If you opened the newspapers and retraced, you could get an estimate. None of the kids were sure, but it was probably 25 years ago, at the first day of summer.

There were no birds — only gunshots, smoke, and blood rising to the air in clouds. People ran around, shouting commands.

"Round the kids and women! Kill the men and the elderly!"

And before anyone could come to their rescue, they had disappeared. It happened simultaneously in several villages, almost like a guerrilla. In cities, children would go missing.

The rise of the River.

It went on for years, with the government tailing them in an endless chase.

Then, several years later, the two boys met.

73 was pushed into the camp. He was screaming, protesting that his name wasn't 73. An older kid helped him up. 73 looked at him. He was tall. He looked like he was about 4 years older.

"Are you ok, 73?"

"My name is not 73! It's — !"

He laughed.

"Well, hello — . I'm 11."

"That's your name?"

"The name they gave me. I have forgotten my name — but I'll remember yours! If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask me!"

But as months passed, neither 73 nor 11 could remember 73's name. They couldn't say it out loud without getting punished.

"Brother 11, do you really not remember my name?"

"Yeah, sorry."

73 pouted.

"Is my name really that ugly?"

"Hahaha, no! Actually, I think 7 is the number for perfection. And one of my acquaintances said 3 refers to God."

"God? Who's God, brother?"

"Uhm, I don't know. But I heard he's like the most powerful person. Our supervisors worship him."

"Ooh."

"Also — don't call me brother. We're not even biologically related."

73 jumped up and down.

"Brother! Brother!"

"SHH!"

A man stormed in.

"What's with all the noise?"

11 bowed.

"Sorry Sir, we'll keep it down."

The man slapped 11.

"You better teach the kid some respect too."

11 held 73's mouth as the man left, preventing him from protesting.

"Keep your voice down and be careful not to disturb others. When you address the men, you should bow and address them with respect. Just say yes, do what they say, and don't protest. Understand?"

"I'm really sorry — are you hurt?"

11 yanked his hand away.

"Go play with the other kids and stop bothering me."

They met again several weeks later. 11 ran into the tent.

"Sir, you're gonna seriously injure him!"

"Do you even know what he did?"

11 clasped his fists, trying to hide his trembling hands.

"I heard he answered back, Sir. But he only said one w—"

The supervisor yanked his hair and started striking. The kids closed their eyes, hoping the next one would be the last.

When the man left, 73 ran to him — but 11 pulled his hand away.

"I-I'm s—"

"What? You're sorry? Then rather than saying sorry again and again, why don't you just do what I said?"

11 brushed his bleeding lips and left.

"Wow, how many times did he strike 11?"

"Not sure dude, I couldn't even count."

"They really are strict, even to their favorites."

73's eyes lit up.

"11's the supervisors' favorite?"

"Not just the supervisor — all the men and the higher ups. He has a really good sniping skill, so he usually operates the firearms while we run around doing surprise attacks or spying."

"I heard he can even snipe a fly one mile away."

"No, a mosquito!"

"Hey, we're talking about real life here, not fantasy!"

"You think shooting a fly sounds like real life?"

"Why does he keep on helping us, then? Wouldn't the older kids get a chance for promotion if they have outstanding performance?"

"No idea. I think he's just one of those older kids who always stands up for the younger ones like us."

"Hey 73, where are you going?"

"Will be back in a minute!"

73 ran to the bigger tent. The older kids must be here, right?

11 was sitting on the side, crowded by others. They looked at him. 73 opened 11's palm.

"Hey, I have a painkiller pill left. Please take it!"

He ran back.

The older kids looked at 11.

What was that?

11 scoffed.

The next months were grueling. They moved from one spot to another, with the River intensifying their attacks and deflecting the government forces. When they finally got to rest, heat strokes and dry wind blew, rendering many sick.

The younger kids were now in one tent with the older ones, as the latter helped around as much as they could.

Three men stormed in, dragging a younger kid with them. 73's eyes widened.

13?

"Where's 73?"

73 raised his arm. One of the men walked toward him, lifting the rear of his pistol. 73 closed his eyes.

But the hit never landed.

11 held the gun.

"Sir, he has been working for months straight and is currently sick. Can't you cut him some slack?"

"Move away, 11."

"What rule did he break? He has been very obedient and respectful."

"Obedient? Hah!" He yanked 13 to the middle.

"This kid right here attempted to flee, and is therefore punished. 73 snuck him food — said by 13 himself."

13 sobbed.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry!"

11 frowned bitterly. It wasn't written specifically in the rules, but everyone knew that helping a punished individual was prohibited. Even so — would he not have done the same? He'd also probably get away with some slaps rather than whips.

"Can you please delay the punishment? At least until his fever goes down."

"No. Move away, kid."

But 11 refused to move. The man sighed and grabbed him — but just as he was about to take a swing, 73 stepped to his side.

"Stop! It's my fault — so please punish me instead!"

11 sighed, tapping the ointment as gently as he could.

"There, done."

73 stood up and grinned.

"Thank you! It's not as painful as I thought!"

"Oh, really? Then want me to use the alcohol instead—"

"No!"

73 yanked away and froze.

11's hand was very hot. Is he sick too? Now that he paid attention, his blushes were even redder than the kids with high fevers.

"Wanna take some time outside?"

73 nodded.

They walked several meters away from the tent, just inches from the prohibited boundary. The stars sparkled above and beyond the cliff below, cities basked in glimmering lights. Grasshoppers chirped, the gentle wind blew, and the scent of night flowers drifted by.

For a moment, everything felt so peaceful.

73 looked at 11. He heard that this was 11's favorite spot, whenever he had free time.

"Why did you do it?"

"Huh?"

"Stepping in. You didn't have to step in. He'd probably let me go after a few whips — but he'd go full force on you."

"You always stepped in for me — and it was my fault—"

"That's not a reason."

73 pursed his lips.

"I felt really bad for 13. We always played together and talked a lot. I know he's been very exhausted and he misses his people very much. They starved him — I mean, I know it's temporary — but I don't need to eat as much either, so I thought of sharing the extra."

"Don't do it too often — or you'll die before you even reach your teenage years."

"Aye, brother!"

"Hey, don't call me bro—"

"Why do you keep helping us younger kids?"

11 froze.

To be honest, he never thought why.

"I don't know. But I think either my mom or dad said it's something I should do."

"You still remember your mom and dad?"

11 stretched his neck, closing his eyes.

"My mom had hazel eyes and my dad had blue — they said that's how I have emerald eyes — or actually, maybe it's flipped — I don't know, I couldn't really recall their appearance anymore. I still remember some memories, though. Mom would always wake up at 5 to cook breakfast, and I'd sometimes eat the breakfast first in my dream. My dad wasn't the best bedtime story reader, but he'd sing us to sleep with his guitar."

"Woahh..."

73 stayed silent for a while, twirling the grass between his fingers.

"11?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it true that you could shoot a fly one mile away? Or was it a mosquito?"

11 laughed.