#vast!fern

They took the hint and sat — not too close, not too far — hands twisting nervously as they stared at the aged copper slab between them. Its surface was streaked with blue-green, like something long drowned.

“I messed it up,” they whispered. “It was shiny. And then I looked away for— I don’t know— five days? Ten? Maybe a week and a half. Time is… confusing.”

“Everything is confusing to you.”

They flinched.

She exhaled, long and slow. "But... That's okay."

Then she added, more quietly, "The copper isn’t ruined. It just… remembers the weather too well.”

She placed her hand on the handle of her axe, fingers gripped steady, expression unreadable. A faint green shimmer pulsed beneath her touch, curling through the oxidized surface. The blue-green hue retreated like fog under sunlight, revealing bright, raw copper beneath.

They watched, entranced — though still not looking at her.

“You do it,” she said abruptly.

Their shoulders hitched. “Wha- No! I might break it.”

“You can’t break copper.”

“I can definitely break copper.”

She rolled her eyes and exhaled softly. “Just try.”

Their long fingers trembled as they hold the axe that was passed to them, a brief pause. Before tapping lightly on the sheen. Nothing happened.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” she said. “Be quiet about it.”

“I–I don’t know how to be quiet inside.”

She huffed, looking over them.

“...”

Then she reached out — her touch brief, almost annoyed— but gentle, guiding their hand a fraction to the left.

“There. Now stop panicking and breathe.”

They did. Awkwardly. Unevenly.

Swoosh.

And the copper brightened. Only a small patch, but unmistakably new.

Their breath caught. “I did it?”

“Barely,” she said.

But her tone softened — only a little, like frost melting at the edges.

“You learn slowly,” she added. “But you do learn.”

They dared a glance at her chin — close to eye contact, but not quite. “Thank you.”

She looked away sharply, as though the words startled her.

“Don’t… make it a habit.”

---

Wind shifted through the clearing, carrying the scent of metal after rain.

The Endermanlike figure stood alone before a copper grave made by their hands.

Most of it had aged into rich turquoise — intentional, left that way. But the center panel was bright, freshly polished, glowing warm against the green. Their hand hovered over it, shaking faintly. Finally they let their fingertips rest on the smooth copper surface.

“Be quiet about it,” they murmured to themself. “Just… breathe.”

The words hurt. But they steadied.

She was gone. Vanished like she always warned she would be someday.

But this time she hadn’t come back.

They swallowed hard, eyes fixed firmly on the copper instead of the empty clearing.

“I’m still learning,” they whispered. “Slowly. But I am.”