The princess's voice cut through the quiet moment, her tone steady and defiant.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't believe in any of it. I refuse to. Fate and karma are excuses the weak use to explain why they can't change their lives. Everything can be bent with enough power."
The old man looked at her, a gentle smile tugging at his lips, but he did not argue. Instead, he shrugged and murmured, "To each their own."
Leaning back, he let the conversation settle into a lull, as if letting her words sink into the air.
Listening to their conversation, Zarak could see the princess was more than just a royal with titles and luxuries. Her tone carried ambition, a drive to shape her own destiny rather than submit to some unchangeable fate.
He could sense that her spirit would not be confined by abstract concepts like fate. Each word she spoke was sharp, unyielding.
