Precious Jewels.

A monarch butterfly landed on the window. It moved its wings slowly, up and down, and then flew away.

He moved the brush across the glass and painted another one. The texture of the butterfly wasn’t quite real, and as it flew, it altered the texture of the sky.

The butterfly drifted through the air, turning the rest of reality into paint, and he watched from behind the window as the world became a canvas.

After a few hours, he reached for the window. The butterfly beat its wings one last time before freezing inside the painting.

He struck a match in one corner, and the window began to burn slowly, flame traveling from edge to edge. As it burned, the painting transformed into stained glass.

The colors shifted. The texture changed.

He went out onto his boat and lowered the glass into the water as the boat moved forward. The colors from the glass left a trail beneath the surface, stretching behind him.

The trail began to grow and change as the boat creaked through the water.

He circled the lake, and by the time he returned to where he started, the growing glass had formed a structure.

A cathedral-like building floated in the middle of the lake—unfinished, still building itself.

The glass continued to grow, creaking and cracking in places, breaking where it needed space to hold its shape.

As the day neared its end, the structure finished forming, and the final ray of light struck the top of the building at exactly the right moment.

The light bounced off every surface, and at the center it traced a circle lined with runes.

He sat in the middle and read the runes aloud. His voice echoed through the cathedral, rising to its highest point.

When the echo returned, the glass began to collapse inward—folding, bending, breaking.

He looked up at the first star in the night sky and read the runes again as everything around him crumbled.

The runes lifted from the circle and moved into his hand. Because they were made of light, their path burned the skin wherever they passed, settling into the center of his palm.

As the cathedral floor fell away, he stepped back onto the boat. All the glass condensed into a single jewel, which he caught with his other hand while still watching the star.

Holding the jewel and raising his palm toward the sky, he spoke the runes one last time.

A ray of light—caught just before the day ended—emerged from his hand and reached toward the star. He wrapped his fingers around it carefully, pulling against something heavy.

A knot of light formed at the center of the ray and slowly drew closer. When it reached his hand, he placed the jewel between the knot and the star and let go, trapping the knot inside the jewel.