Grimzore vs. the Universe: part VII

"What I don't understand," pondered Drissle, "Is why, after finding the secret of the universe, there would still be something else to do? I mean, what's bigger than that? A slightly more secret secret?"
Normally, Grimzore did not keep his company very well informed. It usually lead to trouble, and in general, the universe was not a big fan of having its major plot points spoiled early, but for the foreseeable future, Grimzore and the universe were not on good terms with each other.
"Reality is what's bigger. There is more than one universe, but there is only one reality, your basic 'what's what' of universes."
Drissle pondered for a bit. His inquisitiveness was not for lack of perception. Somehow, he had got the answer without having gotten to the bottom of the question.
"You mean... there is also a secret of reality?"
"How do we know it's in this universe and not somewhere else?"
Grimzore smiled. The monkey might be worth something yet.
"Universes are, methaphorically speaking, what reality wraps around itself to give it identity. Outfits, if you will. And it would seem from what I have learned from our universe, that truth--the veritable mother figure of reality--is always diligent enough to write the name inside the underwear."
"Wait a minute, we are looking for the universe's underpants to find. . . the true name of reality, so that you will have. . . ultimate power over everything?"
The wizard was quite pleased with himself. They had barely begun their adventure and he had already given away the ending. Doubtless, some of the elemental forces he was presently none-too-pleased-with were fuming at him.
Spud, who was being astoundingly quiet for a non-magical tater, ceased orbitting the other two adventurers and settled back to consider what had just been said. He began to quiver.

* * *

The elderly gentlemen now in possession of the Hall of Wizardry bumbled his way up a secluded hill, humming incoherently and occasionally flicking his fingers to snatch an insect which had been careless in its selection of flight path.
The forest took no notice of him. It was not wise to take notice of such persons if you could at all help it. They might, after all, take notice of you.
A ways up the sloping path and around a bend there was a small ramshackle house with no apparent purpose other than perhaps to keep the rain off and keep saftey inspectors on their toes. It had a fireplace and a table and and either no doors, or exactly one door, depending on how you looked at it. There was no bedding or any signs of habitation at all, other than that it was kept moderately clean.
In time, he made his way inside and heaved the purloined tote back atop the table. From the inner recesses of his robe he produced a small kindling kit and ambled over the fireplace where he crouched down and broke a wild grin.