Lightborne Spear gleams with a pale, dawn-blush sheen, its shaft carved from ivory-tinged timber that seems almost liquid under lamp light. The surface bears meticulous grain that has the quiet, ancient bite of bone, and a tempered gloss that catches every motes of dust to hover in a halo. The head is a blade of translucent crystal, edged with sigils that pulse faintly as if the weapon keeps time with the heart of the light itself. At the butt, a brass ferrule holds a tiny compass etched with a wheel of days; when you grip it, the spear feels cooler than metal has any right to be, as if it were drawing warmth from the room rather than giving it. Lore thieves whisper that it was tempered in dawn meteor storms, forged for a knight who walked in radiance and learned to bend daylight into steel. Some say it was a gift from a forgotten sun-priest to a hunter who could hear the quiet music of sunbeams. Regardless, every engraving is a story: a line of runes that gleam brighter when you step into bright light, and dim when you shade yourself from the sun. In practice, the Lightborne Spear is a weapon that keeps distance without begging for clumsy stumbles. Its reach feels honest, its balance forgiving, and when you throw a spear's spear into a foe's guard, you feel a stirring sense that the light itself is parting the armor like thin ice. A charged thrust can push past midline chokes, tripping attention to a vulnerable seam, while a sweeping arc scatters a spray of radiant motes that sting a line of enemies and leave a warm afterglow on your allies. The weapon has a rhythm all its own: strike, retreat, let the glow guide a fellow hunter, and move with a promise that the daylight will not betray you. For a hunter of stories as much as of foes, Lightborne Spear is a ticket into a larger world. The glow that clings to its edges makes it a beacon in crowded markets and a sign to rivals that a veteran carries a weapon steeped in memory. It is hardly a one-trick blade; the light-borne energy can be coaxed into short bursts that shred shadows, or shaped into a line that slices cleanly through a foe's armor, then fades away to nothing but a remembered spark. On a sunlit morning, a trader named me paused beside the rickety stalls of Saddlebag Exchange and watched as a buyer laid down coins and a curator traced the spear’s shimmering surface with careful fingers. The price, fair but not cheap, was settled in the same breath that the sun uses to wake the day. We parted with smiles—two strangers bound by the same story: that some weapons carry daylight with them, and that daylight sometimes changes hands. And so the Lightborne Spear travels on—passed from hand to hand, a witness to battles won in daylight and in the shadow between dawns.