There was one thing that Fólkvangr had been putting off, ever since she purified. It wasn't exactly minor--but it was also probably the biggest sign of her new freedom, and her new identity as a soldier of Order instead of one of the Negaverse's slaves.

She had not, yet, been to her Wonder.

It felt strange to think of--that she would be going to a place on Ganymede's homeworld that was in some way hers. Like she would be trespassing on her Princess's domain. But...she couldn't put it off forever, and truth be told, she wanted to see what it was like. She wanted to know what this little slice of the universe that her soul resonated so powerfully with was like.

She wanted to see Fólkvangr. She wanted to know what it was, what it was like. In Norse mythology, of course, it was Freya’s hall, where half the chosen slain made merry with the Queen of the Gods. But that didn’t seem right, to her.

She considered asking Ganymede to come with her, but...this first time, she felt like she needed to do it alone. She would bring her Princess to visit, for certain, and probably Valhalla too--she owed them too much to not want to show them her world--but this time, this visit, had to be for her and her alone.

It wasn't that she was avoiding it on purpose, per se; there just...hadn't been time, it felt like. But she knew that she had to go. She needed her signet ring, if nothing else; it was a vital tool for communication, and those were only ever on Wonders. Their extraterrestrial visitors, too, made visiting her Wonder seem more urgent and important. She ought to see her own slice of space, since there were people coming out of the sky.

Truth be told, though, she was anxious; what if it was frightening or dangerous? What if it, or something on it, rejected her, because she had chosen Chaos first? What if...

What if she wasn't good enough?

She shook her head to clear away those thoughts. If her Wonder didn't want her, that was its problem; she would still be its knight, no matter what. Surely it couldn't boot her off and take her power away, or anything ridiculous like that, so she only had to worry about feeling kinda judged by an ancient building, or whatever. Not exactly the worst thing that had ever happened to her, if she was completely honest. Worse things than a fancy house had judged her.

She moved several blocks away from home before powering up; no need to draw any unwanted attention; and she went in an entirely different direction than she had the last time she'd powered uyp. Paranoid, perhaps, but when she knew what the Negaverse was capable of, she didn't want to create a pattern of an energy signature consistently blooming in the same place where someone might notice and decide to take a little action. Ugh, what a miserable thought. That she might draw the eye of some ambitious officer--like she'd been, once--and end up dragged back, after all she'd done to get out...

Not happening. Not possible. So she would be extra cautious, if that was what it took to protect herself from that utterly unacceptable fate. She would not disappoint the ones that had helped her escape the Negaverse by falling right back into Metallia’s toxic grip.

The words of the oath she needed to speak in order to go to her Wonder came to her lips, easily and with barely a thought.

"I pledge my life and loyalty to Ganymede," well, that was true, for the woman at least, "and to Fólkvangr. Grant me youre protection, so that I may grant you mine."

Inhgale. Exhale.

In the space of a breath, she was gone.

The alley that she had powered up in disappeared, and was replaced by the imposing gray-stone front of a massive two-story chateau.

She gaped in amazement at the sight before her. It was...beautiful, although the word almost seemed too small to contain the wonder she felt, looking upon it.

It was U-shaped; a central wing and one to each side, built around the courtyard she stood in. The courtyard itself was stone, decorated with areas that looked like they might once have held plants, and centrally dominated by a massive fountain. Atop the fountain was a statue of a woman, winking coquettishly from behind a fan engraved with the open-heart-and-lighting-bolt symbol of Ganymede. Against her hip, she held a vase, tipped over; Fólkvangr guessed that once upon a time, water had spilled from it.

Every fold of her garment, a light dress that clung to her curvaceous figure, was rendered with love and care; her expression was playful and come-hither; even the cant of her hips was full of personality. And even though everything around it was crumbled and ruined, the fountain still stood, triumphant.

Fólkvangr wondered if the woman portrayed on it was one of her predecessors, a Knight from time uncounted.

She took a step forward, and then another, heart racing with anticipation, and came to the great wooden doors that marked the entrance of the chateau. They were damaged, and so was the stone around them; everything had an air of decay, but also an air that it might have been deliberately broken. She couldn't guess as to whether that was right or not; perhaps she ought to ask Ganymede herself for a history lesson on their shared planet.

