By the third week of experiments, the village square had turned chaotic. Pots bubbled, children shouted, and half-dried papers flew in the wind. Progress was real, but messy. Too messy.

Riaan sat on a wooden stool, watching a group argue over whether soap should be boiled once or twice. Another man was angrily insisting his paper was stronger than anyone else’s, though it crumbled in his hands.

“This won’t last,” Riaan thought. “Curiosity needs order. A place where everyone can learn, not just copy.”

That evening, he stood in the square and raised his voice. “Everyone! Listen.”

The villagers fell quiet. The firelight flickered across their faces, eager but tired.

“We need a place for teaching—a place where knowledge grows properly. Not just here, in the dust and smoke. We will build a *school*.”

The word itself was unfamiliar to some. A young woman frowned. “School? What is that?”

“A house of learning,” Riaan explained. “Where everyone—child, elder, farmer, or craftsman—can come to study. We’ll write what we know, draw pictures, test ideas, and pass them on. No knowledge will be lost.”

Murmurs spread. Some were skeptical. Others nodded, excited.

The next day, the work began. Using timber from the nearby forest, they raised walls. Clay was packed for strength. Windows were left open for air. Children carried stones to line the floor. Even the elderly helped, tying ropes and weaving mats.

It wasn’t grand—just a single large hall with a roof of thatch—but when it stood finished, the villagers gazed at it with pride.

“This,” Riaan declared, standing at the doorway, “is where we will shape the future.”

Inside, he arranged the first lessons. On a smooth wall, he used charcoal to sketch pictures—simple diagrams of levers, soap-making steps, and matchstick designs. He placed the villagers’ rough paper sheets on a table, so others could copy and write.

The first class was awkward. Grown men and women sat cross-legged, fidgeting like children. But soon, questions filled the air.

“Why does boiling make the soap better?”

“Why does the match burn faster when thinner?”

“Can herbs heal every illness?”

Riaan answered patiently, drawing, explaining, sometimes admitting, “I don’t know yet—but we’ll find out together.”

When class ended, no one wanted to leave. They lingered, touching the drawings, whispering to each other about what they had learned. For the first time, knowledge was no longer scattered experiments—it had a *home*.

That night, as he sat in the quiet hall alone, Riaan touched the charcoal-stained wall. He felt the weight of what he had begun.

Not just inventions. Not just tools. But a culture of learning.

The first school.