Gleam had always followed in Lucky's shadow, half-smiling, loyal and quiet. But on the eve of battle, he asked to lead the southern flank.
"I need to shine on my own," he said. "Let me show them what your light awakened in me."
Lucky didn't hesitate. "You've always had light, Gleam. I just saw it first."
When the battle erupted, Gleam led the charge through fog and smoke, casting reflections of sunlight through his prism blade. He wasn't just a warrior—he was a beacon, and when his blade clashed with Umbrael's lieutenants, they didn't just see steel. They saw hope.