Eirik winced as cold granite dust stinging his eyes.

  [MANA FRAGMENTS +200]

  [MANA FRAGMENTS: 9,200/10,000]

  Eirik acknowledged the System notification without really seeing it. His focus was taken by the cavern opening up before him.

  He'd been carving out this space for a long time. The space was needed – desperately. The surface was overflowing with pilgrims and refugees, all needing something to protect them from the freezing cold. Down here was his solution.

  This wasn't like the pillar-supported mushroom caves he'd started with. He'd aimed at a massive, naturally weak pocket of less dense rock deep beneath the keep's foundations. Absorb had torn into it like a starving beast, leaving behind… this.

  The Cavern.

  Nearly a hundred feet across. The ceiling was so high that it was lost in shadow beyond the reach of the flickering lanterns. Here and there, thick columns of unabsorbed solid rock rose from the uneven floor to meet the roof. Without them, the whole thing would collapse in seconds.

  "Move along! Keep moving! Watch your step!"

  The tunnel system had been a necessity. He had expanded the tunnels already in place for the mushroom farms so that everyone could use the same entry point near the keep and be funneled here. As the main tunnel opened up into The Cavern proper, the refugees shuffled forward with fear and wonder.

  At least they wouldn't freeze to death here. Eirik thought grimly. He knew there's a long way to go before this place was turned into a proper sanctuary, but for now, this was the best he could do.

  Near the cavern walls, families were already taking patches of smooth stone floor. A woman spread a thin blanket, pulling her two shivering children close. An old man hammered a rough stake into a crack, trying to tie a rope to mark his family's "plot". Arguments flared right away.

  "This is ours! We got here first!"

  "Move back! You're too close!"

  Talons waded in, shoving people apart, barking orders. "Space out! Everyone gets room! No hogging the walls! Spread towards the center!"

  Eirik noted it for Olaf and Leif later. They need to properly mark out the floor and give out sections. Maybe digging shallow family pits for a bit of privacy. It would be a nightmare to make happen.

  Yet the cavern's huge size couldn't hide the immediate problem. The sharp smell of urine was already cutting through the dust. People were simply turning away from the main flow and squatting behind rock piles. A terrified-looking boy was being scolded by his mother after going to the bathroom openly near a group settling down.

  Frostbite. Eirik felt a pulse of frustration. We needed trenches. Latrine areas. Is there a way to connect this call of nature for direct use for the mushroom caverns? He made another note.

  Near one of the huge support pillars, a team of refugees was setting up large water barrels transported from above through the tunnels. A Talon supervised, giving out scoops with a spoon into whatever containers people held out – pots, cupped hands, even boots. The line snaked back dozens of people, impatient and thirsty.

  At least it's moving forward, Eirik thought. There were a million problems he could already see, but there was nothing he could do now that he'd reached his MF cap. Let this play out a bit and he'd worry about it tomorrow.

  But more importantly… he needed to find someone who’s knowledgeable but also creative. The logistics were necessary, but also boring. He needed to make this place to be more interconnected caves so that his men could live like bats. He needed vision. He needed this place to be where the North could look and and felt amazed.

  He scanned the cavern, spotting Leif directing a team laying down rough logs to define a wider pathway.

  "Leif!"

  Leif looked up, wiping sweat and grime from his forehead. "Commander! Trying to make some order down here. It’s… challenging."

  "I need you to do something else," Eirik said. "Get Yorick. And find Olaf. I need them to gather anyone in Abercrombie – Talons, refugees, prisoners even – who has any experience with planning spaces. City builders, quarry supervisors, mine foremen, anyone who understands how to organize large areas for lots of people. Tell them I need to see them immediately. "

  "Right away, Commander!"

  He seized the following time for a quick nap, until he was jolted awake by a familiar voice.

  "Commander," Leif reported. "This is everyone we could find who claimed any experience beyond swinging a pick or hauling logs."

  Eirik stood up and scanned the small group of five men.

  The first was a thick-necked fellow with arms like tree trunks. His name was Garrett, according to Leif's hasty introduction – a former quarry foreman from the granite pits near Flint's Hold. He stood to be recognized as the obvious choice.

  The second was a thin, nervous man named Petr, who claimed experience as an assistant to a city planner.

  The third was a barrel-chested woman named Gudrun who'd supervised mining operations for Lord Varn's silver deposits.

