"What happened?" one of the men in golden armor asked, but she ignored him. She didn't stop until she was out of the building and inside her carriage. On the bench, a pile of blankets waited for her. She quickly wrapped herself in them. It was a bit too hot under their weight, but she didn't care, the darkness immediately brining her comfort.

It was the habit that inspired her name; a normal woman wrapped herself up in the dark and when she emerged, she was a competent Arbiter. She always felt that it was meant to mock her, or perhaps her position. After all, what was a butterfly but a bug with pretentions? What was she besides a fool that thought she could wrangle primal forces like fate and human nature?

The longer she did her work, the more convinced she was that it was useless. She'd dedicated decades of her life to maintaining peace within the kingdom. The cost of that peace was families like the Grimoires using the traditions of non-interference and mediation to live carelessly, knowing they would never face capital punishment. And all for what? For a walking disaster like Lourianne Tome to appear and spit on all their efforts.

It was infuriating. From what she knew of their history, the Arbiters once held the kingdom together through awe and fear. They were the true elites, the best of the best, keepers of powerful secrets from the old kingdoms. But the centuries of enforced peace had dulled the watchdogs of humanity. With each generation, the artifacts at the center of their power deteriorated, becoming unusable. Their swords dulled without use. Their scholars refused to challenge the old wisdoms, stagnating in their libraries.

Truly, humanity's greatest protection was being too insignificant to take notice of; they were the pests of the world, tucked away at the ass end of the ocean. Even goblins, diminutive creatures ravaged by countless invasions, had the courage to sail the world under the shadow of the draconids. It was only humanity, or more specifically Harvest, that huddled under their covers like children that feared monsters in the shadows.

She didn't blame her bosses for their traditions, even the one that made her. As she told the deity disguised as a young woman, the alternative was far worse; without their intervention, the kingdom would have fallen dozens of times in its short history. She simply didn't find it as noble as some of her compatriots.

Her brief peace under the comfort of her blankets was interrupted by the door opening. She frowned as the other person settled on the opposite bench. They tapped on the wall and the carriage jolted forward, jostling the woman. Her fluffy barriers weren't enough to block the penetrating gaze focused on her, but she ignored the silent pressure. The world quieted as they moved away from the source of its fascination, but her head was still killing her. If she could have her way, she'd languish in darkness and quiet for at least a few hours.

"Don't tell me you're actually falling asleep in there."

The Butterfly allowed herself the luxury of a grimace where no one could see. When she poked her head out of the blankets, there was no trace of her discontent, an amicable smile curling the ends of her lips. "Why not? I've been running back and forth these last few days. Even the horses don't have it as bad; at least they get to rest between stops."

"Such is the price we pay," her minder responded blandly, his tone showing how little he cared about her grievances. At first glance, no one would suspect him of being an agent of the crown; that was the point. The biggest thing that would make people dismiss the notion were his tattoos, three dark rings, one over each of his wrists and a larger one around his neck. The markings of the Temple.

It was well-known that the people who worshipped monsters were all crazy. People dismissed them no matter what they got up to, subconsciously linking it to their unusual religion. That meant that despite his dark skin and strange dress, he could disappear wherever he went.

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"You're pretty cold for someone named Heart."

Inwardly, she chuckled at his faint sneer and once more reminded herself to stop getting her thrills upsetting people. It'd be bad if it became a habit. "Don't call me that. My name is Henry."

"That's your second name."

"It's my only name. That other thing is a cover. I only bear with it when a mission calls for it."

People aren't born with covers. Still, she relented. Anymore was unnecessary. Her minder was sensitive about his origins. Not everyone accepted the traditions they were born into. Lucky for the Arbiters. He was the perfect mix of dissatisfied, ambitious, and arrogant they recruited; the kind of person that not only thought they had the right to control the lives of thousands of people but enjoyed it.

Henry, not Beating Heart of the Ox, crossed his muscular arms and leveled his sternest glare at her. The Butterfly felt a flash of nostalgia, recalling an older woman that glared down at her the same way. Someone whose face had been taken from her along with her eyes. "Well? How did the meeting with The Girl go?"

She had to fight a wince. That was their codename for Lourianne Tome. Like all codenames they assigned, it was incredibly vague, in case their communications were compromised, and a bit derogatory. After all, the Arbiters didn't think highly of their targets. At best, the leaders of humanity were children that needed to be wrangled. At worst, disobedient pets that didn't know they lived at the behest of their shadowy owners.

If only he knew what he'd just called a girl.

"Placation, no limits."

He frowned. "You're giving that designation a twenty-year old?"

She opened her mouth, ready to explain what she'd seen.

But out of reflex, she pushed mana into her eyes, opening herself to the world.

Visions, like waking dreams filled her mind, overlapping with the visage of the frowning man. She saw his frown morph into a sneer, his eyes full of doubt as she told him about the purple-eyed god. After he dropped her off at the camp, he returned to the Golden Feathers and enjoyed a dissatisfying dinner and too much liquor. In that state, he wrote a missive to their bosses questioning her competency and asking her to be removed.

And why wouldn't he? The wind had heard him grumble about her many times; she was too old and set in her ways for him to influence. If he had the Butterfly under his control, his influence in the Arbiters would skyrocket. But as things were, he was viewed as her lackey, arranging her food and bedding like a common servant. The stars might be hiding behind the light of the sun, but they were always present, always watching. They'd heard him rant, laughed with the moon as he cursed her in the dark where he thought no one could see him.

Another vision beside it showed her handler take in the report with a stoic expression but the moment he was alone, he showed a sly expression. He went to the godling under the cover of darkness. He told her he knew of her secret and tried to leverage it against her, trying to control what he saw as a powerful asset with threats and promises of great rewards.

He was broken with casual dismissal, his warnings of retribution from humanity's guardians falling on deaf ears. His words were silenced by a predator with pink eyes and a sweet smile. The grass had seen what that monster did to the prey its master gave it. It would be a fate worse than death.

Then there were the others, more faint, but still possible—

"Hey!"

The Butterfly blinked rapidly as the pounding in her head intensified. Her minder looked annoyed. She almost shouted at him. Let's see you pay perfect attention when a thousand voices are yelling at you! "Continue your report."

"I'll write it up and send it to the bosses."

His frown deepened. "Stop messing around. I'm here on the ground with you. You can't keep me in the dark."

She sighed. "You're here to make sure I don't starve to death while listening to yappy rocks. I don't have to explain my decisions to you. Stay out of things that don't concern you."

"You!"

She didn't give him the chance to finish, retreating back under her blankets. Not that she needed to. His whole being radiated anger, aimed at her. She had no doubt that if he could get away with it, he'd beat the information out of her. Or maybe he'd just kick her for the fun of it. She winced as a vision of the young Henry mistreating the monsters his people worshipped entered her mind, the boy smiling as the bear-thing he'd just fed coughed and wheezed after eating the tampered meat he gave it.

Really, was peace worth it if it produced people like him?

She didn't know.

She also didn't know if they'd have a choice for much longer.

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