He stood at the crossroads under a sky tinted with the hues of imminent dusk. What seemed an illusion of power wrapped around his decision—a superposition of futures branching from this single moment. Thoughts cascaded like the Mandelbrot patterns, intricate yet coherent, each contemplating its mirage.
As children, we believe the world to be a catalog of forks. The paths diverge into realms unexplored. Only later do we understand—the choices were never choices. Each path contains a tapestry, threads unseen, leading back to the same loom.
The ancients spoke of fate with reverence, an entity beyond comprehension. Today, we see algebra etched on the driftwood of reality, complex patterns that encircle singular points.