Do you remember The War? No, you wouldn't, it was a long time ago. Not even your grandparents would remember it — if they're alive. The libraries are silent about those great and terrible decades that preceded the fall. Only the meadows that drank from man's veins remember the crimes either side committed, and only the secretive politicians in the great trials that came after knew what exactly they were deciding by proxy for our world before disappearing forever.

They are dead now; the meadows paved with cement from the beaches on which brave men bled. The only thing we can say with absolute certainty from those times is that a great evil was defeated, and for the briefest of times the whole world knew peace.

Michael was a young man as The War drew to a close. He was an orphan, but not in the sense that we use the word today. The world itself was orphaned, and those men and women who remained as custodians, without parents and homes, had no time to be pitied and no protectors to shield them. Nearly every city was left shredded by the relentless shells of the other side. Michael had fended for himself and his little brother, Gabriel, in the ghettos and slums of this very city at a time when the slums were indistinguishable from the cathedrals and mansions of the powerful and wealthy.

Every night the orphans would scurry about the wreckages for any usable materials to help in their efforts, and every day they would construct and expand their homes. Humans will always work to make their lives more comfortable even in the darkest of times, and to that end, small communities started forming. Some were peaceful groups that worked together to provide, some were roving gangs that only knew how to take, and others were stationary gangs that promised protection in exchange for comfortable living. Some watched these communities form the fundamental blocks of society with disdain. Those were the dreamers, the orphans who had hoped for a better world.

The dreamers would sometimes form communities of their own, united by a shared vision for what humanity could be with a fresh start, and with the shared experience of the horrors of The War that all orphans had. Michael and Gabriel had joined one of these communities at one point; it was called Avalon by the residents. Of course, the name of the makeshift village of scrap was of no concern to the outsiders. The gangs were too big to protect themselves against, too domineering to be denied. Passing dreamers watched as these communities were coerced and integrated into the forming society.

One night, Michael and Gabriel were returning from a foraging trip, their tattered packs filled to the brim mostly with junk that was to be used for building materials. Avalon was behind on their payments to the gang "protecting" them, and for that, there could only be consequences. It never took long for word to get around about communities that couldn't afford to be protected. Words moved swiftly on the wind, and as the brothers passed over the final hill on their path, and Avalon should have come into view, there was only a blazing pyre glaring at them from afar. Michael knew not to approach, and Gabriel began to cry silently.

Michael took Gabriel by the hand with a reassuring grip. The elder brother gently led the way to one of the nearby buildings that had been stripped of all utilities. The venerable structure must have been at least a dozen stories tall in its day, but then only a few floors remained, and even fewer were safely navigable, as the rest had caved. By the time the brothers had walked up to the third floor, Gabriel had stopped crying. Michael motioned upwards, a familiar gesture that indicated he would boost his brother up to the next floor by hand through the gaping hole. The action had become routine and well-practised between the two. Gabriel climbed to the next floor with the help of his brother, being careful to avoid the jagged stones and extruding rusted metals. He took their climbing rope, secured it nearby, and Michael climbed up.

They were in a corner, barely sheltered from the elements and open sky by a fragment of the next floor. That night, they would sleep there, with their backpacks for pillows and some scavenged bundles of cloth as a duvet, but neither of them could sleep very well. Gabriel looked over to his brother, who was acting as though he was comfortably asleep.

"What are we... Where are we going to go next?"

Michael disdainfully huffed in response, Gabriel shifted in his sheets and pressed further.

"They were right, about how it would be the same, weren't they?"

After a minute's silence that felt like an eternity to Gabriel, Michael replied.

"Yeah. They were right."

"What do you think happened to—"

Gabriel stopped himself. He knew the answer to what happened to the other dreamers they had lived alongside Avalon for the past few months. Well, he at least knew that they were as good as dead. The full extent to what would happen to their friends was best kept from one as young as him; some things, when known, only hurt. Michael broke the next silence.

"I... Don't really know where to go from here, Gab."

"I like it here, where they can't reach us."

Gabriel stood up and looked out through the shattered window nearby at the remnants of their home, letting the midnight breeze freshen his face, he continued.

"Being this high up, makes me feel like a bird. Like I'm safe from everything down below, and like I can do anything I want to... Just for a bit."

Michael preemptively rubbed away the tears he felt, forming in his eyes. He lifted himself from the floor and walked over to Gabriel, hugging him from behind. He still remembered the flying machines of the war from when Gabriel was too young to recall. The horrible screeches and blasts, the flashes and gusts that could be seen and felt from afar.

"You'll catch a cold or get frostbite, Gab."

Gabriel looked down to his feet, his brother was right; he could feel his fingers and toes freezing through the inadequate gloves and his poorly ragged shoes. He looked back out the window at Avalon, a burning yearning in his eyes and replied.

"Okay, in just a minute."

Michael separated himself from his brother and returned to the makeshift bed silently. Gabriel thought about how he loved his brother and how his brother loved him. At least, no matter what, they had each other. When he returned to bed, the brothers held each other for warmth and comfort. Though Gabriel was younger, maybe it was Michael who needed it more.