Bollio sat at the edge of a ravine. The geography here really was wonderful – that is, in Centerland. Centerland was, as it was named such, the center continent of this flat disc of a world. It was also the center of magic.

The rocks here were said to be magic too, but Bollio didn’t really care for magic, he simply wanted to record his findings. After all, he was a geographical surveyor, wasn’t he?

He tossed a green striped rock off the end of the cliff, watching it start a rockslide which tumbled ferociously down the side of the ravine. Little did he know that the rockslide would accidentally crush a small party of Fetleens, the small red tinged people who resembled humans. Little did he know that, as they were Fetleens, their wind magic would hold a grudge against him. Little did he know that he was in fact now a murderer, because of his terrible impulses. Little did he-

Let us cut off there before we get into the many things Bollio does not know. Because there is something else, I as the narrator must reveal to you, for the following events to make sense.

High above Bollio, on another cliff was another geographical surveyor. And, as was the nature of geographical surveyors, he had also tossed a rock off the side of the cliff. This rock was no ordinary rock, however. It had the power of transfer, so when it smacked Bollio over the head – leaving a nasty bruise – all he could find was a chalky powder.

But it left another mark, a mark upon his soul. He had the power of the Ground. And now, the Sky truly recognized him. And it hated him. The Water, whose fame got stolen after the Ground stole its idea of living creatures, was notably very pissed off.

Valtar approached Bollio from behind. He was Bollio’s short Jutal friend. The Jutal were those men of the earth, and had a yellow tinge to their skin, and were bulky, but still shorter than the strange nonmagical humans.

“Are you good? That rock came from awfully high up, it should have killed you…” Valtar trailed off as he noticed the varying shades of brown that were swirling, setting themselves into Bollio’s skin. From obsidian black to salt white Bollio had become the very thing he loved most in the world. A rock.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Valtar grunted. “So now you’re becoming one with the rocks? What was the purpose of mapping the rock shades of these valleys? What practical use does it have?”

Bollio, not noticing the sudden transformation, responded when he heard the words “practical use”. “That’s the neat part,” he said, “there is no practical reason for it. It’s just fun.”

Of course, there were of course multiple uses for the information, related to city planning, mapping, and more. It’s just that he didn’t want to spoil Valtar’s fun.

It took Bollio a few more moments before he realized the shocking change in his appearance. He took a step back, then another, and then one last step. Into the ravine.

He cascaded downwards, much like the rock from before, and was beaten brutally by the jagged sides of the stone. Before that day, if he had fallen, he would surely have perished. But not that day. Because that day the Ground had accepted him into its ranks. However, it still hurt.

The pain quickly faded, as Bollio picked up an intoxicatingly pink rock. The color flowed out of the rock into him, and the wounds began to ooze a muddy substance, which hardened, sealing the wounds.

He wasn’t ecstatic. He wasn’t fascinated with his new abilities. He had just emptied the power from a rock of the Centerland. This rock had taken thousands of years to form, and now it turned to simple grey darkstone. It was like he had ended a life. If you asked Valtar later, he could have sworn he saw a tear forming in Bollio’s eye, and not from the pain.

Anyways, as Bollio lay there, prone on the ground, he thought about what that would mean for his life. He had tried his best to stay away from magic, and its frivolous wars and battles. And now he had no choice. He was caught in the middle of it all.

For the second time that day, Bollio’s life would change. As he dusted himself off and stood up, a faint shimmer split the air near him. Suddenly, a bright blue light burned on the floor of the ravine. A figure appeared, dressed in strange garments with pictures of men in colorful uniforms on it. The nature of the Centerland’s magic translated the words on the man’s shirt, and this is what it read: Star Trek.

This man must be from the stars he thought. Wait... not a man, a boy.

The boy/man, who looked to be about sixteen opened his eyes. Instead of being shocked or otherwise incapacitated, he grinned. His eyes filled with wonder as he observed the rolling stone hills that stretched out of the valley, and then, he spoke.

“Oh God! Did I just get Isekaied?"