After leaving Tamlin's shop, Wes looked for an inn to get a room at. The streets of Mercosa grew more crowded as the afternoon sun dipped lower, merchants packing up their stalls and laborers trudging home. Wes navigated the winding alleys with careful steps, his new short sword Whereharth on his hip. The enchanted blade drew fewer stares than his foreign clothing; here in the merchant quarter, armed travelers were common.

  Luckily, the search didn’t take too long.

  A sign creaked overhead—a chipped painting of a stag's head swinging from rusted chains. "This'll do," he muttered to himself.

  The Stag's Head Inn stood three stories tall with a rammed earth first floor. From there, it was a timber frame, its plaster walls cracked but clean. A heavyset human woman with braided gray hair leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over her stained apron. She eyed Wes up and down as he approached.

  "Reasonable price for a bed in the common room," she said without preamble. "Double that gets you a private chamber with a lock. No refunds if you piss off before dawn."

  Wes slowed and looked at the woman in surprise. "You don't give your rates and do business inside? Or is this not the norm?"

  The woman shrugged. "Saves time weeding out the broke ones before they track mud across my floors." She squinted at Wes's foreign garb, then at the mage bracelet on his wrist. "Doesn't look like that would be you. But still, coin up front."

  Wes found it interesting that half the people met thought his clothing was trash, and half thought it was rich people clothes. He shrugged and counted out the money. Eventually he was going to need to learn about money. He still had no idea what coins were worth in this world, and he didn't know whether the room rates were expensive or not. However, based on how it seemed he could generate unlimited working wealth, he didn't much care at the moment.

  The innkeeper snatched the coins with speed just short of being rude and nodded. "Top floor, last door on the left." She jerked her chin toward the staircase. "Key's in the lock. Don't lose it—replacement will cost you. It'll be a lot, fair warning."

  Wes grunted, not really liking the way the business worked but not being able to deny her logic in how she ran it. He headed inside, noting the sparse common room. This was obviously not an inn that followed the rooms pulse bar or restaurant meta.

  The room itself was sparse but clean, a narrow bed with a straw-stuffed mattress. Wes raised his eyebrows as he explored further. The room had a little toilet in a closet sized, waterproofed space, but no running water for a shower. There was just a half walled off area and a drain. A spigot above the toilet, and a bucket to one side suggested how the “shower” system would work. It was clever in a way. A tub would require a lot more standing water and weight.

  Despite the crudity of the shower, Wes was still impressed. It was vastly superior than medieval earth, and his current accommodations were not exactly expensive or high class for this world. The ritzier locations would likely be better. “Not so bad,” he muttered. There was even a bar of soap above the toilet.

  Wes stripped off his travel-stained clothes, the fabric stiff with sweat and dust. The water from the spigot ran cold but clean, and he scrubbed himself thoroughly with the later, a harsh lye mixture that left his skin tingling.

  Luckily, it didn't cost much energy to get a towel through Cosmic Vending. After it manifested, he grinned, realizing that he could probably even sell towels…the problem being that without killing things, he’d be using energy for sale goods instead of food.

  Once his clothes were washed, he hung them up to let them air dry. He considered buying something through Cosmic Vending like a fan to speed to the process, but decided not to. Wes didn't want to accumulate too much junk, or leave a bunch of otherworldly garbage behind everywhere he went. It was not just about minimizing his footprint, it was also because he just didn't know enough about this world yet, and didn't want to do things willy-nilly that could bite him in the ass later.

  Then, newly clean, naked, he charged his phone and checked it thoroughly for the first time since he'd come to this world. He went through every app, every file, looking for anything that could help his situation. The phone's screen cast a pale glow across the room as Wes scrolled through his files. Most were useless—old work documents, memes, photos of food he’d cooked…and pictures of friends and families. He lingered on some of those, then angrily scrolled away, deciding that melancholy and regret wouldn’t get him anywhere.

  Most of his apps weren’t helpful. However, luckily, this was an old phone. He had a reading app with about 100 books downloaded, mostly wishful thinking back on earth he'd ever get to them, but four were books on survival, bushcraft, and rebuilding society. He had no idea how the rebuilding society book had made its way in there until he remembered watching War of the Worlds again, while drinking, and binging-buying a bunch of random books like that right around the time the aliens were vaporizing tanks in the movie. Unfortunately, only one such book had actually been downloaded to his phone. It was better than nothing though--way better.

  As he scrolled through the book, he could immediately tell that not all of it would be relevant to this world, one with magic. Despite being in what was basically a farming area now, he could already see evidence of things built with magic. The "Layers" of the rammed earth walls everywhere were really thick, for one. On earth they were thinner. He had to imagine that the people here used magic to build with, or had resources that people on earth didn’t.

  Wes was glad he had at least some resources that might be helpful.

  He moved on to the tomes he'd recorded and put them all in their own folders: Echochain, Heavy Mist, Astral Fang, and Feral Summoning.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  As he scrolled through them again, he realized he'd missed something before on the inside of the front cover of Astral Fang. There was a note, written in small, precise script, in a different language.

  Fascinated, Wes realized it was penned by a scholar, one who couldn't understand the rest of the tome very well. The note was about the origin of the tome, about the Starscale Lizardfolk. The script was faded but legible.

  "The Starscale Lizardfolk claim these arts were not born of this world, but carried here from another. Their mastery of astral energies suggests an origin beyond our known cosmology. Unlike other magics, Astral Fang does not draw upon the ambient arcane currents of Worshiss—it calls upon forces external to reality itself." The implications made Wes blink in astonishment. If the Starscale Lizardfolk had come from another world like he had, and if their magic operated on principles alien to this reality...

