Past the forest, the rainbow faded to faint mist, ending at a tall crystal spire glowing in the sunrise. Grey clouds curled tightly around its top. Lightning sparked, but without color. Eliza clutched the crayon. “Time for wonder,” she whispered. As she climbed spiral steps, each calm breath she took brought a soft blush of color back to the stone.

Near the top, a gloomy fog with shadowy fingers heaved itself up—the Grey Rot. “No color, no wonder!” it hissed. Pickle barked, teeth bared. Eliza’s heart pounded. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, then shouted a new word, “Brillibright!” The sound rang out strong. The Rot shrank, startled. Eliza pressed the crayon into the spire’s diamond-shaped heart.

Suddenly, a gentle pulse exploded outward. Color painted the sky—emerald, rose, brilliant gold—faster than sunrise. The Grey Rot fizzled and popped into harmless smoke. The dull crayon glowed with rainbows, renewed at last. Eliza felt fire and calm glow inside her. She hugged Pickle, breathing in a world sparkling with color.

The rainbow road reappeared, bright as icing, and slid downward, swooping past shining waves and painted boats. At castle lawn, the ribbon turned into wildflowers. Eliza tucked the paintbox under an ancient oak, hoping some other dreamer would find it. “Brillibright,” she whispered, as magic spread from roots to sky.