The school quickly became the heart of the village. By the third week, the thatched hall echoed daily with laughter, questions, and the scratch of charcoal on rough paper.

Riaan had expected the adults to dominate the lessons, but it was the children who stole the show. Their minds absorbed symbols and numbers faster than he could write them. One girl, no older than ten, guessed the next number in a sequence before Riaan finished drawing it. A boy asked, “If smoke rises, can it carry us too?” The class burst into laughter, but Riaan only smiled. “Perhaps one day.”

The adults sometimes grumbled, embarrassed that the children outpaced them, but Riaan calmed their pride. “Children learn quickly because their minds are fresh. But your strength is patience. Together, both will carry us forward.”

The hall grew alive with this mix—youthful curiosity, adult discipline. For the first time, knowledge wasn’t only in Riaan’s head. It was spreading, multiplying.

It was during one of these lessons that the first true spark of invention appeared.

Dev, a quiet young man who rarely spoke, stayed behind after class. He clutched something wrapped in cloth. “Teacher,” he said softly, “I tried something different.”

He unwrapped a thin, pale sheet. Unlike the rough reed paper the class had been making, this one was smoother, lighter, almost white.

Riaan examined it, frowning. “This isn’t reed pulp. What did you use?”

“Cotton scraps,” Dev admitted, glancing down. “From old clothes. I tore them, soaked them, pounded them into pulp. It dried better than reeds.”

Riaan’s fingers trembled slightly as he held the sheet to the light. It didn’t crumble or tear easily. This was no longer just paper—it was a step closer to parchment.

The next morning, Riaan showed it to the entire school. Gasps and murmurs spread as the villagers touched it with awe. Children whispered excitedly, imagining what they could draw on it. Adults tested its strength with cautious fingers.

“This,” Riaan announced, his voice firm, “is what I hoped for. Not just copying—but improving. Dev’s paper is proof that knowledge grows when we try, when we dare to change.”

The room buzzed with energy. One woman declared she would try adding herbs to soap for better scent. Another vowed to test different oils for lamps. Ideas tumbled out like sparks from a fire.

Riaan stood at the front, silent for a moment, watching them argue, laugh, and plan. His chest felt tight—not with fear, but with pride.

The AI in 5355 had given him guidance. But here, in this smoky hall filled with eager faces, he saw something greater: *the birth of creativity itself.*

And that, he realized, was the true beginning of their future.