Roughly six hours later, Byron was marching up a distant hill. Baby was leading the way.

The wyrms didn't stay awake past two hours after sundown. Or rather, stardown here. Mindboggling was a good word to describe it all.

Byron looked heavenwards. He tried picking out a familiar constellation. There was none. This wasn't even the Milky Way galaxy!

Three dusty spiral galactic arms crossed the sky. There were no city lights, and there was no pollution. He could touch those sparkling fire-jewels almost. Without sunlight, the forest was now darkening. He swiveled around, casting his eyes over the sky.

Stars. Galaxies. He could pick out entire cosmic dust clouds from where he was standing, without a telescope or binoculars. That was breathtaking. And there were two moons here, but more distant than Earth's.

Byron turned to where Baby was clambering up the final incline. By the time they made the top of the hill, it was so dark he could scarcely make out the ground.

On cue, his vision shifted. The wyrms said his species incorporated night vision. They weren't exaggerating. He could pick out details in a greyer vision spectrum, different from the muffled green he was accustomed to when he'd been wearing the old NVGs in the service.

He could focus better with his bare eyes than even those high-end goggles allowed. Hot damn, what the boys wouldn't give for this... well, wait, I almost died.

The house itself was ancient. However, the wyrms said it was mystically reinforced and had magicks in it. It had stood here, alone on this hill, awaiting a new occupant.

Once he got to the door, he patted Baby on the side. "Sorry about the scythe, Baby. I didn't mean to scare you, buddy."

The big creature rubbed him. It chuffed, telling him it was okay, then laid down beside the door. Baby couldn't mental project his thoughts yet, but understood English well enough.

An eight-ton guard lizard at his front door. A baby that weighed more than an elephant, had a human being's intelligence, and was twenty-five hundred years old, apparently.

He gave himself a mental headshake. Forget a Rottweiler, that was beyond awesome.

Once he stepped inside, he was flabbergasted. The foyer and the main living area were in pristine condition. Absolutely no one had been here in eons! But it was as if a maid had been through the place once every week.

A fireplace on the wall furthest to the right in the living area had wood stacked inside. Finding flint and steel on the wooden overhang, he struck the tinder.

Fire. At least that chemical reaction was normal.

Byron noticed a dozen leather-hide-bound books lying on what must have been the kitchen's counter. On top was a letter made of thick parchment.

Not mere photocopy paper, this was the high-cotton paper that one would expect from expensive letters. Or olden times.

He pulled it open. The runes on the page automatically shifted to English. He blinked, Go with it, Byron.

After he read it, he set it down and processed.

A welcome home letter to the realm of Limina Mortis, addressed to him from an ancient deity. He shook his head.

He picked up one of the thickest tomes on the marble counter. The Living Book of the Lore.

A couple hours later, he'd settled in with a glass of something, he didn't know what, but it tasted like the absolute best kind of alcohol one could ever conceive. He sipped only once or twice, then reconsidered. He hadn't had anything to eat other than that dragon jerky.

Dragon jerky... a two-eon-old piece of jerky.

The Lore tome was so thick it would take days to go through. Might be time to see about a cot to rack out on. He walked back through the house, staring around at the various different rooms.

The wyrms said the house had remodeled to suit the inhabitant when he'd first arrived. So naturally, it fit his tastes to a T.

Going into the main bedroom, there was another fireplace to the right of the bed itself. This one was built independently, casting light out both the front and rear. It had wood prepared. He sparked off that fireplace, then saw the library beyond.

So, the bedroom also acted as a library. Cool.

Leather seats, an oaken table, and hundreds, maybe thousands of ancient tomes were arrayed on the walls. He glanced over them, running fingers over leather... and scales? Huh, more dragons, basilisks and wyverns.

These titles had silver, platinum, brass, and gold-embossed runes. He spent a couple minutes taking the names in.

Everything ranging from histories of species, to deities, to specific battles. There were even some records of mortal human history in there. And other mortal species... oh if the guys and gals at NASA only knew this crap. Einstein would have loved knowing about this open multiverse.

He turned and regarded the bed. King sized. Then he caught sight of the man's throne in the doorway beyond. Bathroom. Shower. That would be welcome. When he got to the doorway he noticed something off. There weren't any garments. Not even something to dry off.

He sighed. "Of course, everything I need except for a towel."

Something clunked.

His head swiveled. A table was placed next to the bathroom entrance, adjacent to the wall. An ancient looking trunk was on top.

Byron stared over the wooden chest. "Did you just clunk at me?"

The chest jumped. Clunk.

His jaw dropped.

After he recovered his mental faculties, he haltingly walked over. There was a golden key under the lock. He lifted it, then remembered something from his buddies' D&D sessions.

"Okay. I'm gonna open you up. I swear to God, if you got a mouth and teeth and you eat my arm, I'm gonna be pissed!"

No mouth, no teeth. But there was a towel, extra fluffy.

"Holy shit."

He sat down on the chair next to the table. A magick chest. He thought it over.

"Okay, I'm Tom Hanks in Castaway, now. I want you to click your lock for no. And clamp your lid for yes. Understood?"

The chest clamped its lid.

"Can you make soap, body wash and shampoo?" Lid clamp.

"Cremo?" Lid clamp.

"Make it." Chest gave off a series of thunks.

He drew out the bar of soap, bottles of body wash and shampoo. He looked back, "Can you make electronics?" Lock-click.

He nodded. "No electronics? That's fine. Can you make food?" Lock-click.

"Okay, can you make clothing?" Lid clamp. Byron went over that a moment.

"Can you make high end clothing?" Lid clamp.

He squinted, tossing it around in his mind. Something easy? Something he wouldn't usually find? Well, what could it hurt?

"Hell with it! Make it from Ermenegildo Zegna. A black tuxedo suit and matching pants. A blue silk shirt, a black silk tie, a gold tie clip." He wafted his head around slightly, then added, "Also, a pair of Zegna black wingtip shoes, three pairs of black silk socks, and three pairs of black silk boxers."

Multitude of thumps and thunks.

He plucked them out. His eyes practically came out of their sockets. They were all perfectly tailored to his size.

"Ohhhh," he chortled and slapped the chest lightly. "Old wood, we are gonna be the best of buds!"

Then he paused, running a tongue over his teeth and breathing. Then something else occurred to him. Wild and wooly idea, but what the Hell? He peered back at the box, "Can you make female clothing?" Lid clamp.

"Uh-huh... Chest, can you make what I think without me actually saying it?" Lid clamp.

"Make what I'm thinking right now."

He reached in and pulled out the lace bra. He sighed, "Damn, it was Agent Provocateur. She's a triple D. Good Almighty God, what a woman."

Byron shook his head, reminiscing. What a female. He glanced over. "Uh, Chest, do not do that around mixed company, please?"

Lid clamp.

"Thank you. Mind if I have two more fluffy towels?" Thumps.

"Thanks, bud. Uh, can you make Pledge and a few nice rags?" Thunk. "Awesome."

He patted the chest. "I'll get you dusted off shortly."

Going into the bathroom, he glanced around, then clapped his hands once with a shout. "Righteous!!!"