Morning broke over the Silver River Hub.
Arthur walked to the eastern gate and stopped.
The corridor stretched before him, visible for nearly a mile. Every inch of it held wagons. Not in convoy formation—just packed together, waiting, stretching back toward the horizon.
Hundreds of wagons.
Drivers sat on benches, stamping feet against the cold. Horses stamped too, restless from standing. Merchants walked between the stalled lines, arguing with each other, gesturing at the road.
No one moved.
Arthur stood silently and watched.
---
Zack found him twenty minutes later, pushing through the crowd.
"South road's worse. Wagons backed up to the timber yards. North entrance is completely blocked."
Arthur didn't turn. "How many?"
"We counted this morning. Four hundred and seventy wagons waiting. Maybe more now."
"And moving?"
Zack shook his head. "Maybe twenty wagons an hour get through. At this rate, some of these people wait three days just to enter the hub."