  He zoomed in on the photographed pages, studying the complicated diagrams of stellar pathways and celestial alignments. The script flowed like poetry in places—descriptions of "drinking starlight" and "wearing the void as armor."

  Wes pursed his lips. This was…actually really interesting. The tome read sort of like a cross between metaphysical crystal read stuff, and astronomy. He did one more search through the other tomes he'd taken pictures of, then pursed his lips in thought again. His plan had been to wait until he could get his hands on some other tomes before deciding which magic to learn...if he even could. Tamlin had said that every person could only learn one magic, and he had no reason to doubt this at the moment. If he could learn magic, what kind he chose would be critical.

  However, he still didn't know how rare or precious tomes or magic teachers were...and he was getting an idea they were rare indeed, if Tamlin hadn't even considered selling any of his grimoires despite not being able to read them himself. Merely possessing them must be a huge mark of status or wealth.

  Heavy Mist and Echochain both actually interested Wes, too. Shattering things with his voice like a superhero sounded cool, and it was a lot harder to restrain someone's mouth than a hand or a weapon. Heavy Mist would be great for hiding, especially at night, which seemed to be the most dangerous time in this world for many reasons.

  In fact, Astral Fang actually sounded, initially, a little underwhelming. “Merely” turning into a magical supersoldier seemed less impressive than creating shrouding mist, or glowing run staffs, or other things Wes knew were possible now. But since a dominant species in the past had used it, that changed things. Logically, if they hadn’t adopted another system, there was likely a reason for it. And what changed things most...was the origin of its power.

  Wes wanted to go home. And even if he couldn’t, or one day changed his mind, he was aware of different worlds now, different realities. If Astral Fang did not use power from this universe, and was not dependent on "mana," or whatever magical energies this world had, theoretically, he should have access to the power anywhere...even if he got picked up and dumped in another world again.

  He thought about it a little longer, but ultimately, he'd already made his decision. Whether he was being impatient or not, he decided to learn Astral Fang. Maybe another magic system existed in this world that would be better for him, but it'd be useless if he died before finding it. And his pistol, while a powerful weapon, had limitations.

  Wes just…didn't know enough yet, either. If he ran into someone or something that was bulletproof...what then? He examined the Astral Fang tome's photographs again, zooming in on the the picture he took of the first practical diagram—a humanoid figure with lines of energy radiating from its core to its extremities. The accompanying text described "awakening the stellar pathways" through controlled breathing and visualization. According to the tome, this was supposed to be difficult, perhaps taking some would-be mages months, or even years to accomplish, but was highly dependent on understanding the cosmos. Wes set the phone down and stood in the center of the small room, bare feet pressing into the worn floorboards.

  He inhaled deeply, holding the image of the diagram in his mind. There had also been specific instructions, things to visualize. But when nothing happened for a while, Wes started to wonder if maybe it was a species thing. What if the way the lizardpeople saw the cosmos was different than humans did, or people on earth? Logically, how the energy entered the body, establishing the "core" was most important, right?

  Wes tried thinking of the cosmos in his own way. Instead of the layers of the diagram, he leaned heavily on memories of science classes in school, models of the Sol solar system, and visuals from space travel movies on Earth. The theme song of Interstellar began to play on repeat in his head, a fact that made him quirk a smile before he calmed himself again.

  He began to feel...something. A tingling sensation crawled up his spine, like static electricity gathering beneath his skin. The air around him grew charged, faint motes of light flickering at the edges of his vision—tiny, distant stars winking in and out of existence. His breath hitched as something alien and vast brushed against his consciousness, cold and infinite.

  Gradually, the feeling was just an itch at first, but growing.

  Then it changed.

  Pain.

  White-hot lines seared through his nerves, tracing paths from his core outward along limbs, down to his fingertips.

  Wes gritted his teeth and did not lose his mental image of the cosmos, thinking of the constant nuclear reactions of suns, or the solar flares, or asteroids, or the cold, terrifying mystery of black holes. The pain intensified—not a burning, but an unbearable freezing, as if liquid nitrogen were being injected into his veins. His muscles locked rigid as the stellar energy carved new pathways through his flesh. A choked gasp escaped his throat, his vision swimming with phantom constellations.

  Suddenly, much faster than the pain had built, it vanished.

  Wes collapsed to his knees, sweat dripping from his brow onto the worn floorboards.

  He took his time getting under control again, breathing hard, kneeling naked on the floor. Finally, he took one last shuddering breath and stood. He’d accomplished what he’d tried to do, but in a different way. All of his science and space knowledge from earth had really made a difference.

  Using new senses, he looked inside himself. There was...something new. He didn't really feel stronger, but he definitely felt different. As he dialed in his new senses, he spotted a tiny, pale blue sphere of energy inside his heart.

  "I'm a mage," he said softly. Apparently, he'd had the talent after all, at least for this system of magic. What he'd just been through was just an initiation of sorts, though. Actually becoming proficient, according to the tome, was a slow and difficult process. But manifesting an Astral Core was something not everyone could do.

  Gradually, he started to feel a bit sore. Figuring his clothes needed to dry more, and he still had time before the Night Market anyway, Wes decided to take a nap. He took some time to use Cosmic Vending, using his power to purchase cheap plastic figurines, more little toys, and a stun gun.. There was probably a limit to how many of them he could sell as "miniature sculptures," but he planned to exploit the cheap junk he could buy this way as long as possible.

  Then he flopped onto the crude bed, set an alarm on his phone, and fell asleep faster than he'd anticipated.

  After everything went black, he had a deep, dreamless sleep.