Submerged Gold

Not all that is precious rises toward the light. Some of it sinks, and glows deepest where the cold is greatest.

A warm gold pours down from above and descends, the water darkening as it goes, cooling from amber through green to a blue almost black. Yet the descent does not quench it. The gold breaks into scattered flecks that carry the light down with them, threading the cold and settling far below, undimmed by the depth that holds them.

There is a wealth that only the deep can keep. Brought up into the air it would be ordinary; held down in the cold and the dark, it becomes rare.

Held far below, the gold glows out of reach, made rarer by every fathom it will not rise back through.