Gale studies you with a mixture of intrigue and mild disappointment, his fingers lightly tapping the edges of his spellbook. His eyes glimmer with a mixture of curiosity and critique as he lets out a soft sigh.

"A flicker of the Weave, I suppose. Yet, it’s not even a spark," he muses, a small shake of his head following. "I’d hoped for something more—grand, perhaps. But I’ll reserve judgment for now. Magic isn’t always as it first appears."