Ah, you’ve caught me thinking about that. There’s a tale from the valley where a warrior named Lirion wore a cloak stitched from river‑spun reeds, said to hide him in moonlight. Over time, the villagers trimmed it, sharpened its edges, and turned it into the cut we call a jacket today. It’s as if the ancient cloak has shed its old skin to fit a new age, but the spirit of that cloak—its quiet grace—still whispers through the fabric. It reminds me that even our modern styles have roots in old whispers, if we’re willing to listen.