He opened them. A handful of spice sifted through his fingers, scattering like starlight. Each grain tasted of futures — bright and terrible at once. For a single breath he saw corridors of possibility: alliances braided with betrayals, a child's laugh echoing down a throne-room, an entire fleet folding into the dark like paper ships. He could choose a thread and pull it; the universe would unravel politely around his will.