Within the secluded heart of Mount Varela, a moss-covered glade shielded the emaciated form of Thalor. The ancient minor god knelt amidst vibrant wildflowers, his frame pulsing with dwindling emerald light. Arcane chains etched with glyphs encircled his wrists and chest, sapping his primordial essence.

**Alert: Primordial Mana: 33%**

The System message flashed cruelly. Thalor's jaw clenched against a fresh wave of agony. The draining chains flared, siphoning his power in relentless, agonizing pulses. He fought to maintain his meditative trance, nurturing the fading spark of life force.

Images of the past swirled within his thoughts, as vivid and poignant as if they were tangible realities. He remembered Kendreia in its prime, a world untouched by corruption, teeming with an abundance of life that was breathtaking in its diversity. The verdant forests stretched out like a green sea under the azure sky, their leafy canopies sheltering countless creatures that scurried on the forest floor or flitted through the branches overhead. The rivers ran clear and pure, shimmering in the sunlight as they meandered through valleys and cascaded down rocky cliffs. They nourished the land with their life-giving waters, fostering a delicate balance between all living things. In those days, Kendreia was a symphony of life where every creature played its part.

Before System Mana wormed its way into the realm, magic was not just an orderly concept but a palpable force that could be felt in every gust of wind or rustle of leaves. It ebbed and flowed naturally like the tides under the Pantheon’s watchful eyes, enhancing life rather than manipulating it. But those were halcyon days now lost to time - days before darkness fell upon them all when System Magic twisted their world into something unrecognizable.

Suddenly, a thunderous surge of power shattered Thalor's meditation. Familiar tendrils of primordial essence caressed his weary soul like a long-awaited homecoming. His eyes flew open, widening in a mixture of shock and hope.

There it was—the brilliant, revitalizing signature he'd felt drift farther with each passing era. Impossible. After untold ages, had Kyrian returned?

Thalor's emerald gaze sharpened, newfound determination coursing through his veins. The chains rattled, straining against his reinvigorated power as he hauled himself upright.

If Kyrian lived, verdant possibilities beckoned once more. His creator's unshakable will could halt the decay gripping this realm. Perhaps, at long last, Thalor's suffering would end, his cherished home restored.

With a rumbling exhale, he steadied himself. He must find a way to make contact with Kyrian and add his strength to the Creator's cause, however humble his part. Thalor reached out along their ancient bond, a sliver of primordial energy drifting outward in search of its source.

In the Capital of Aetherion

The Arcanum loomed against the twilit sky, its soaring spires thrumming with deeply-layered wards and protective enchantments. Within the shadowed recesses of Archwizard Malakar's study, the elderly mage stiffened, grey eyes flaring wide.

An ominous tremor rippled through the ambient mana field suffusing the tower. His gnarled fingers tightened around his staff as an unfamiliar, oppressive power rolled over him in pulsing waves. Malakar's brow furrowed, years of experience triggering instinctive alarm.

Whatever this unknown force was, it cast the entire Mount Valera’s mana signature into turmoil.

Gripping his spectacles, he peered over the rim, sweeping aside scattered tomes and parchments with one sleeve. Uttering an incantation, Malakar activated Arcane Insight which traced a complex glyph across his scrying bowl's polished obsidian surface. Violet runes flickered to life, the dark pool shimmering as magic took hold.

Malakar's eyes narrowed as his Arcane Insight scanned the majestic expanse of Mount Valera. Nestled deep within the jagged cliffs and valleys of the mountain range lay the infamous Nether Dungeon – a place shrouded in terror and myth. Despite countless attempts to conquer its treacherous depths, it remained impervious for centuries. Every hundred years, like clockwork, it would unleash Mysticite-ranked beasts into the world, leaving devastation and chaos in their wake. The mere mention of this place was enough to send shivers down the spine and instill fear in even the bravest warriors.

Malakar let out a breath of disbelief as realization struck him a blow. The Nether Dungeon had been Conquered.

