Chapter 4: I Don't Believe in Fate
The forest was dark. Cold. But not cruel.
Bella trudged barefoot through tangled roots and damp grass, her breath fogging in the night air. Her small body ached—shoulders sore from carrying firewood, knees bruised from falling, hands cut from climbing over stone walls.
But none of that mattered.
The Cold Palace was behind her.
And she was still alive.
She had nothing. No food. No map. Not even shoes.
But she had herself—Bella Snow. A soul that had died once already. A woman reborn into a child's body with a memory sharper than steel and a hatred hotter than fire.
She pressed a hand against a tree trunk and whispered to the stars above, "No gods saved me."
She didn't say it in anger.
Just… clarity.
"No prophecy. No divine trial. No hero's blessing. Just me—choosing to burn it all down."
She stared at the sky, watching the stars.
"Where were the gods when I was beaten?" she asked the silence. "Where were they when she—the original villainess—was thrown away?"
The silence answered her honestly:
They weren't there.
Because they didn't exist.
Not in the way the people of this world prayed to them.
Bella had seen something greater. A goddess named Christina, yes—but even Christina had flaws. Had forgotten her own surname. Had smiled like a child playing a game. No all-knowing deity, just another player in a system pretending to be divine.
Bella clenched her fists.
"I don't need faith. I need power."
---
• Morning •
By the time the sun began to rise, Bella was near collapse. Her legs trembled. Her head throbbed with thirst.
That was when she smelled it—smoke.
But not like the Cold Palace fire. This was sharper. Familiar.
Campfire.
She followed the scent through the trees until she saw it: a small hut, half-covered in moss, sitting between two cliffs like a forgotten secret. Smoke rose from a crooked chimney. A pot hung over a flame outside, bubbling with stew.
Bella stepped forward, cautious.
Before she could knock, the door creaked open.
A man stood there. Not old, but not young. Robed in dark cloth, with silver-threaded sleeves. His hair was black streaked with gray, and his eyes were pale, sharp, analytical.
He looked at her for a long time. Not with pity. Not with confusion.
With curiosity.
"…You're not from around here," he said finally.
Bella's throat was dry. "I ran away."
"I can see that."
She looked down, suddenly self-aware—covered in soot, bruised, barefoot, wearing a tattered nightgown.
"Can I stay here for a while?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away.
Then he stepped aside. "If you lie, I'll throw you back into the woods."
"Fair enough."
---
• Inside the Hut •
It was quiet.
Books lined the walls—real books, not scrolls. Bottles of glowing herbs hung from hooks. Arcane diagrams were carved into the stone table in the center. The man handed Bella a cup of warm water. She drank it in one gulp.
"Your name?" he asked.
"Bella Snow."
"You escaped from the duke's territory?"
She nodded. "They locked me away. I burned it down."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're five."
"I'm not."
That made him pause.
"…Explain," he said.
So she did.
Not everything. But enough. She told him she was reawakened. That she retained knowledge from a past life. That she didn't believe in gods or fate. That she saw the world not as a divine story, but a broken system.
He listened.
When she finished, he poured her another cup of water and said, "Interesting."
"You believe me?"
He smiled faintly. "Belief is for those without logic. You've just described memory retention, soul resonance, and mental continuity. All real. Rare, but not mythical."
Bella stared at him.
"You're not a mage from the Church, are you?"
He scoffed. "The Church believes magic is a divine gift. I know it's just structure and energy. I left their lies behind years ago."
She liked him instantly.
"What's your name?" she asked.
He hesitated. Then replied, "Call me Thorne."
"Are you a heretic?"
He chuckled. "That's what the nobles called me when I stopped praying and started thinking."
Bella leaned back against the wall, exhaling deeply.
This… this was exactly what she needed.
---
• A New Truth •
Thorne showed her his work.
He wasn't a wizard in the traditional sense. He didn't chant spells or wear pointy hats. He drew circles of energy. He altered wind with formulas. He built tools that responded to thought.
And he taught Bella the basics.
"Magic isn't divine," he told her. "It's mathematics in motion. Energy shaped by intention. The gods don't own it. They just claim they do."
Bella listened, eyes wide.
For the first time, she wasn't kneeling in prayer. She wasn't being punished or silenced. She was being taught. As an equal. As someone capable of understanding.
Her hands trembled the first time she lit a spark from her palm—not with chanting, but with will and control.
"No blessing," she said quietly.
Thorne smiled. "Only design."
---
• Nightfall •
That night, Bella sat near the fire, a fresh cloak around her shoulders, her fingers still warm with residual energy.
She looked up at the stars again.
No gods. No angels. No destiny.
Just stars. Balls of gas burning light-years away. Beautiful and uncaring.
And that made her smile.
Because she didn't want a god watching her.
She wanted to be free.