The workshop was alive with the sound of clinking tools and the faint hum of focused energy. Kael stood before a large wooden frame, his sleeves rolled up and his hands smeared with ink and sawdust. Finn was beside him, holding a set of iron gears and looking both skeptical and intrigued.
"Alright, Finn," Kael said, his voice steady but brimming with excitement. "This is where we make history. The flatbed rolling printing press—a machine that will change the way knowledge spreads forever."
Finn raised an eyebrow. "You sure this isn't just another one of your crazy ideas? Last time, you nearly burned down the shed trying to make that 'steam engine.'"
Kael chuckled, wiping his hands on a rag. "This is different. This is simple, elegant, and entirely within our reach. Let me walk you through it."
He gestured to the wooden frame. "This is the **bed**—the flat surface where we'll place the type blocks. The type blocks are individual letters carved from wood. We arrange them to form words and sentences, then lock them into place with this **chase**." He tapped a rectangular metal frame.
Finn frowned. "So, you're saying we have to carve every single letter by hand? That's going to take forever."
Kael shook his head. "Not forever. We'll start with the most common letters and symbols. Once we have a basic set, we can reuse them for different pages. But the real magic happens here." He pointed to a large roller mounted above the bed. "This is the **inking roller**. We coat it with ink and roll it over the type blocks. Then, we place a sheet of paper on top and use this **platen**"—he indicated a flat, hinged board—"to press the paper onto the inked type. The result? A perfectly printed page."
Finn scratched his head. "Okay, but how do we make sure the ink doesn't smudge? And how do we align the paper correctly?"
Kael grinned. "That's where precision comes in. The bed has grooves to hold the type blocks in place, and the platen is designed to apply even pressure. As for the ink, we'll use a special formula—thick enough to stick to the type but thin enough to transfer cleanly to the paper."
He walked over to a small table where a set of carved wooden letters lay. "Here's the first set of type blocks. I've already carved the alphabet and some common symbols. Let's test it."
Finn watched as Kael arranged the blocks into a simple sentence: *"Knowledge is power."* He locked the chase into place and carefully rolled the inking roller over the type. The letters glistened with a thin layer of black ink.
"Now, the moment of truth," Kael said, placing a sheet of paper over the type. He lowered the platen and pressed down firmly. When he lifted it, the paper peeled away, revealing crisp, clear text.
Finn's eyes widened. "It… actually worked."
Kael held up the printed page, a triumphant smile on his face. "This is just the beginning. With this press, we can produce hundreds of pages in a day—books, pamphlets, even newspapers. Imagine the possibilities."
Finn crossed his arms, still skeptical but clearly impressed. "Alright, genius. What's next?"
Kael's expression turned serious. "Next, we scale up. We need more type blocks, a larger bed, and a way to automate the inking and pressing process. But for now, this prototype proves the concept. Once we refine it, we'll be ready to show the village—and the world—what we've built."
#### *AT MIRA'S HOUSE*
Mira stood before her father, her hands clasped tightly behind her back, her heart pounding in her chest. She had laid out the plan—every detail, every risk, every potential reward. Now, she waited.
Her father leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes studying her. For a moment, he said nothing, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. Then, finally, he spoke.
"Fifty gold coins," he said, his voice calm but firm. "That's my initial investment. But I'll do more than that. I'll call in favors—merchants, traders, anyone with the sense to see the potential in this venture of yours. You'll have your funding, Mira. But remember—" His gaze hardened. "This is your gamble. Don't make me regret it."
Mira's breath caught in her throat, but she didn't let her relief show. Instead, she nodded, her expression steady. "Thank you, Father. You won't regret this."
The days that followed were a blur of activity. Kael and Finn threw themselves into the construction of the printing press, their workshop filled with the sounds of hammering, sawing, and the occasional frustrated groan as they worked out the kinks in their design. Meanwhile, Mira took charge of the supermarket project, her days spent negotiating with merchants and overseeing the construction site.
The foundation was laid first—a solid base of stone and mortar that would support the weight of the building and the bustling activity it was meant to house. Kael had drawn up the plans himself, his designs meticulous and precise. The structure would be spacious, with wide aisles for customers to move freely and designated areas for each type of goods. At the back, a secure room would serve as the bank, where Kael's paper money would be stored and distributed.
Mira moved through the village like a force of nature, her presence commanding attention wherever she went. She met with the baker, the blacksmith, the cloth merchant, and more, her arguments sharp and persuasive.
"This isn't just a market," she told them, her voice firm. "It's a revolution. You'll pay a small royalty, yes, but in return, you'll have access to hundreds of customers every day. No more sitting in the rain, waiting for buyers. No more worrying about unsold goods. We'll handle the sales, the inventory, everything. All you have to do is supply the products."
Some were skeptical, their brows furrowed as they weighed the risks. But Mira was relentless, her confidence unwavering. One by one, they agreed, signing contracts and shaking hands on the deal.
In the workshop, Kael and Finn worked tirelessly, their hands stained with ink and their clothes covered in sawdust. The flatbed rolling press was taking shape, its wooden frame sturdy and its mechanisms precise. Kael adjusted the rollers, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tested the ink distribution.
"It's almost ready," he said, his voice tinged with excitement. "Once this is done, we'll be able to print hundreds of pages in a day. Pamphlets, books, anything we need.
Finn grinned, wiping his hands on a rag. "You're a madman, you know that? But I'll admit, this might just work."
The construction site was a hive of activity, the air filled with the sounds of hammering and the shouts of workers. The wooden frame of the supermarket rose steadily, its walls taking shape under the careful guidance of the carpenters. Mira stood at the edge of the site, her arms crossed and a satisfied smile on her face.
It was happening. The vision she and Kael had dreamed of was becoming a reality. The supermarket would be more than just a market—it would be the heart of commerce in Eldham, a place where merchants and customers alike could thrive.
Kael joined her, his hands stained with ink and his face smudged with dirt. "It's coming together," he said, his voice filled with quiet awe.
The final touch was the sign. Carved from sturdy oak and painted in bold letters, it read: *"Eldham Central Market—Grand Opening Soon!"* The workers hoisted it into place above the entrance, the villagers gathering to watch with curiosity and excitement.
Mira stood back, her heart swelling with pride. The supermarket was more than just a building—it was a symbol of progress, of change. And as she looked at the sign, she knew that this was only the first step.
The real work was just beginning.