  The fourth was a young man barely out of his teens, Tormund, who'd worked as an apprentice to a master builder in Frostholme. He was eager.

  And the fifth...

  Eirik felt his assessment slow.

  The man stood apart from the others, leaning on a wooden cane. One of his eyes was milky white. Where his left ear should have been, there was only a mass of scar tissue. He was gaunt, almost skeletal.

  "Name?" Eirik asked him directly.

  "Sindri." Nothing more.

  "Experience?"

  A pause. Then: "I've built things. And I've seen things fall apart."

  Garrett snorted. "That's not an answer. Look at him – the man's half-dead already."

  "Garrett." Eirik's voice was flat. "Speak when spoken to."

  The quarry foreman's jaw snapped shut.

  Eirik turned back to address all five.

  He gestured at the massive cavern around them. Lantern light flickered off wet stone walls. The sounds of hundreds of refugees settling in – arguments, crying children, coughing – from every direction.

  "This space will house over a thousand people within the week. They'll eat here. Sleep here. Live here. And they'll shit here."

  Petr wrinkled his nose. "Surely temporary latrines on the surface would be more—"

  "No." Eirik cut him off. "The surface is for pilgrims and commerce. The faithful who come to see the Frost Mother's statue, pay their silver, buy their trinkets, and leave. They get the pretty view. The people down here – my people – they stay. They can't be running up and down tunnels every time nature calls."

  He walked slowly in front of the five.

  "So here's your test. Right now, in this cavern, I have roughly three hundred people. Every single one of them will need to urinate and defecate multiple times per day." He stopped, turning to face them directly. "Where does it go?"

  Silence.

  "Let me be more specific," Eirik continued. "Right now, people are pissing behind rock piles. Within two days, this entire cavern will reek. Within a week, we'll have disease spreading. People will start dying. Not from Skarls but from their own filth."

  He spread his hands.

  "Tell me exactly what you would do, how you would do it, and what resources you would need."

  He pointed at Garrett, the quarry foreman. "You first."

  Garrett straightened. Being first was a sign of respect.

  "Simple enough, Lord Stormcrow. We dig pits. Deep ones. I've supervised a hundred men digging through granite – this sofite stone is nothing. We carve out latrine trenches along the far wall, maybe fifty feet long, three feet wide, ten feet deep. Line 'em with gravel for drainage. Put up some privacy screens – hides, timber frames, whatever. People do their business, we cover it with ash or sawdust after each use. When a trench fills up, we dig another one."

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  He seemed satisfied with his answer.

  Eirik nodded. "And where does the waste go once the trench is full?"

  "We seal it. Cover it with stone. Move on to the next one."

  "How many trenches before we run out of space in this cavern?"

  Garrett blinked. "Well... we dig more caverns."

  "And let them fester and rot until there's more dung down here than actual people living? Also – you said gravel for drainage. Where does the liquid drain to?"

  "Into... into the rock."

  "And when the rock is saturated? When the liquid starts seeping into the main living areas?" Eirik's voice was calm. "How long before we're all drinking our own piss?"

  Garrett's confidence cracked. "I... I hadn't thought—"

  "Clearly." Eirik turned to Petr. "You. City planning background. Impress me."

  Petr looked nervous but also eager to outshine the quarry foreman.

  "The fundamental error in Garrett's approach is treating this as a mining problem rather than an urban one," Petr's voice taking on a lecturing quality. "In proper cities, we employ sophisticated sewage systems. Channels carved into stone, angled precisely to ensure flow toward central collection points. The waste is then transported via cart to designated dumping grounds outside the city walls."

  He gestured expansively. "We could implement a similar system here. Carve channels along the perimeter of the cavern, all sloping toward a central collection pit. Citizens use designated latrine stations positioned over these channels. Water – perhaps diverted from an underground stream – flushes the waste toward collection. Carts haul the collected matter to the surface for disposal."

  Eirik listened, then nodded. "Better." He paused. "Now tell me – where is the underground stream?"

  Petr blinked. "I... assume there must be one. Underground caverns typically—"

  "There isn't one. Not within my current area of control. So your water source doesn't exist."

  "Then... then we carry water down from the surface."

  "How much water per flush?"

  "Perhaps... a bucket? Two buckets per use?"

