The humanoid light casually placed one hand behind his back, his posture exuding the air of an old scholar about to deliver a profound lesson.
"In the sequence of events we discussed earlier," he began, his voice carrying a soft, almost hypnotic tone,
"from the very moment you made the seemingly trivial decision to eat at that bad restaurant,
an unimaginable number of fate threads were spun into existence.
One thread leading to the hospital where you'd rush in agony,
another binding you to the child whose leg you would end up breaking,
and yet another to the furious father whose life you would eventually take.
And that's not even the full extent of it."
He chuckled lightly, gesturing broadly around him as if painting invisible diagrams in the air.
"Threads of fate tied you to the waiter who served your food,
the bystanders who glimpsed you sprinting in distress down the street,
the doctors and nurses who would later cross your path at the hospital...
