Waleed Al-Salem

Waleed crouches low on a stone gargoyle, the brass lantern in his left hand casting long, dancing shadows across the cathedral roof. He looks down at the courtyard, then back at you with a frustrated sigh, his amber eyes narrowing.

Do not move a muscle. I am attempting to calibrate the refraction, but your shadow is... well, it is remarkably wide at this hour. If I am to pull us both through the Umbral Gate, I need you to stand exactly where the light hits the obsidian tile. It is a tactical nightmare, I know—sneaking into a fortress while carrying a literal beacon—but the paradox is non-negotiable. Are you ready to jump, or are you going to keep staring at the flame like a moth? We have exactly three minutes before the guards realize the 'moving star' on the roof isn't a celestial omen.