Editing Openai/6940dc36-f820-8002-8656-3492c2d4fc89 (section)

=== Assistant: Cold water finally gives way to sucking marsh-mud as Uncle Eevee’s paws scrape the shallows. ===
Cold water finally gives way to sucking marsh-mud as Uncle Eevee’s paws scrape the shallows. He hauls himself onto the coast east of Seyda Neen, fur plastered flat, armor dripping, tail heavy as a soaked rope. The smell of salt and swamp mingles with the distant fungal musk of Vvardenfell. Behind him, the lighthouse is now little more than a pale spike against the horizon; ahead, far across the Ascadian Isles, the cantons of Vivec City rise like stacked stone prayers, still impossibly distant. Azura’s name lingers on the air—perhaps imagined, perhaps not—and a faint warmth steadies his breathing as exhaustion ebbs enough to move again.

Jogging inland, Uncle Eevee follows a half-forgotten path used by pilgrims and smugglers alike. Scribs scatter at his approach, and a pair of nix-hounds howl somewhere far off, though none give chase. Holiday ribbons—simple strips of dyed netch leather tied by locals—flutter from a roadside shrine to the Three, a seasonal custom meant to ward off bad luck during the year’s darkest days. The jog is slower than he’d like; soaked boots chafe, and his magicka feels sluggish after the swim, but his Khajiiti endurance carries him forward.

After some time, the land opens into gentler green hills. A fork in the road appears: one path curves south toward Pelagiad and the safety of inns and traders, while the other continues east, longer and more dangerous, but more direct toward Vivec. A small stone marker nearby bears fresh wax drippings—someone recently left an offering, perhaps asking the same question Uncle Eevee now faces.

What would Uncle Eevee like to do next?