"The Copper Bandit"
The first time Rainy saw the copper prism on the windowsill, she didn’t mean to pocket it.
Well.
They mostly didn’t mean to.
It had been sitting there all innocent, glinting in the low light like it wanted to be admired. Like it needed to be held. Rainy told herself she’d just borrow it. For study. For science.
That’s why it ended up in their bag.
That’s definitely why she was halfway out the garden when—
“...Are you stealing my copper?”
The voice stopped her cold.
Flat. Monotone.
Not angry, not accusing.
Just tired. Like it had already decided who she was and didn’t care enough to stop her.
Rainy turned slowly.
The Elf stood in the doorway, arms crossed, green eyes glowing faintly, copper-stained fingers tapping against her elbow like a metronome.
Rainy did the only logical thing.
They yelled, dropped the prism, and bolted into the trees.
The Elf didn’t chase her.
She just watched. Like she was noting the trajectory of a very stupid comet.
•-•-•
Rainy didn’t go back the next day.
Or the next.
But they watched from the trees.
Perched in the branches.
Hiding behind vines.
Eyes glowing faintly as she watched the Elf adjust old copper gears, plant a glowing mushroom bed, sketch runes into the side of a smelter.
Rainy’s god said nothing.
But the silence felt judgmental.
So Rainy left a gift.
A piece of quartz she found shaped like a teardrop.
She left it on the porch.
Then ran.
The next day, the quartz was gone.
So she left more.
A spool of fine red dust.
A brass gear from a ruined ship.
A dragon scale. (Tiny. Ethically sourced. Probably.)
No words. No thanks.
But one morning, Rainy found something new:
A scrap of parchment tacked to the porch post.
Written in small, clean script:
Two redstone repeaters
Three fern spores
Lantern oil (non-flammable, non-humming)
Orange dye (optional)
Rainy stared.
Then grinned.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “She knows.”
The list changed every week.
They delivered.
Always quietly. Always fast.
She never got caught again.
Except once.
When she crept up at sunrise and found the Elf already on the porch, sipping from a brass mug, as if she’d always been there.
“Morning, Copper Thief,” she said.
Rainy yelped.
Tripped.
Spilled a box of orange dye all over the steps.
The Elf didn’t flinch.
Just took another sip and said, deadpan, “At least it was optional.”
Rainy scrambled upright, raven hair full of leaves, wings flared in alarm.
“I—I wasn’t—!”
“Leaving a gift?”
“I mean—maybe!”
“Hm.”
A pause.
“…I used your quartz to stabilize a portal ring. It worked.”
Rainy blinked.
“…That’s cool.”
“It was.”
They stared at each other.
The Elf sipped again.
Rainy slowly backed up, tripped once more, and flew off into the trees like a panicked bat.
The Elf didn’t smile.
But she refilled her mug and left the next list out just the same.
•-•-•
Are they friends?
Rainy isn’t sure.
She thinks the Elf is cool. And terrifying. Like a statue that judges you and also probably knows how to kill you using only wire and a spoon.
But she still brings gifts.
And the Elf still leaves lists.
So maybe.
Maybe.
