It’s love from numerous angles and the final step to empowering their rebellious group, the compounding of which will create an awakening, one that will stimulate many to consider something remarkable.
They will begin to say, What if…
What if all deities can feel love? What if they aren’t so different from humans after all? What if they’re similar at heart? And what if that means they’re equal?
How will that inform fate and free will? How will that change the balance?
If enough immortals consider this, they might start to believe. And if they believe, the dynamics will shift, as will the roles and powers of all beings.
But will inspiration magically happen? Will people simply take action and thus change?
Or will Wonder’s class be obligated to solidify the inspiration somehow? Will they need to take one more cumulative step? What will that step be?
In the meantime, what if it still comes to battle?
That’s what they shall be ready for.
Harmony seeks to control the argument as voices collide, each person snapping out vital points. Andrew accuses Envy and Sorrow of being selfish. They accuse him of being a former mortal. Love bristles at them for insulting her beau, hence tasking Andrew to calm her down.
Merry whistles for them to stop, while Anger barks for them to be quiet. Both tactics work in tandem, cutting off the commotion.
Because free will is as messy as fate, Envy has one ultimate response. “It ain’t happening,” he riots. “Me and her? Ain’t happening outside of fucking.”
“You can say that again,” Sorrow grunts.
“For Fate’s sake, Merry,” Envy groans to the pouting, disappointed goddess. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“But it’s tragic,” Merry laments. “How much you’re missing.”
“Hun, how’s about a refresher? And listen up good, because I’ll only say this once: I’ve got nothing against fluff, but the only person I’m interested in loving is myself.”
“Anyway, we can’t control how we feel,” Sorrow adds. “And no one has the right to make us feel anything.”
Wonder leans against a bookcase and clears her throat, causing all seven heads to swerve her way. “Did you hear what you just said?” she counters.
They stare at Wonder. Across each face, creases of worry smooth out, illustrating relief at her arrival and calm demeanor. But there’s only one expression that she would give anything to see—a fiendish smirk agreeing with her.
For a moment, Wonder’s chest aches from her own comment.
Because it’s something Malice would have said.
27
And it’s true. Envy and Sorrow are correct. Whether or not by the strike of an arrow, no one can control feelings. It’s not a choice, but it’s also not destiny.
Regardless, they just might learn to love each other, no matter how much they resist. Everyone hopes so, because a great many futures ride on that. It isn’t fair to the couple in question, but that’s the price of who they are.
Nonetheless, what one can control is how one reacts to such feelings, so long as comrades stay out of the way. Which is precisely why none may tell Envy and Sorrow how, or when, or why to change. Their class can encourage it, but in the end, it’s up to the pair.
Mostly, it’s up to them. That’s fate and free will.
For the sake of both realms, they can at least try and see what emotions surface from their relationship. That had been Wonder’s point. Unfortunately, it doesn’t yield the desired effect, because after the group finishes giving Wonder consolatory looks, the argument resumes, picking up where it left off.
As much as Anger bristles and Love stomps her foot, ready to wallop the couple upside their heads, that will accomplish zilch. Envy and Sorrow continue to object, and the class continues to gang up on them, and Wonder continues to observe.
Anger’s hoop earring swings in irritation. Merry’s fluffy dress glitters like a chandelier dangling over her sneakers, her pink ponytail jumping in place. Love’s white shift is a little oversized, in defiance of the short garment she used to wear. Andrew reclines against a bookshelf and folds his arms, muttering ironies and mild obscenities.
Vain as ever, Envy snaps his swanky suspenders. Sorrow readjusts a safety pin on her vest, her purple-painted lips set in a pout.
Wonder reflects. For all their centuries of living, she and her friends are so young. Yet to arm them with the power of emotions, to assume they know anything about these emotions simply by learning techniques and sensory signals, to believe that’s the necessary extent of their training and experience? It’s a significant flaw of their kind. To conclude that’s all it takes to understand humanity, much less themselves, is a selfish failure.
For this equilibrium between fate and free will to manifest, it needs diversity. Not just from immortals like her class and former mortals like Andrew. Not merely from active archers and exiles like Merry.
But from age. From youths to elders.
Therefore, she’s glad to have Harmony here. During such proceedings, the Guide would normally interject and share her wisdom. Be that as it may, she has another chief concern. Letting the archers work this out—to learn how to work this out—the mentor sidles toward Wonder, concern etched in her visage.
“It would be pretentious to advise you on this sort of recovery,” she murmurs while the others bicker. “However, I have faith in one truth: Someday, you will be well again.”
“Someday,” Wonder echoes, even though she doubts it, even though she believes it.
Someday, she might recognize the value of this path, crafted of her actions and life’s twists. Would she do it all over again, just to have that fleeting time with Malice? Of course, she would. Even if she couldn’t change a thing, she would.
So yes, that’s a union of destiny and choice as well.
Wonder joins hands with Harmony, squeezing their fingers together. As they do, the goddess’s attention directs itself elsewhere, her features slackening, then lifting in renewed fortification. “Someday,” she breathes. “Meanwhile, today…”
She inclines her chin, and Wonder turns, following the motion. The class’s dispute tapers into awestruck silence. From each corner and around numerous bends, figures appear with archery harnessed to their backs and their heads banked inquisitively. Longbows and crossbows of the earth and sky, of limestone and marble, of stones and gems, and of other varied treasures.
Some faces are soft and flushed with youth, others chiseled and polished with maturity. Some wear circlets of leaves, others wear braids or metal clips. Their star-woven cloaks, liquid gowns, and supple, moon-threaded leathers shift with their movements. The visitors glow like lunar beams while bringing with them the scents of misted caves and blooming cliffs.
The fragrances of the Peaks.
Around Wonder, her class gathers, watching the deities’ approach. The newcomers pause, a handful gazing about in curiosity, because they aren’t old enough to know the mortal realm yet, others hardly sparing the library a passing glance, because they have served plenty of human landscapes.
Among the guests—some unrecognizable—is Hope and Joy, each female nodding toward Wonder and her class.
“This is…,” Anger trails off, knowing as well as any of them what this is.