Year 3520 of the Netheril Era.
As the news of Great Arcanist Ioulaum's disappearance could finally no longer be concealed, the entire Netheril Empire boiled over.
If the Phaerimm's relentless advance was the Sword of Damocles hanging over every Netherese citizen's head, then Great Arcanist Ioulaum's inexplicable disappearance was like the foundation that had borne the empire's rise and fall for thousands of years suddenly collapsing with a thunderous crash.
It was not only the Grand Arcanists at the very top who could no longer sit still; the people's resentment, already layered with countless conflicts, had become a powder keg that could explode at any moment, with grievances accumulated beyond retrieval.
The situation throughout the empire had reached the brink of mutiny.
In the unseen dark corners of the cities, theories proclaiming the Netheril Empire's imminent doom spread unchecked.
More and more citizens lost the will to work, gradually slipping into passive idleness and numbing their increasingly taut nerves with alcohol and hallucinogenic potions.
Every day, the front of the council building was packed with wealthy merchants, scholars, and terrified nobles seeking an audience with the Grand Arcanists and His Excellency Karsus.
Even apprentices who had once made the pursuit of greater knowledge, more advanced spellcasting techniques, and the glory of Grand Arcanists their life's purpose could no longer focus on their studies in this time of universal panic.
Some took to the streets, enduring the people's resentful, suspicious stares and curses as they proclaimed grand arguments for Netheril's inevitable victory, hoping to soothe the public's fears.
Others organized themselves and sought meetings with their mentors, hoping to offer whatever help they could amid such trying times.
And some went even further, concealing it from their families and running off to enlist with the military.
That day, Blade, a Grand