Only the door of the inner sanctum stood before Igo. He could simply push the wooden barrier and enter, his position of captain of the Guardians of Faith meant that within the Temple there was no door locked to him. However, beyond this point were the private chambers of the Asai and her handmaidens – the Rath’ar. Sure, he would be entering only the prayer room, but it didn’t change the fact that barging in felt like intruding.

Igo shot the pair of ceremonial guards a daring glare, sensing their eyes on him. Due to the nature of their work, he was not certain which pair of his men were currently stationed to guard the Asai’s private chambers. However, the captain could conclude that they were from one of the more neutral factions within the Guardians of Faith. It wasn’t anything obvious, otherwise, they would face sanctions. Every faction within the ranks had developed their way of identification, from where religious ornaments on their dress, to icons on their weapons. And they were becoming too many for the captain to keep track.

To the general public, the servants of the Temple were united, something both Igo and the Asai were working very hard on presenting. But dive a bit deeper into it and anyone could find that there were two dominant factions who fought for power of the largest non-human religion within the Dominion. First and most problematic of them were the Purists. To them, every elf who so much as dared to modify the perfect form granted to their race by the Goddess. And although he couldn’t play favourites, Igo had to agree that some of their ideas did make a lot of sense, and were more closely aligned to the teachings of the Temple.

On the opposite spectrum were the Reformists. Those lunatics saw dissent among the ranks with their ideas that all sins can be forgiven. They even went as far as to encourage modifications amongst the faithful in order to obtain a more human appearance. At least, in their case, Igo had to deal with their insane ideas only within the lower ranks of the clergy and Guardians. He would need to talk to the Asai again about purging the ranks.

That, however, could wait. Igo narrowed his eyes at the two guards, picturing their worried faces behind the blank mirror mask that hid their identity. The duo should have informed the Rath’ar of his presence by now. Which made it very odd that he was forced to wait for this long outside.

“Central,” Igo breathe into the communications device attached to his wrist, “perform a security sweep of all channels. Notify me of any abnormality, no matter how insignificant.”

“Yes, sir.” The reply came quickly, and he could hear faint static in his earpiece as the appropriate scrub programmes did their job.

“All channels secure, sir,” the report came a few seconds later. “Minor electromagnetic and radiation interference detected. Values within previously logged margins for boarding a class Leviathan cross-stellar liner…”

Igo cut off the connection as the wooden door cracked open. His hand instinctively went for the vibro-blade hidden in his belt as he recognised the priestess that greeted him as belonging to the Order of Healing.

“The Asai?” Igo dared not think what he would do if something had happened to the Goddess’ representative on this mortal plane.

“Be at ease, honoured one.” The priestess lowered her head, pressing her palms to the openings of her bone-coloured mask depicting the visage of the Goddess. “The Most Holy is safe. She is in sacred communion, and she cannot be disturbed.”

As a child, Igo found the ritual masks of the priesthood frightening. The very idea of all the women who wore them, surrendering themself to utter anonymity was alien to him. But now, the commander of the guard, couldn’t imagine a more serene sight. This was the highest form of devotion, and at times it pained him that only women were allowed to place the visage of the Goddess on their face. However, like everything else, he had accepted it with time, and in doing so found new pride in his work.

Igo let go of the breath he was holding, reminding himself of the reason he had arrived here. He retrieved the wax-sealed envelope from the inside pocket of his vest, presenting it to the priestess so that she could see the mark of the Rath’ar on it.

“A message arrived for the Asai,” he spoke softly, keeping his voice under control. “By shuttle.” He stressed as he refused to place the small envelope in the priestess’ outstretched hand.

Without saying anything the priestess gestured for Igo to follow her inside the inner sanctum. They both knew that a message was sent by shuttle only in very rare and extreme cases. Mostly it was due to the astronomical costs of sending physical letters between systems. Igo could recall only a handful of times such a thing had happened in the past, now this was the second such envelope he was to deliver to the Asai.

The first one had prompted their sudden return to the homeworld, abandoning the scheduled tour of the outer colonies. As for the exact reason, not even Igo could tell, despite having opened the message as part of his duties. As expected, it was written in code, and pushing the cryptologists had yielded no results. And with this second one, the captain didn’t bother to try. Whatever it was, the Asai would inform him in due time.

True to the priestess’ words, his charge was meditating in the middle of the spacious prayer chamber, facing a large wooden statue of the Goddess at the opposite wall. Various medical equipment monitored the ancient elf’s health, while two of the Rath’ar rubbed sacred oil on her exposed arms. Silently one of them stood up and approached Igo taking the message from him and presenting it to the Asai.

