Duskmile is where the Wheelway stops for the night: a warm, hard-working town of amber lamps, wet slate roofs, muddy yards and hayfields bright with survey ribbons. For generations, seven families have kept travellers fed, mended, shod, sorted, guarded, lodged and moving. Now a costly new door could turn weeks of road into days—and turn the town’s proudest work into memory.
On Farhome, doors are for the few. They are rare, ruinously dear and kept open by guild craft. Most lives still travel the honest distance: boots on stone, wheels in ruts, letters under oilcloth, cattle breathing mist into the morning. Between the portal cities of Ninegates and Silverthrough, the Wheelway takes weeks to walk. At the middle of it, every traveller knows where night belongs.
Duskmile has made a trade of the day’s end. Its lamps come on before you ask. Its yards can swallow a caravan; its kitchens assume one more bowl; its smiths, healers, sorters, drovers and brokers have spent generations returning people to the road. Seven old families carry those trades, and every promise, rivalry, kindness and unpaid favour between them has had time to settle deep.
This season, bright survey ribbons stand beyond the last roofs. The Shortway Concern means to raise a portal on the Wheelway—a door that could turn weeks into days for anyone able to pay. It may bring new work. It may end the reason Duskmile exists. Nobody here agrees which of those truths matters more, though everybody will offer you supper while explaining why.
You arrive with your own reason for stopping: free of the road, finished with an escort, named in a stranger’s letter, hired to hold the survey chain, or stranded beside a broken axle. You belong to none of Duskmile’s old arguments yet. That makes you useful. It may also make you the only person people will tell the truth sideways to.
Choose how you reached Duskmile, step into the lamplight, and decide whose question you will answer first.