The doors were partially off their hinges, but she was still able to push them open; the inside led her to a gorgeous, lushly-decorated room that must have served for welcoming visitors. Now, however, it was in a state of terrible disarray; furniture was knocked over, items were strewn across the floor, and the whole thing looked like a huge mess.

"You're late," a voice said, airily, and Fólkvangr froze. "Already a Squire? My goodness, girl, how could it possibly have taken you so long to get here?"

She turned, and her eyes fell on the speaker. She was gorgeous, there was no doubt about it, and her outfit matched Fólkvangr's uniform--she was even fluttering the same fan to cool herself. Long, dark-wine hair flowed down her back, and her eyes, a piercing blue, held Fólkvangr's gaze. At a guess, Fólkvangr would have put her in her mid to late thirties, maybe early forties, but it was a sort of Hollywood-glamor thirties or forties, where she had clearly done a lot of work with makeup and personal care to hide signs of age and give herself a timeless, imperious sort of beauty.

The whole thing made for a very intimidating picture, along with the way the woman was looking at her like she was being evaluated, and was not quite measuring up.

"Who are you?" Fólkvangr asked, voice more than a little shaky.

"My name is Satine," the woman said imperiously, striding over to her and leaning down--she was so tall, close to six feet, at a guess--to examine her, “and I am--was, I suppose, since it must be your title now--Fólkvangr Knight of Ganymede. You must be my descendant, by who knows how many generations, and it is my duty to help you understand Knighthood.” She sighed, in the way of someone who was indulging someone she preferred not to indulge. “I suppose we can overlook the lateness of your visit, as you are here now. Quite unseemly of you, though.”

“What,” Fólkvangr said, articulately. “And what do you mean, the lateness of my visit?” Did Satine somehow know she had dithered? How? Fólkvangr couldn’t imagine a way that would work, and yet the woman certainly sounded like she did.

“I was once the Knight,” Satine said, “and now, instead of my soul moving on to the Cauldron to be reborn, I’m here. I was waiting, darling, for you, so that I can guide you through becoming the Knight you’re meant to be.” A slight smile teased her features, and she fanned herself. “My goodness, you must have struggled so mightily as a Page with no signet ring. You should have visited then, you know? What kept you, dear? Nerves?”

“I was never a Page,” Fólkvangr blurted, and Satine’s eyebrows went up. Fólkvangr wilted, guiltily, under her gaze, and shifted uncomfortably.

“Never a Page? That’s just not possible,” she said. Fólkvangr wilted further, staring down at her feet and hugging herself.

“I--uh,” Fólkvangr felt a surge of guilt, admitting this to someone else. “I didn’t...start...as a Knight,” she said. Her shoulders dropped. “I was corrupted, for a while. And purified after I became a Captain. Ganymede--Princess Ganymede--she saved me.”

In an instant, Satine’s expression softened.

“Oh, darling,” she said, and this time, it sounded genuine and sincere, and she moved to cup her hands around Fólkvangr’s cheeks. “Well, that’s as good an excuse for tardiness as I’ve ever heard.” She sighed. “And I assume you’ve gotten here prompt, now that you’re where you belong?”

“It took me a little while,” she admitted, “with getting settled into a new life and all. But...as quickly as I could, yeah.”

“Good,” Satine said, and she patted Fólkvangr’s cheek. “You’re here now, darling. And we can’t afford to delay any longer. So! Come with me,” she took her hands away and turned, beckoning. “This,” she said, as she walked, “is Fólkvangr--a Wonder that has for centuries been home to a group trained as planet Ganymede’s finest courtesans. And,” Satine pause,d and turned, and gave Fólkvangr a conspiratorial grin, “her best spies.”

It took a moment of processing for the information to sink in, and then Fólkvangr met the conspiratorial grin with one of her own.

“Everyone talks to a pretty girl,” she said. It had been an advantage in the Negaverse, too; giggle a little and act coy and flirty and everyone assumed you were an airheaded bimbo with fluff for brains, and then they underestimated you. And that was the moment they lost.

“Exactly,” Satine said. She turned again, and kept walking, and Fólkvangr took in the spectacular spectacle that was her Wonder; everything was plush and luxurious, even if it was damaged and rotted with time. She could see the beauty under the surface; under dirtied and cracked walls, and tarnished accents, and broken furniture.

