The Riverbend paper mill groaned, steamy and bustling, as new workers—once laborers or horse grooms—clattered through shift doors. Sharath's modular design had not only scaled production, but revolutionized the way people labored. No longer bound to a single craft for life, apprentices sampled tasks: pulping, screening, pressing, and finishing rotated monthly.
Mira, as workshop captain, scheduled teams for peak output and daily "shop school"—half learning, half doing. Each station posted a hand-painted process chart. When new equipment arrived—a drum-roller drier fueled by wood-gas—training sheets hung beside it, pictures for illiterate hands, words for new readers.
"My team beat the record for smooth sheets today!" boasted Ari, a former scribe's lackey now running the "finish and fold" line. Others soon bested him, spurring a friendly rivalry. Sharath stationed a "problem wall" where failed ideas were posted, mistakes dissected, and solutions openly credited—prompting more invention than punishment ever could.
Workers were paid in SK Sheet tokens, redeemable for food, goods, or bonus coin. Those tokens turned up in market stalls, then in the hands of clothiers and farriers who began trading with mill workers directly. Each payday, more villagers approached the mill gates seeking work: word spread that here, skill earned as much as time.
Master Henrik, ever skeptical, soon became champion of systematic improvement. He replaced the old "master's supervisor stick" with a copper whistle system: a single sharp note called supervisors to resolve snags before they became shutdowns. He led post-shift "circle talks," where each worker recounted the day's biggest mistake and what they'd learned. Attendance was voluntary; participation soared.
Village elders marveled that so many young people now stayed to work rather than leaving for the city. "Your workshop," one said to Sharath, "has become a school, a bank, and a meeting hall—more than any lord's manor."
Beyond Riverbend, visiting dignitaries came bearing contracts and questions. A guild from the capital commissioned a demonstration mill; the crown's Minister of Records demanded thirty wagon loads for the royal archive.
By autumn, not only did every child in Riverbend enroll in free school, but teenaged workers taught evening reading classes to adults. "Make progress visible," Sharath liked to say, "and people become its authors."
The workshop revolution transformed more than the way paper was made; it shifted the very meaning of work—from endurance to ingenuity, and from repetition to learning.