And watch over those who will come.

Ten figures floated with an air of unaffected resolution, inspecting seven scars burned in the silver void.

The one veiled in stars said, this is where they died.

This is where they always die, said the Jade Chorus.

This multiverse is a fragile place, wept the Mother of Night. Few remember it when it is gone.

A false history hides it, said the Reverse Prophet. Memories of a timeline that never was.

We will remember, said the Jade Chorus.

The one covered in wounds said, I will remember, and seven new stigmata opened in its chest, blossoming like roses.

I have a better idea, said Wisdom. We need a bulwark to protect our lawful flank.

"What of the Aeons?” asked the Artful Fool.

The Aeons have not arrived yet, said the Weaver of Angels.

Or they have left already, said the Reverse Prophet.

It must be them, said Wisdom.

They’ve done enough! said the Heart of Spades. Leave them to their well-earned oblivion.

It must be them, Wisdom repeated. It must. I am sorry. The Mystery can do it.

The Mystery only nodded. The others gave it room as it pulled the Seven from the interstices where they slept outside of time.

The Seven blinked in the silver light. They were pale-looking things with slightly pointed ears. “It didn’t work,” sighed the seventh.

“All this for nothing,” said the sixth with a shudder. “I’m sorry,” she said to the ten. “We failed you, we failed you.”

You didn’t know? asked the Mother of Night. They didn’t even know. It did work, Holy Martyrs. It did. You saved them all. She scooped them up in her arms.

You have a new task, said Wisdom. If you are willing. A new plane has been emptied, or has yet to be filled.

“Opinions are divided,” said the Artful Fool.

We need you to watch over it, said Wisdom. And watch over those who will come. Trusted warriors, holy martyrs. Will you do it? Will you watch over the mount, even after we are gone? Will you sacrifice yourselves yet again?

The Seven floated, mouths open, assimilating the news. They conferred. “Of course,” said the first among them. “Wherever we are needed.”

It will not be easy, warned the one covered in wounds. I would take this fate in your stead, if I could. You will suffer many times. Six will perish outright.

We will think no less of you if you do not, said the one veiled in stars. You could return to your sleep, or progress to a suitable reward.

The seven only nodded gravely.

Then gird yourself, said the one veiled in stars.

We must name you again, said the Weaver of Angels.

This will hurt, warned the Heart of Spades. It is not too late to back out.

They did not back out. The Jade Chorus gave them their names, beginning with Zaphkiel. Each name transformed them, making their flesh shine like inorganic things.

Watch over them well, said Wisdom. They will need you.

We will walk with you, said the Mother of Night. For a while.

For as long as we can, said the one veiled in stars.

Each took one of the martyrs’ hands. Only Wisdom, the Mystery, and the Artful Fool were unaccompanied. They passed through a pool of color, and into a cool, sparkling sea.