She wanted to ask Satine about the destruction, but she hesitated. It seemed, somehow, too complex and too personal, and she wasn’t eager to pry when she knew she had to impress her new mentor.

Better to stay on the good side of the woman who ran this place, after all, and knew it like the back of her hand if the confidence with which she walked said anything.

Finally, she pushed open a door, and Fólkvangr followed her into a lush office space.

“Oh, where did I put that blasted ring,” Satine said, frowning. It was fascinating to watch the ghostly woman interact with the room, righting the desk with an ease that surprised Fólkvangr--it looked like a heavy piece of something like mahogany!--and testing various drawers, popping open multiple secret compartments full of notes and letters in a script Fólkvangr couldn’t read. “My workspace,” Satine explained. “Something of a clearinghouse, and plenty of things I didn’t want grubby hands touching. Where did you get that mirror, by the way?”

“From a youma--one of the Negaverse’s monsters.” She reached down to brush her fingers over the glass. “I haven’t had much occasion to use it, but it lets me see the people I care about if they’re in danger.” Satine frowned, pausing in her search to look at it critically.

“A dubious origin,” she said, “but it seems harmless, and useful. Keep it safe.”

“I intend to,” Fólkvangr agreed easily. What was she supposed to do? Lose it? Of course not. It was far too useful for tha. Satine nodded, and returned to her search, and a few minutes later, popped up.

“Aha!” she said, and she withdrew something from the desk and threw it at Fólkvangr, who caught it. It was an odd wooden cube, and she could tell that there was some sort of design on it, but it was all out of order—

Ah.

A puzzle box.

“Solve that,” Satine said, “and your ring will be inside. I had to protect it, and this was the easiest way I could think of.” Fólkvangr frowned down at it.

“What am I solving for?” She asked. That didn’t seem too much to ask.

“Three sides will have the rose of Fólkvangr,” Satine moved over to her and tapped her hairpiece, “and the other three will be the symbol of Ganymede.”

Fólkvangr nodded, and picked up an overturned chair, and sat down. She turned it over in her hands, briefly, looking for any obvious patterns or tricks, but there were none--it was well and truly scrambled.

Fine.

She began the work of solving it eagerly, turning it over in her hands and clicking pieces into place with a vicious determination. Slowly, the pattern began to come together--three roses , on alternating sides from three Ganymede symbols. A mark of the Knight. Fólkvangr wonder dif there was anything special about the puzzle box, or if it was just a toy; Satine hadn’t seemed particularly attached to it, but she didn’t want to assume one way or the other.

Finally, the last piece clicked into place, and Fólkvangr made a noise of delight. Aligned properly, she could see that there was a nearly invisible hinge that she could open, and inside was, indeed, a delicate signet ring.

“Oh,” she said, softly, pulling it out and slipping it onto her right index finger. It fit neatly and comfortably, and she ran the thumb of her opposite hand over the engraved rose design. “Oh.”

“Look at you,” Satine said, and Fólkvangr looked up to see her smiling fondly. “A proper Squire now.” Satine sighed, looking her over again. “I would have liked to guide you from much earlier, but that simply cannot be helped.”

“I’m here now,” Fólkvangr said, “and I want to learn.”

“Good,” Satine said. “But I can’t teach you everything in one day.” She snapped her fan closed, gently tapping it against the bridge of Fólkvangr’s nose. “Go home. Patrol your Earth, look out for nefarious activity. And next time you come…” She smiled, snapping her fan back open to cover her face. “Bring the Princess, if she’ll come. I’d like to meet her.”

“I’ll ask,” Fólkvangr promised. “Hey, uh. Do you know what my magic does? I haven’t had a chance to use it yet.”

“I wish I could help you,” Satine admitted, “but you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.” Fólkvangr sighed, but it was playful.

“Couldn’t be that easy, could it?” She said, shaking her head.

“Sorry, darling.” Satine didn’t sound particularly sorry, but Fólkvangr had to acknowledge that was fair. She had to do some of this by herself, after all. So she stood up, and curtsied to her ancestor.

“I’ll be back,” she promised, “but I have to return to Earth. There’s so much to do.”

“Of course,” Satine said. “Come back soon,” she wiggled her fingers, and Fólkvangr waved, and thought of Earth, and she was home.

[wc: 2,575 words]