In his palace, Eru began to create new spirits with the threads of existence itself. With a gentle command, he called upon the primordial essences of the elements to heed his call.
From the depths of the celestial flames emerged the fervent Spirit of Fire, its radiant form pulsating with raw energy and primal fury.
As the Spirit of Fire began to form into corporeal form, a transformation unfolded before the eyes of those present. From the swirling flames emerged an old man, draped in a long grey cloak that billowed around him like smoke. Atop his head sat a pointed blue hat, and a silver scarf draped elegantly around his neck. His weathered face bore the marks of countless ages, framed by a long white beard that flowed down to his chest, while bushy eyebrows arched over piercing eyes that gleamed with inner fire.
With a serene smile, Eru turned his gaze upon each figure, bestowing upon them name of recognition.
"Gandalf," he spoke with reverence, "a beacon of wisdom and courage in the mortal realm."
Gandalf knelt before Eru, his expression one of unwavering loyalty and dedication. "I am forever at your service, my lord," he declared with reverence.
Next, Eru summoned the essence of Earth, drawing forth the ancient spirit of solidity and strength. With a mighty rumble, the earth itself seemed to part, revealing the towering figure of the Earth Spirit. Its stony visage radiated an aura of unyielding resolve.
Meanwhile, the stony Spirit of Earth began its metamorphosis, gradually solidifying into the likeness of an imposing figure. His white hair and beard, once touched with the colors of the earth, now gleamed with the purity of marble. Tall and commanding, he stood with an air of quiet strength, his deep-set eyes piercing through the veil of time. Clad in a flowing white cloak that seemed to blend seamlessly with the surrounding landscape, he exuded an aura of ancient wisdom and unyielding resolve.
As his eyes shifted to the next figure, Eru's voice carried a tone of respect and acknowledgment. "Saruman," he continued, "a master of knowledge and smithing."
Saruman followed suit, kneeling in front of his creator and a testament to his submission. "I am your humble servant," he intoned, his voice filled with awe.
Lastly, the winds whispered secrets of the heavens as Eru invoked the Spirit of Air. Swift and elusive, this ethereal being danced upon the currents of the atmosphere, embodying the untamed freedom of the skies. With a graceful swirl, the Spirit of Air danced upon unseen currents, shaping itself into the form of a man of striking presence. His features bore the marks of a life lived with purpose and introspection, with soulful brown eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe within their depths. Well-defined brows added character to his gaze, while lines etched upon his forehead spoke of the myriad experiences that had shaped his existence. His salt-and-pepper hair, neatly trimmed, framed a face that exuded an aura of quiet confidence and understated power.
Finally, Eru's gaze settled upon the last figure, his expression thoughtful yet approving. "Morgan," he declared, "a cunning strategist and seeker of truth."
Morgan, with a smile gracing his lips, joined his companions in kneeling before Eru. "I will follow your orders, my lord," he affirmed, his pledge tinged with determination and respect.
Eru's smile broadened as he addressed the trio, his words carrying the weight of destiny. "I have chosen you three for the purpose of creating the Council of Wizards, alongside my Avatar Merlin. Together, you must guide the people through the critical events that lie ahead."
With solemn nods, each of the wizards affirmed their commitment. "We will ensure your orders are fulfilled," they vowed in unison.
Eru's nod of approval signaled his confidence in their abilities. "Your focus will be on Westeros," he continued, "but that does not prohibit you from journeying to Essos or Yi Ti as needed."
As Gandalf, Saruman, and Morgan absorbed the weight of the future events laid out before them—the rise of Aegon the Conqueror, the Dance of Dragons, and the Blackfyre Rebellion—their expressions grew solemn and their nods became more pronounced. Each of them understood the gravity of their task and the importance of their role in shaping the course of history.
With determined resolve, they prepared themselves to face the challenges ahead, knowing that the fate of Westeros rested in their hands.
While in Essos, Melisandre practiced her elemental magic, commanding fire with a flick of her wrist, she couldn't shake the ominous sensation creeping up on her from a distance. Casting her gaze towards the horizon, her heart sank as she realized the source of the foreboding: Valyria.
"It seems my teacher was right," she murmured solemnly, her voice barely more than a whisper in the crackling silence. "The end of Valyria draws near."
Melisandre's mind grappled with disbelief as memories of her teacher's warnings flooded back. Valyria, once the epitome of power and dominance, now faced with it's imminent destruction.
That's when Merlin came towards her, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the ancient stone courtyard, his cloak billowed behind him, caught in a gentle breeze. With a knowing smile gracing his lips, he approached Melisandre.
"So, how is elemental training going?" His voice carried the weight of centuries of wisdom, yet held a warmth that could thaw the coldest of hearts.
Melisandre's eyes sparkled with determination as she turned to face her master, her hands still tingling with the remnants of fire she had been manipulating moments before. Swiftly, she extinguished the flames and rushed to explain her progress. "I have been able to wield the powers of wind and earth with some success," she began, her voice filled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. "But fire comes most naturally to me. Water, however, seems to elude my grasp."
Merlin nodded knowingly, his gaze penetrating as he considered her words. "It is understandable," he mused, his voice carrying the weight of ancient prophecy. "Each sorcerer possesses a natural affinity for an element, and it seems that fire is yours. But fear not, for mastery over the opposing element often proves to be the greatest challenge."
As if on cue, Merlin's senses tingled with the arrival of new figures. With a cryptic smile, he turned his gaze towards a distant hill, where three figures emerged, their cloaks billowing behind them like banners of destiny.
"It seems they are here," Merlin announced, his voice barely above a whisper.
Melisandre was confused and thought,"Who?"
Merlin smiled and replied"Fellow sorcerers, they are my fellow companions."
She followed Merlin's gaze, her eyes widening in awe as she beheld the trio of fellow sorcerers. Each was garbed in a cloak of a different hue – one draped in solemn grey, another in purest white, and the last in the shimmering depths of azure.
Little did she know that her encounter with these enigmatic figures would set into motion a chain of events that would alter the course of destiny itself.