Silver River Hub. Early morning.
Arthur arrived expecting a normal workday. The sun had just cleared the eastern ridge, casting long gold light across the freight yard. The morning reports were in his hand. The first convoy was scheduled to depart in forty-seven minutes. Everything was in order.
Instead, he found absolute chaos.
Not trade chaos. Not the organized frenzy of wagons and crates and loading schedules. People chaos.
A massive queue stretched across the freight yard—hundreds of people, far more than the usual merchants and drivers. Farmers in mud-caked boots. Blacksmith apprentices with soot still on their hands. Laborers carrying worn tool belts. Carpenters with saws wrapped in cloth. Masons with calloused palms. Young men and women carrying travel bags stuffed with whatever they could fit. Entire families—parents, children, grandparents, dogs, chickens in wooden crates.