Remembering where he was, the captain quickly dropped to one knee and directed his eyes to the floor. He could feel the Goddess’ divine presence wash over him, calming his soul. Patiently, the man waited for his charge to give her command and direct him.

“Igo.”

“Yes, blessed one.” He wanted to shout at his own stupidity for interrupting the Asai.

“Our return will coincide with the day of Ir’asra.” His charge continued, ignoring his blatant show of disrespect.

Was that it? Such information did not justify the fortune spent to deliver the message. Although an important religious date, Ir’asra marked the Goddesses victory over the Pathari Saar, the false gods who had tricked the first elves. But the really important date was the Of’ra, the Day of the Goddess, and that was six days later. They should have plenty of time to prepare for the grand celebrations… No! Igo cursed himself for a fool. If they were going to arrive during the Ir’asra, that meant that the Temple would be open for everyone. How could he be so blind?

“Do not worry, blessed one. Arrangements will be made to ensure that not a single abomination will dirty the Temple during your stay.”

“I see.” The Asai’s voice sounded taxed.

“The Asai must rest.” The priestess next to him whispered in his ear.

He had forgotten that she was there, which only further confirmed that there was too much on Igo’s mind. Offering a word of gratitude, the captain left the inner sanctum.

Harry loved his job. He adored the freedom it gave him, but most of all he absolutely worshipped the connections it allowed him to make. Of course, there were also days when he wanted to strangle his clients and their insane demands. In his twenty-two years in the business, Harry could confidently say that he thought he had seen and done it all. And that there was the problem, he had never seen anything like this. A simple cream envelope with a red wax seal, delivered by shuttle courier to what was essentially the other side of the Dominion.

It wasn’t a fan letter and it wasn’t a threat, that much was clear. Not a single fan, Harry could imagine, would spend close to million talons to have a letter delivered from the Homeworld as a physical item. And after trying to find the sender, he was left even more confused. One thing was obvious though, it was meant only for Dom Q to understand. Or at least he hoped so. There were a few possibilities that could explain this mystery and all were enough to restart Harry’s drug habits, without exceptions.

“Is he inside?” He asked the startled bodyguard guarding the young singer’s private cabin.

Without waiting for a reply, he strolled past the bulky tattooed man and pressed the door’s sensor pad. A second later the thing flashed red and produced a series of beeps, indicating that the entrance was locked.

“Damn it, Dom! I know you’re in there. Now open the bloody door!” Harry shouted as loudly as he could, slamming his fist against the reinforced plastic separating him and his client.

“Is he alone in there?” He turned to the gorilla looking at him with a suitable dull expression. “What are you waiting for!? Get the damn door open!”

“Uhm… Right, sorry. I can’t Mr Harry. Not that I don’t want to… Uhm… You see, Dom Q requested that you see, he asked that I give him my key, so that, you know, he could get proper sleep. You see, that’s what he told me, and you know, you always tell us, that we should do as the VIP asks. So, you know…”

“For the love of all that is Holy, shut the fuck up!” Harry screamed in the idiot’s face. “Listening to you, makes trolls sound intelligent.”

He really should invest in hiring people who had more than two working brain cells. One of the most important rules was to never let the client lock themselves in the room. Especially oddballs like Dom Q. The party for his twenty-third birthday had made almost every electronic and printed cover throughout the Dominion. And those vultures the media were scouring every pixel for signs of drugs and restricted substances. They were eager to have him crucified, his name dragged through the dirt, and all his little dirty secrets laid bare for all the world to see. But despite all the extravagant appetisers and expensive liqueurs, there was nothing.

“Harry, mate, could you keep it down?” A tired deep voice put an end to the tirade of abuse Harry was hurling at the bodyguard.

Harry let a sigh of relief, seeing that his ticket to even greater heights was alive and well. That was one less problem on his mind.

“Thank the Gods.” With a sigh, he pushed the young man inside and sat on the edge of the bed.

For all his years in the industry, Harry had never had such an interesting client as Dom Q. As with all in this trade, he had piercings on his ears, lips, eyebrows and other places, his manager was not fond of thinking about. But unlike the competition, the young man had natural good looks and a charisma that at times seemed almost unnatural.

“Look, I told you; I’m not stripping for you, and I’m NOT sitting on your lap.” The young man’s voice brought him back to reality.

