family. I was convinced they were the reason I was like this. I treated them badly, and in return, there were times they didn’t talk to me at all. But other times, they would look me in the eye and tell me I was special. I wasn’t like the others—and that made me beautiful in their eyes. But if that was true, why didn’t anyone else see it?
As time passed, I started to accept their love. I tried to care less about what others thought. When I felt overwhelmed, my parents would remind me of the day I came into their lives and how desperately they had wished for me—though, of course, they hadn’t known I’d be this much trouble.
One midnight, completely out of the blue, a blinding beam of light appeared outside their door. My mother panicked at first, unsure what to do. They had never been able to have children. She woke my father, and they stood staring at the light, trying to figure out what it was. Eventually, my father stepped closer. What they found left them speechless: a glowing orb floating in mid-air, wrapped in tubes, with a baby curled up inside like a fetus.
A childless couple, now with a child sent from the sky—it was unbelievable. They cried. But they also feared it might be a cruel joke. After checking to make sure no one was around, they decided to keep the orb. Then they noticed a note attached to it.
The note read:
“Take good care of this miracle. This is a gift. Remember, she will be different from the others. Always remind her she is special. Give her a name. When she feels lost, tell her how she came to you and read her this note. This child is special—she has been sent to change the planet.
—B.G.”
Even now, I don’t know what makes me so “special.” Yes, I’m different—but it doesn’t feel like a good thing. Still, as I grew older, I learned to manage my emotions, to ignore the stares and the judgment. But the one question that haunted me was: Why was I colorless?
My mother has long, yellow hair and deep blue eyes. When she smiles, little dimples form on her cheeks, making her even more beautiful. Her body is adorned with twenty tattoos, but I know her favorite is the one she got at twenty—the filled heart tattoo on the front of her right shoulder. That one grants her powers.
I learned what her yellow hair and that tattoo meant from the first book I ever owned. It always sat by my bed. It was called “The Personality Guide According to Hair Color”, covered in symbols and patterns representing all ten colors. The first page, written in elegant handwriting, read:
“There are four psychological base colors: red, yellow, blue, and green. Each corresponds to the body, mind, emotions, and the harmony between them. What you’re about to read explains how each base hair color influences a person.”
The book, authored by Naomi Crane, explained everything. People are born with colored hair, and as they grow, nineteen tattoos appear on their bodies. On their twentieth birthday, a final, unique tattoo grants them their core ability. That’s when they’re summoned to Polaris Academy to develop their gifts.
Polaris Academy is a massive city built on a floating sphere. It has fields, playgrounds, parks, and everything students might need. The main building is enormous and painted in all ten colors—like a rainbow suspended in the sky.
Whoever Naomi Crane was, she must’ve studied this world thoroughly. Maybe she wanted to pass her knowledge on to future generations. The guide detailed many traits and powers, though it hinted that things could vary. I wasn’t in a rush to learn everything in it—over time, I learned most of it whether I wanted to or not.
But still, she didn’t mention gray. Why hadn’t she recognized it as a color? Were there never gray-haired people in her research? When I asked my parents who she was, they said they didn’t know. But the book’s accuracy left them no room to question it.
Because my color wasn’t in the guide, people saw me as strange. My dad once told me that when they took me to yellow-haired healers to find out what I was, they were told I didn’t match any known color. At first, they thought I had a disease. No case like mine had ever existed. So they named me “Colorless”—because it was easier than trying to explain what couldn’t be explained. Later, they started calling me “Gray.” And over time, many more nicknames followed. How wonderful, right?
I must mention my father. His long blue hair perfectly suited his personality. His huge yellow eyes mirrored my mother’s hair color, just like her blue eyes matched his hair. They used to say that after they got married, their eye colors changed the next morning. Another sign of their bond was the ring-shaped tattoos that appeared on all ten of their fingers, symbolizing their eternal connection.
The tattoos appear like magic—painless, mysterious. And as I thought about it, it felt only natural to wish for something like that on my own body.
My father, like everyone else, had twenty tattoos. His twentieth, the one that gave him his ability, was on the inside of his left arm. It read “MOD” and gave him the power to manipulate colors based on his mood. When he got angry, anything around him turned red. When he felt joy, it turned orange. He could even revive dying leaves, making them green again, or change the color of an object by holding it in his palms. It was beautiful.
My mother’s twentieth tattoo—a filled heart on her shoulder—granted her the ability to heal people in need. A perfect power for someone as kind and strong as her.
They always told me how badly they’d wanted a child. And sometimes, when I reminded my mom that her power had been useful after all—because it brought me into her life—she would smile in a way I’ll never forget.
I could almost see that smile now, as I stood in front of the academy. My short gray hair swayed in the wind, and I tried not to care about the stares. My bare arms had no tattoos—no markings at all—and I was ashamed of how clean my skin was.
My belongings had already been placed in our assigned housing behind the building. I focused on ignoring the people around me. But my heart pounded like a drum. I’d cut my hair short to avoid attention, but now I was here—invited to the academy that had no place for the gray-haired or the powerless.
I had prepared myself not to be chosen. But a month ago, a letter arrived at my door:
''Dear Maya Starlight,
The Academy administration has decided to make an exception for someone like you. Since all twenty-year-olds on Polaris are required to attend, you will be admitted under special conditions. You will attend all classes, and if possible, remain enrolled until your true color and ability are discovered. You will be monitored throughout the term and, at the end, tested like everyone else.
See you in the new school year.
—Headmistress Scarlet Greenleaf and the Board''
Attending every class, being around everyone, keeping up with them—it all meant countless lessons and countless burdens. Especially when it felt like I didn’t exist, yet was somehow always too visible. And on top of all that, I was expected to discover my own ability.
I had mentally prepared myself not to attend the academy. The idea of staying home, hidden from everyone’s gaze, doing the things I loved in peace—without the pressure of trying to find my color or power—seemed so much more logical… and so much more peaceful.
If I had known how suffocating this whole “being twenty” thing would be—having to go to the academy, having to face so much all at once—I wouldn’t have shown up at all.
Ah, if only that were an option!
If only things had stayed that way.
If only my power had been the ability to freeze time, to live forever in the moments I enjoyed most.
That is… if such a power even exists.
