Fate.
A word used by many to describe events that they could not control or outcomes of decisions that they could not calculate. Take, for example, the beautiful butterfly. Its wings spread, it causes the merest puff of a breeze which causes a few stray molecules of dust to drift into the winds. This stray breeze catches with the breezes of other butterflies whose wings spread wide on that summery plateau to create a wind.
That wind, in turn, catches along with other winds blowing the occasional drifting cloud across the skies. Those clouds meet with others and gather gaining mass. Those masses come together and from the light puff of the butterfly's wings, a storm brews.
If that storm is lucky, it meets with other storms and they grow together to create a force of nature.
That force of nature rains down its fury on distant lands and upon other little butterflies whose only crime was opening their wings on other summery plateaus.
It's just the fate of the butterfly, one might say. For surely the beautiful creature could not have predicted, or known, its movements would create such a force. How could, after all, something so small and insignificant create something so powerful?
However, that's the funny thing about now this world works. It only takes one seemingly innocent event, all unknowing, to bring on the maelstrom. What is it, then, when something can think its actions through, something that can reflect on its actions and words? Is that, in and of itself, a force of nature? Able to understand and contemplate what will happen once it has moved or spoken? Or, perhaps, is that thing also little more than the butterfly? Trying for only one small piece of its world and, knowing or unknowing, moving other pieces like itself in its wake?
Then the question begs to be asked. "What of those pieces that want the maelstrom to come?"