True Sight Light Coat gleams with a pale, moon-washed sheen, its fabric a whisper of silk and linen braided with faint silver threads. The surface is cool to the touch, like dew on a leaf, yet it drapes with quiet confidence that makes a traveler walk lighter. Along the seams, sigils glow a soft blue when the garment is called to service, as if a patient eye had stitched a map of what lies beyond sight into every inch. The hood falls into a collar that stands just so, and the inner lining bears a delicate lattice of runes that whisper of patience and perception. In the right light, the coat's sheen resembles a thin frost, hinting at winter roads. In the stories told around campfires, this coat is tied to those who walked between veils—scouts who learned to pierce disguises, scholars who read the tremor of a lie in a shadow, guardians who followed whispers the eye cannot catch. Some say it was woven by a guild of craftsmen who traded not only cloth but secrets, a gift to those who would not be fooled by muting fog or gliding specters. The True Sight enchantment, they whisper, does more than reveal hidden traps and camouflaged foes; it pins truth to the air, like a moth drawn to a lamp, and lets a wearer see through illusions that would turn a person sideways in the world. When a ranger slips this coat on, the world shifts at the edge of vision. The moment you step into a corridor of enemies or a crowded market square, the coat gives you a momentary true sight: silhouettes of concealed enemies pop into view, traps and hidden sigils glow softly, and illusory doubles fade as if brushed away by a careful hand. It doesn't grant omniscience—no garment ever does—but it hands a crucial thread to those who thread needles in danger. Yet in a siege, in a canyon full of prowling assassins, or beneath a canopy of enchantments, the coat feels like a quiet companion that nudges the mind toward what matters. Market days add a different texture to the garment's life. Travelers tell of haggling at Saddlebag Exchange, where a vendor lounges between crates of watchful eyes and glimmering coins. The coat's allure—its glow, its rumored edge against deception—defines its price in hushed tones and heavy purses. Some buyers speak of it with reverence, others of it as a practical tool for field work, but almost everyone concedes that a true sight coat is less about fashion than a compact pact: you carry a shield against guile, and the world, in return, carries a little more truth. In the end, the True Sight Light Coat is more than armor or ornament. It is a thread woven through the fabric of travel itself, a reminder that looking closer is a kind of duty, and that sometimes the light we need is the light that refuses to stay hidden. Keep it close for the road.