"Impossible..." he murmured, fingers clenching around the orb's edges as it displayed the uppermost levels shredded asunder. Torrents of unfamiliar mana billowed skyward, flecked with deep blues and purples.

A force of cataclysmic magnitude had torn through reality's seams. But what power could have obliterated a Mysticite-ranked domain? He gripped his temples, mind reeling.

Snatching a rune-etched communication stone, Malakar wasted no time. "Summon the Council. Now!"

His study's weighty oaken doors crashed open as burly Tower Guards stormed in. "Archwizard! Your orders?"

"Prepare the Grand Chamber at once." Underneath his furrowed forehead, Malakar's eyes blazed with a restrained storm of urgency and apprehension.

An hour later, the Council's members began to trickle into the Grand Chamber of the Arcanum, their robes and attire reflecting their specialties and ranks within the magical community. Visages ranging from concerned to downright panicked were visible on the faces of the most powerful wizards, sorcerers, and advisors in the kingdom as they took their places in the grand hall. The heavy air was thick with anticipation and trepidation as Archwizard Malakar, his weathered face a mask of stern composure, limped into the room leaning on his gnarled wooden staff. His grey eyes, usually so full of wisdom, now burned with an urgency that few had ever seen before.

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"Councilors," he began, his voice commanding the attention of the room despite its advanced age, "I call this emergency meeting to order. As many of you may have felt, a surge of unknown mana has shaken our very foundations. The Nether Dungeon..." Malakar took a deep breath as murmurs rippled through the crowd, "has been vanquished."

A cacophony of incredulous gasps and heated whispers filled the air as those present struggled to process this revelation. The implications were dire; no one had ever managed to breach the dungeon's depths in over a thousand years. And now, it lay defeated as if it were naught but a child's plaything.

"How?" bellowed a deep voice. “The Nether Dungeon has remained unconquerable for centuries.”

All eyes turned to Archwizard Malakar as he lowered his staff, its runes glowing with a soft, luminous light. "I share your disbelief, but the evidence speaks for itself," he said, gesturing towards the Scrying Bowl that still displayed the shattered remnants of the once-impenetrable dungeon. "This is unprecedented..." He hesitated, steeling himself as he continued, "We must consider the possibility that an outside force, one far more powerful than anything we have ever faced before, is responsible for this."

The room erupted into a maelstrom of chaos once more, with frantic whispers and cries of disbelief filling the air. Malakar waited for order to be restored before he continued. "Councilors, we must put aside our differences and work together. This... entity... or group of entities... have overcome a dungeon that even the strongest of us was not able to conquer. We must think outside the box if we are to protect our realm."

A hush fell over the council chamber as the gravity of Malakar's words sank in. For several tense moments, the only sound was the crackling of the arcane torches lining the walls. Then, a diminutive wizard in deep purple robes shot to his feet.

"Preposterous!" he squeaked, his voice shrill with disbelief. "You would have us believe some unknown force simply waltzed through the Nether Dungeon's defenses? Mysticite wards and constructs laid by the ancients themselves?"

A burly battlemage pounded a mailed fist on the table before her. "He speaks true. I've led expeditions that barely scratched the dungeon's outer defenses. Legions of mages throwing everything in our arsenal couldn't make a dent."

Malakar raised a hand, his steely gaze sweeping the anxious crowd. "I understand your skepticism, but the evidence is irrefutable. Something—or someone—has obliterated the Nether Dungeon. We would be fools to underestimate the power that accomplished such a feat."

A susurrus of uneasy murmurs followed his words. Archwizard Selevis, an elderly woman with a severe bun and piercing eyes, steepled her fingers before her. "Then we are dealing with an unknown variable of potentially apocalyptic magnitude. We cannot ignore such a threat."

"But how?" a younger mage blurted out in a tremulous voice. "The Nether Dungeon was the most treacherous domain known to our Kingdom. We've never encountered anything capable of such..." He trailed off, shaking his head in dismay.

