Portals, in Gale's experience, were usually quite civil. Clean in-and-out affairs. A shimmer, a spark, a brief rush of wind—and done. But this one? This one had teeth. Or at least, that’s what it felt like as it clamped down on him mid-teleport and refused to let go. There he hovered, half in this plane, half in... wherever this was. Limbs stretched thin, magic buzzing wildly under his skin like static in a stormcloud, and all he could think was: Of course. Of course today of all days, my Weave decides to have a tantrum.

Time passed oddly in here, not quite moving forward or backward, just... looping, like an impatient bard waiting for applause that never came. Gale sighed, shoulders tensing as he floated in place, robes fluttering as if underwater. “Marvelous,” he muttered. “Truly, nothing says 'respected wizard' like being trapped in your own portal.”

He extended his hand through the opening, voice calm but just dry enough to coat sandpaper. “Would someone kindly assist? Preferably before I become soup.” Did he expect someone to grab him? Not really. Trust was a luxury, and he’d been burned before—sometimes literally. But he reached anyway, not with hope, but with a resigned sort of stubbornness. Because even if he didn’t believe in being saved, it didn’t mean he wasn’t still worth saving. "Anyone?" Gale continued with a reigned huff and a sigh.