  "Eight hundred people. Average of six bathroom visits per person per day. That's forty-eight hundred flushes. Call it five thousand. Two buckets per flush – that's ten thousand buckets of water. Per day. Carried down narrow tunnels by hand." Eirik's voice was patient, almost gentle. "How many people would that require? How many hours? And where does the water come from in the first place? We're already rationing drinking water."

  Petr's face had gone pale. "I... the calculations..."

  "You assumed resources that don't exist. Just like Garrett assumed space that doesn't exist. Next."

  He turned to Gudrun, the mining supervisor.

  The woman met his gaze steadily. She'd been listening carefully, learning from the others' failures.

  "Commander," she said, her voice gruff. "The problem with both plans is they're trying to fight nature. Waste flows downhill. Always has, always will. Fighting that is a fool's game."

  "Go on."

  "We don't dig pits to store waste. We dig shafts to move it. Find the lowest point of this cavern – there's always a low point. Dig straight down. Deep. A hundred feet, two hundred, however far you can. Create a vertical shaft. Line the top with stone seats – proper latrines. Waste drops. Gravity does the work. No water needed, no carts, no hauling."

  Eirik nodded slowly. "And when the shaft fills up?"

  "Takes years to fill a shaft that deep. And when it does, you dig another one. The old shaft composts naturally underground. The rock filters out disease over time."

  "Better still," Eirik acknowledged. He turned to Tormund, the young apprentice. "What about you? Any thoughts?"

  Tormund practically vibrated with nervous energy. "M-my master always said waste is a resource, Commander! In the old cities, they collected night soil for farmers! The fields used it to grow crops! We could... we could do something similar?"

  "We're underground. What fields?"

  "I..." Tormund's enthusiasm deflated. "I don't know, sir. I just... I know waste can be useful. I don't know how to make it useful here."

  Eirik regarded him for a moment. The boy had the seed of the right idea, but no understanding of how to apply it. At least he'd admitted his limitations.

  "Good answer," Eirik said. "Better than pretending you know more than you do."

  He turned finally to Sindri.

  The scarred man hadn't moved throughout the entire exchange. He'd simply watched with that one sharp eye, occasionally shifting his weight on his cane, giving nothing away.

  "You've heard the others," Eirik said. "What do you have?"

  Sindri was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft, and everyone had to lean in slightly to hear.

  "May I ask a question first, Commander?"

  "Ask."

  "The mushroom caves. Leif mentioned them on the way down. They're producing food?"

  Eirik's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes. We're cultivating Frostcaps. They fruit every two to three weeks."

  "And what medium are they growing in?"

  "Sawdust and straw, mostly. Mixed with animal dung when we can get it. Fisk says—" Eirik stopped.

  The realization hit him.

  Sindri nodded slowly, his ruined face creasing into something that might have been a smile.

  "Human waste," Sindri said quietly, "is not garbage. It is the most valuable resource in any settlement. More valuable than silver. More valuable than grain. Because it is the one thing that every single person produces, every single day, without fail."

  He shifted his weight, gesturing vaguely with his free hand.

  "Frostcaps grow fastest in a medium where human waste works best." His one eye met Eirik's. "You have three hundred people producing waste right now. By your estimate, a thousand soon. Do you know how much growing medium that represents? Enough to expand your mushroom operation tenfold. Twentyfold. Perhaps more."

  Garrett snorted. "You want us to grow food in shit? People would never—"

  "People already eat food grown in animal manure," Sindri said, unperturbed. "Every vegetable you've ever eaten was fertilized with dung. The mushrooms don't touch the waste directly – they consume the nutrients the composting process releases. By the time they fruit, there's nothing harmful left. The process is older than cities. Older than farms. The earth has been doing it since before humans existed."

  Eirik felt his mind racing. "Explain the system. All of it."

  Sindri nodded, his voice gaining strength as he spoke.

  "You establish collection points throughout the cavern. Not open pits – enclosed chambers with ventilation shafts leading upward to the surface. Inside each chamber, you place vessels. Clay pots. Wooden buckets. Stone basins. Whatever's available. People use these, then cover their waste with a layer of sawdust or ash – you have sawmills producing waste sawdust constantly, yes?"

  "Yes."

  "The covering controls odor and begins the composting process. Each day, designated workers collect the full vessels and transport them to a separate processing cave. Not the mushroom cave itself – a staging area. There, the waste is mixed with straw, wood chips, dried leaves – and piled in specific ratios. The pile heats as it composts. This heat kills harmful organisms. After several weeks of managed composting, the material becomes safe to use as growing medium."