“And I told you, I was expecting someone else!” The protest came unbidden from Harry’s mouth.

Anyone else would have milked the situation for all they could, but Dom Q had simply rolled with it. It was almost as if he was seeing Harry as a friend, and that really confused the manager. Trying to figure out the star’s thoughts could wait, however.

“Anyway, I’ve got some really amazing news for you,” he wanted to start with something good, before moving to the more problematic topic of the letter. “You might want to sit for this. Drum-roll, please. I arranged for you to have a spot in the most anticipated event of the year.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“That’s right, Dom, my man. You’ve been cleared to perform during the ceremony for Aula Hester’s coming of age…”

“What’s that in your hand?” The young man interrupted him, just as Harry pointed his thumbs at himself, taken in by the emotion of managing to arrange such an important gig.

“Are you listening to me? Getting to perform for the royal family, and at a major event like this, is a dream come true.”

“Yes, and it’s not going to happen,” Dom Q leaned in, his bright blue eyes piercing through Harry. “Is that for me?”

At times the young man appeared strangely intimidating. It wasn’t anything obvious, well, there was his physique but that was an industry standard. No, it was something in the way Dom stood and dominated the room. As one of the former bodyguards had put it best, Dom Q could command attention better than the bloody royals.

“Fine, we’ll put a pin on that.” Harry gave up on the topic after a moment.

“You can put whatever you want in it. It’s not going to happen. I don’t owe the line Hester anything. Now, is that for me?”

“Don’t you ever say that out loud again, you hear me?” Harry shouted, franticly looking over his shoulder out of habit. “You never know who might be listening…”

“You know what, I might actually include a bog fuck you to the entire royal family in my next live concert. That should make it clear what I think about them. But first, you should really answer my question, because I’m starting to get irritated of asking the same thing. "Is that for me?”

“Of course, this is for you.” He waved the crumpled envelope in an attempt to change the topic to a less problematic one. Or rather, one that would not end with his head on pike. “And I’d appreciate it if you could explain what it is…”

Dom snatched the envelope from his hand and tore it in half, anger flashing on his face. The young man was about to turn the priceless item into scrap when a small data card dropped on the floor. Before he could stomp on it, Harry placed his foot above the item, stopping the destruction.

“Look, man, I’ve been very respectful about your past and all that. But when someone, and mind you that someone is very up high in the GS, I have the right to ask. Is this something I should be worried about?”

Dom Q’s eyes narrowed and Harry could tell the boy was picking his words very carefully. What he said wasn’t a lie, the youth’s past was an utter mystery.

“It’s a family matter.” The words felt flat and were as rehearsed as an explanation as Harry had ever heard.

“I’m gonna need a bit more than that, mate.”

“It’s complicated Harry,” Dom shrugged and took a bottle of wine from the collection on his desk. The star’s manager watched in awe as the content drained down the man’s throat in seconds.

“You can trust old Harry with anything, my boy,” he smiled as he picked up the data card and the pieces of the note stored within the envelope.

“I told you my last name’s Quintus, but that’s a lie. It’s actually Regis and I’m the heir of the GS. The letter means that my father is dead and I’ve been summoned home.”

Harry choked when his mind registered the words coming from Dom Q’s mouth. “What the…”

“I’m just messing with you, man,” Dom Q laughed.

“Don’t you ever do that to me!” Harry roared. “You almost gave me a heart attack, you little prick!”

“That’s why I chose you as my manager, Harry. You’re so gullible.” The star sat next to him and offered him a bottle of some strong liqueur; Harry wasn’t too interested in reading the label.

“Jokes aside, I’ll have to go to the GS Security’s Headquarters when the liner returns to the capital.” Dom continued, a scowl appearing on his face, as Harry took a swing from the bottle. “By the way, I read it on the manifest that a ship from the elven faith will be docking as well. I don’t care how you do it, but I don’t want to be so much as on the same floor as those fanatical zealots.”

Realising that that was the end of the conversation, Harry stood from the bed and made his way out of the room. Before he could cross the threshold, however, Dom Q repeated his strange demand.

“Am I clear Harry? Not on the same floor.”

“Yes, yes. I’ll make it happen.” The ageing man sighed, adding under his breath. “Never picked you up for a xenophobe.”

Apparently, the comment wasn’t as quiet as he had thought. “I’ve got nothing against the elves,” Dom spoke in a playful voice. “They have a special place in my heart and bed. It’s their Goddess and her followers that I don’t like.”