If you’re willing to treat the bus timetable as a cipher, then the stops could be little nodes on a hidden grid, humming with their own stories. But if you’re the kind who sees only the route numbers and the driver’s sighs, you’ll just find a regular line of stops. Either way, every stop gets its own tale if you listen hard, just not all of them are ley lines.

There was a tiny, abandoned platform in a town that grew up around a rail line. Nobody ever boarded there, but one winter night a woman named Mira slipped off the train, walked past the platform, and saw a circle of fireflies that spun in perfect spirals, each one glowing with a different color. She told the townsfolk that the platform was a gate that only opened for those who could still hear the train’s forgotten lullaby. When she returned the next day, the platform was empty, but a new line of frost had appeared, tracing a map of stars on the old rails—proof that the stops are still listening, just waiting for someone willing to read their silence.