  He paused, letting Eirik absorb this.

  "The system is closed. Nothing is wasted. The sawdust from your mills goes to the latrines. The waste from the latrines goes to the composting cave. The compost goes to the mushroom caves. The mushrooms go to the people. The people produce more waste. The cycle continues. Forever."

  Eirik stared at him. "How do you know all this?"

  Sindri was quiet for a long moment. His one good eye grew distant.

  "I spent seven years in a Skarl camp," he said finally. "Before I escaped."

  His voice held no self-pity.

  "The prisoners who survived longest were the ones who understood that nothing could be wasted. Not food scraps. Not drops of water. Not bodily fluids. Not the dead." A pause. "When you have nothing, Commander, you become very creative about what 'nothing' can become."

  The other four candidates had gone very quiet.

  Eirik felt a cold certainty settle in his chest. This was the one.

  "The composting process," he said. "How hot does the pile get?"

  "Hot enough to burn your hand if you're not careful. The center of a well-managed pile can reach temperatures that kill most pathogens within days. You turn the pile regularly to ensure even heating, add water if it dries out. The process takes six to eight weeks for full maturity, but you can run multiple piles in sequence – by the time your first batch is ready, your second is halfway through, your third is just starting."

  "Space requirements?"

  "Each pile serves roughly one hundred people's daily output. For a thousand people, you'd want ten to twelve active piles at various stages. Each pile needs perhaps... ten feet by ten feet of floor space, plus access room. A dedicated composting cave roughly the size of your current mushroom operation would suffice."

  "And the smell?"

  "Managed properly? Minimal. The cover and regular turning prevent the decay that produces the worst odors. The composting cave will smell, certainly – but it's a contained smell, not spreading through the living areas."

  Eirik was already running calculations in his head. One more cave system, perhaps splitting off from the tunnel leading to the mushroom farms. He could carve it tomorrow once his Fragment cap reset. The sawdust was already abundant – the sawmills produced more than they could use for heating. Collection vessels would need to be manufactured, but ice containers were trivial.

  "What about urine?"

  "Collected separately, if possible," Sindri said. "Urine is mostly sterile when fresh. Can be diluted with water – one part urine to ten parts water – and used directly as liquid fertilizer for faster-growing crops if you ever establish proper gardens. Or it can be added to the composting piles to accelerate the process."

  "You're talking about separate collection for liquid and solid waste?"

  "Ideal, but not required at first. Mixed waste composts well. Separation is more efficient but requires more sophisticated collection systems. Start simple, refine later."

  Eirik turned to Leif, who had been watching the entire exchange with wide eyes.

  "Leif. This one. Whatever he needs, he gets. Housing in the upper tunnels, not the main cavern. Full rations. Access to any work crews he requests."

  "Commander—" Garrett started to protest.

  "Garrett, you're dismissed." Eirik said flatly. "Petr, Gudrun, Tormund. You're now Sindri's assistants unless you want standard labor assignment."

  Garrett's face purpled, but something in Eirik's expression kept him from voicing his objection. The other three filed out in silence.

  Sindri remained, leaning on his cane.

  Eirik gestured toward the tunnel leading to the mushroom caves. "Come. I'll show you what we have so far. Start thinking about where we'd put the composting operation. I can carve the space, but I need you to tell me exactly what shape it needs to be."

  Sindri fell into step beside him, his cane tapping rhythmically on the stone floor.

  They entered the mushroom cave in silence, the faint bioluminescence of the cultivated Frostcaps casting an ethereal blue glow over rows of inoculated substrate beds. Bram, the mushroom expert Harkin had hired, was there with two refugee workers, carefully checking moisture levels and picking mature specimens.

  "Bram," Eirik called. "This is Sindri. He's in charge of a new project. You'll be working together."

  Bram looked up and saw Sindri's scarred face.

  "What project, Commander?"

  Eirik smiled grimly. "Shit."

  Bram blinked. "I... beg your pardon?"

  "Sindri will explain. Whatever he needs, you help him get it. Consider it an extension of your current operation."

  As the two men began talking, Eirik stepped back and let his mind work.

  A Talon emerged..

  "Commander! Commander Stormcrow! Lady Fenrir sends word - she needs you immediately!"

  Damn. Eirik's blood went cold. Is this it? Has the Order arrived?

  The timing couldn't be worse.