Point of power

"Dink....Dink...Dinkssscratch.
"Vitska!"
Peering above the wall of rock amidst the cacti and snow two figures and a metallic relic are revealed.
"Ohhhhh Vitttska...!Vitska...", curses muttered under their breath. The one in the white clothes had just hurt their leg after poorly striking against the relic and is now bleeding from their shin. It is not a big wound, but one that would make one upset, being in the cold and all, it probably will leave a bruise, too. The bleeding gash is quickly hidden beneath bandages, but the figure in brown, wiping their brow of sweat, has already noticed it. "Well that'll make things harder", he thinks as he eyes the injured figure. Dink... Who has already returned back to the picking without so much of a word.

The day passes and night comes and the dawn rises.

Both of the figures move along the top of the relic, neither has picked up their pickaxe yet, both almost knowing that today they won't even bother picking at it today. It is the third day and as they inspect their work neither says a word. "Just useless scratches...", the one with the brown jacket thinks. "I'll get through this damn thing soon, won't be long now, won't be long...", thinks the injured figure but so far is seemingly content at just idly walking about the thing and looking at it.

"You know, we aren't making much of a progress here...", says the one clad in brown while crouching down to pick at the tiny scratches they have created with their picks. "I don't think this is gold. Should be softer."

"Maybe it's the cold? Could the cold be making it harder? What if we built a big bonfire atop it? Maybe that would make it softer?", states the injured fellow with an almost worryingly manic stutter to his speech. Both of them staring down at the strange foreign markings on the big shield like thing. If they knew how to read albino, they would know what those symbols meant. The letters, corroded and coated with patina, but still barely legible read as follows "On the behalf of Farloth, this shield has been erected to prevent anyone from unleashing the magic seeping from the earth at this point. May it never be opened unless the curse fall upon you which consumed our empire."

"Mmm, I don't think gold can freeze."

"Yes, but what if it can?"

"Well."

And with that they began to build a bonfire atop the shield. It took an entire day for them to gather and scavenge all the material for it, some dry branches and sticks from dead bushes and once the fire was big enough, they could use the cacti.

The fire burned bright, both of them stood on the outer edges of the artifact next to a mighty pile of kindling, only surpassed by the growing size of their bonfire.

As the fires began dying down, the heat had warmed up the artifact sufficiently enough that all of the snow which had previously sat atop it had now turned into water, revealing the shields true size. It was terribly hot still, but the one of the two who was far more eager pulled on his boots and wrapped around more cloth around them for good measure and with determination matched to the middle of the shield. Sweat had begun to rise onto his skin as he stared it down. He grimaced as he pulled the pickaxe upwards, aiming at the small hole in the very middle. "This is it, this is the day you make me rich.", he thought as he swung down, hard.

KACHUNKHHHSS....

It was a perfect blow, he had struck the middle. In fact he had struck it so true the pickaxe had become stuck, and the tip of it was slowly turning red and then it begun to melt.

Then it began to shake.

And then the entire shield began to rumble as he took a few steps away from the middle.

He tried to make a run for it as the shield violently swung open, his hurt leg making him slow enough that he was caught in the blast as the source of magic erupting from within.

He was not dead, however, as he came back to his senses soon. He felt concussed, but not too much. He felt relatively okay, like he had taken a bit of a beating but could still do a regular days work. He sat up.

"By gods...", His companion uttered just audibly enough. Their eyes meeting. His awakening had evidently interrupted his looting, as he was kneeling on the ground, picking up the pieces of metal that had been strewn about from the explosion.

"You're....alive?", The brown coated figure stuttered, his body and facial expression locked in such a particular way that could only convey astonishment, and fear.

"You're looting MY gold!", As the white robed figure, whose robes were now more scraps than clothes, began to crawl and then stand up with the intention of strangling the other figure he suddenly stopped as he now noticed his right arm.

It wasn't there, in fact, in place of it there was nothing. It's silhouette was visible, but it was just blackness, so black it hurt to look at, this visual phenomenon did not agree with his eyes, nor his brain at all. Staring at his arm in disbelief, from the side of his eye he could see his own reflection from one of the torn pieces of metal, he hurriedly crawled towards it to have a better look. He brought up his left hand to his face, and with little resistance, it passed through. It was not just his right arm.

Most of his entire head had become such a void.

Alluvia had not seen true magic in centuries. For ages magic was synonymous to sorceries that would have been considered elementary, trivial even in the true age of magic when the albinos ruled. But now the first of the points of power had been unlocked and soon people would notice the existence of this new element, as it seeped out of the ground in resembling a flame made out auroras.

Once more, destruction and miracles beyond reason would not be the sole estate of gods, but of mortal men."