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

=== Assistant: The vast chamber of Vivec is hushed as Uncle Eevee’s voice carries through it, soft but steady, reading from A Child’s … ===
The vast chamber of Vivec is hushed as Uncle Eevee’s voice carries through it, soft but steady, reading from ''A Child’s Tales of Red Mountain''. The words—half fable, half ash-blown history—echo gently against stone and divine silence. Vivec himself listens, many-hued eyes half-lidded, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips. The god’s presence presses like deep water, yet the moment feels strangely intimate, even warm, as if the story itself is a small hearth-fire against the cold weight of prophecy and power.

When the final lines are read, Vivec inclines his head. “Stories,” he says at last, voice layered with more tones than should be possible, “are bridges between what is and what might yet be. You honor both the child and the mountain by remembering.” A pause follows. The air shimmers faintly, and Uncle Eevee feels a subtle blessing settle over him—not pain, not ecstasy, but clarity, like ash washed from the eyes by rain. Vivec gestures idly, and the book is gently returned to Uncle Eevee’s hands. “Go now, little walker. Carry cheer where the world forgets it.”

Uncle Eevee finds himself once more at the edge of the palace corridors, unseen, unharmed, and very much alive—Ordinator armor warm against his fur, the city of Vivec sprawling below, lanterns glowing like constellations reflected on the water in this festive season of turning years.

What would Uncle Eevee like to do next?