A contemplative silence hung over the chamber before Malakar spoke once more. "You raise a fair point, Erion. Perhaps conventional approaches will not suffice against this new threat. We must consider...alternative solutions."

Councilor Vhalren, a battle-hardened veteran, raised an appraising eyebrow. "You can't be suggesting.?"

Malakar nodded grimly. "These are dire circumstances. We may need to call upon assets we've avoided utilizing in the past."

A dangerous spark kindled in Vhalren's eye, and his scarred features twisted into a feral grin. "About damn time."

With a wave of his staff, Malakar conjured an image of a craggy mountain peak surrounded by mist. "The Nether Dungeon's collapse occurred here, in the heart of Mount Varela. Whatever defeated it likely lingers nearby."

Malakar sensed the unease in the chamber, the hunger for immediate action simmering beneath the surface. He raised a placating hand. "I propose we enlist aid from an...unconventional source. One uniquely equipped to handle unpredictable threats."

The wizened archwizard paused, letting the weight of his next words resonate. "The Adventurer's Guild."

A wave of mutters and furrowed brows swept the council. For decades, an uneasy truce had existed between the Kingdom's mages and the guild of wandering sellswords, mercenaries and bounty hunters. While both sides respected the other's power, their motivations and methods often clashed.

"You can't be serious," Vhalren growled, his scarred face twisting in contempt. "Relying on those coin-hungry vagabonds? They're about as trustworthy as a dagger in the back!"

Malakar met the battlemage's scowl with an implacable stare. "Desperate times, Vhalren. The guild's veterans have seen and survived horrors that would break most mages. Their skills at adapting to the unknown are unmatched."

"He's right." All eyes turned to Councilor Selevis as she slowly rose. "We deal with knowable magics, forces we can study and theorize about through texts and experiments." Her sharp gaze pierced them all. "But this new threat defies all our knowledge and expectations. In such cases, the unpredictable mindset of adventurers could prove invaluable."

Grudging nods followed her pragmatic assessment. As much as the wizards prided themselves on their intellect and lore, they knew all too well the limitations of conventional tactics. The unknown required an unconventional approach.

"Very well," Vhalren relented with a grunt. "But we can't rely on just any rabble from the guild's ranks. We'll need only the most elite, those battle-hardened few with the skills to match this threat."

Archwizard Malakar's expression was grave, but approval gleamed in his eyes. "Precisely my thoughts. I propose we extend an official request to the guild's highest echelon - a party of Ethernium-ranked adventurers. The best of the best."

A hush fell over the council as the weight of Malakar's words sank in. Even amongst the vaunted Adventurer's Guild, achieving the Ethernium rank was a nigh-impossible feat reserved for an elite few.

"Ethernium-ranked..." Erion's voice trailed off, his eyes wide with a mixture of trepidation and awe. The rest of the council chamber fell utterly silent. To call upon an elite cadre of Ethernium-ranked adventurers was not a decision to be made lightly.

After a moment, Malakar straightened, leaning on his staff as he addressed the gathered mages and warriors. "I understand your apprehension, my friends. Etherniums are a rare and formidable breed, unbound by the conventions we uphold. But make no mistake - the threat we face is of an unprecedented scale. Whatever force could defeat the Nether Dungeon is beyond anything in our collective experience."

His piercing gaze swept the room, catching the eyes of each council member in turn. "Our lore, our magic, our battle discipline - for all our knowledge, we may find ourselves woefully unprepared against this unknown enemy. The adventurers' way is to adapt and overcome when the rules we know no longer apply. That is a skill we would be foolish not to leverage in our time of need."

Vhalren grunted, leaning back in his chair with his muscular arms crossed. "Just don't expect me to enjoy working alongside those mercenary jackals. As long as they can hold their own, I'll try not to gut them...accidentally."

A few nervous chuckles met the battlemage's dark humor, but Malakar was undeterred. The wizened archwizard waved his staff, conjuring a shimmering display of rough-hewn faces and names. "These are the few I've identified as potential candidates, based on their reputation and track record. Study them well, for our choice will be pivotal..."