One group after another rode the rising platforms up to the construction site.
The first sight that greeted them was a dazzling sea of trees below, their crowns catching the sunlight and shimmering gold. The breathtaking view chased away much of the fear that came with standing so high above the ground.
Most of the workers managed to stay. Only a handful grew dizzy the moment they looked down and quickly excused themselves, muttering apologies.
"I'm sorry, I really am. Walking up here is fine, but if I so much as stand near the edge, I forget how to breathe..."
Those with fear of heights left the front line of construction, but even the ones who stayed still felt their hearts lurch. Working at such heights was no small risk.
"Maybe dwarves would be better suited for this," someone murmured. "Steep cliffs are practically part of their everyday life."
It was true. Though dwarves lived deep underground where the sun rarely reached, their work often took them to places as precarious as any mountaintop ledge.
After the initial group of reliable road workers had been chosen, Bard, the project overseer, began laying out a detailed plan.
Every pair of workers was to be bound together with safety ropes. One held the rope steady and maintained balance, while the other worked on laying stone and timber.
Slowly, steadily, the sky road began to stretch farther into the distance.
Minecarts rattled up the tracks from Lake-town and Dale, delivering load after load of supplies to keep the project moving.
The commotion soon reached the Lonely Mountain. Thorin Oakenshield, curious about the endeavor, arrived at Lake-town in person. Bard explained Eric's grand proposal to him in full.
Thorin squinted up at the half-finished causeway cutting through the air. For the first time since their quest together, the King Under the Mountain and the Bowman stood side by side again, gazing at the bold new work.
Instead of surprise, Thorin's expression carried a note of admiration.
When it came to matters of stone and construction, dwarves naturally held the greatest authority.
"Your road workers are... inexperienced," Thorin said, eyeing one poor fellow inching nervously along a beam like a cat unwilling to get its paws wet.
"They are, yes," Bard admitted. "For most of them, the highest they've ever stood was atop the palace roof. This is new territory."
Thorin's mouth twitched with the hint of a smile.
"Perhaps for you it seems high, Bard son of Girion. But if you had walked the depths of the mountains or stood upon the edges of our deepest quarries, you would know this is hardly impressive. We dwarves labor daily in places where one false step means a fall into darkness. Compared with the jagged caverns and rushing underground rivers, this place is merely brighter."
Bard inclined his head. "The diligence and courage of the dwarves is something no other race can rival."
"Well said," Thorin replied, clearly pleased.
"Then, King Under the Mountain, what advice would you give for this work of ours?"
"As an ally, I cannot watch you stumble along with such clumsy methods," Thorin declared. "What you attempt is commendable, but you walk a road we have already trodden. There is no need for allies to grope blindly where the way is known. Why not ask those with greater experience to lend their hand?"
Thorin attempted a grand gesture, raising his arm to clap Bard's shoulder in comradely fashion. Unfortunately, his stature betrayed him, and the hand stalled awkwardly in midair.
Bard, pretending not to notice, extended his own arm and clasped Thorin's forearm instead. It was a compromise both dignified and merciful.
Perhaps next time they should sit when they spoke, Bard thought privately. That way Thorin might actually reach him.
"Your generosity will not be forgotten, King Thorin," Bard said aloud, his tone respectful. From his dealings with Thranduil, he had learned the secret: when speaking with proud rulers who disliked admitting they were helping you, the trick was to play along politely.
The strategy worked. Thorin's eyes warmed.
"Think nothing of it. After all, I did not come here for this alone."
The phrasing was strangely familiar, as though he had borrowed the line from someone else. Bard almost asked but thought better of it.
"I will send some of Erebor's most skilled stonewrights to guide your men and show how we handle such work," Thorin added.
And just like that, a technical alliance was sealed with a few words and a handshake.
Their discussion drifted on to trade. They spoke of grain, meats, ales, and the unique goods of Dale and Lake-town. Once those matters were settled, Thorin suddenly asked,
"And where is Eric?"
Bard hesitated. The project looked far too new for its mastermind to be absent.
"He has returned to Roadside Fortress," Bard said at last. "He claimed to have gathered enough of those... elements he calls 'Vis.' He wishes to study them."
Thorin gave a thoughtful hum. "So our old friend has turned wizard after all."
"Something like that," Bard admitted. "And sometimes he speaks even more cryptically than the wizards."
Cryptic. Yes, that described Eric perfectly.
Once assured the sky road was proceeding smoothly, Eric had hurried home, eager to resume his private research.
By now, he had unlocked every type of elemental essence and gathered a decent collection of knowledge. It was time to push deeper into mysteries yet unmastered.
With quill and ink, Eric opened his arcane handbook and flipped past the worn cover.
Chapter One: Fundamentals.
The name promised simplicity. Most of it was indeed nothing more than descriptions of common materials and magical basics. Only the sections that outlined actual methods required study.
One such method was the "Node in a Jar," a spell allowing one to trap a magical node inside a container and carry it away. Mastery required five elemental essences and thirteen careful connections.
"Familiar," Eric murmured, scratching down his first research notes. "Feels like I've done this before."
Arcane research was less like wizardry and more like a puzzle game. The trick was to link two or more essences together through related ones until a chain was formed.
For example, to connect Water and Earth, he needed to place Life between them, since life itself arose from water and earth combined.
Only compatible essences could link successfully. When done right, his scribbled note transformed into a finished research draft. With the draft in hand, the knowledge was his.
When it failed, the note was ruined, and he would have to copy another and try again.
The early puzzles were simple, requiring just a few steps. Later ones grew devilishly complicated, each chain longer and harder to envision. More than once Eric rubbed his temples and muttered about headaches.
In his old world, he might have used clever tools or websites to calculate the best combinations, or simply copied another scholar's work. Here, no such shortcuts existed. He had to solve everything himself.
Fortunately, the puzzles were straightforward once he got the hang of them, and he had collected plenty of essences to spare. If a note was wasted, he simply tried again.
And so began Eric's new life in the tower: part scholar, part puzzle-solver, forever scribbling and muttering over arcane diagrams.
The age of the Tower Scholar had arrived.