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[OOM: Do you hear the people sing
Lost in the valley of the night?
It is the music of a people
Who are climbing to the light.

...

Do you hear the people sing?
Say, do you hear the distant drums?
It is the future that they bring
When tomorrow comes...
Tomorrow comes!]

He can hear a distant song, the fading echo of drums, and there is a light that is too bright to be of the world he knows. He stumbles toward it, eventually all but falling through a doorway into...

Well, into he isn't sure where. He looks around him. Surely his comrades should be with him also, if this is indeed the afterlife the priests often spoke of. But there are no faces he recognizes, and he does not believe that the world beyond would take the form of a wine shop even if such a place did exist.

Bloodstained, tattered, smelling of gunpowder, he weaves his way toward the bar, feeling an overwhelming need to sit.

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He laughs then. "What a remarkable idea! Gods roaming around among men as though they are still relevant, still hold any power."

Gavroche grins at him.

"They don't have a lot of power, no. I think they just barely get a few followers, so they can survive."

"I'm amazed they even have so many as necessary for that."

He shrugs. "It might be a looser definition of followers then the old days, with temples and all that. Maybe just people knowing their names."

"If knowing a name is enough to give it power, then perhaps the battle is not lost after all."

"It never was, my friend", Gavroche says more quietly. "Not as long as there was still someone to fight it. And things do get a lot better."

"You have seen it, then? The future we fought for?"

"Some of it." He smiles. "Everyone can vote, over a certain age. Women, too. And even the poor have more money than they ever saw in our time."

Enjolras frowns. "But still there are poor, and presumably rich as well, who live off their suffering."

"Ah, brother, there'll always be those. But people know more, and care more, and the poorest are helped. No one has to send their children out to work or see all the family starve. Everyone gets education."

"No. I cannot accept that. Is this what we fought for? Died for? For the poor to be a little less poor, while the rich continue to extort them for their own benefit? Liberté, égalité, fraternité. We must accept no less than this."

"It's progress, to something that won't happen overnight. And I died for Les Amis."

"As did I, my friend. But the fight is far from over, it would seem."

"It is for you, Enjolras", Gavroche says gently. "Unless you can find yourself a miracle too. There's no going back."

"There must be something we can do. Even from here," Enjolras insists. Why has he come here if not for that?

"You can visit other worlds, and the future of ours", he allows. "The dead can't stay long except in special cases, or they turn to ghosts, but you can visit."

"What good is that? A visit now and then? What can I do with that?"

"You can write", Gavroche says soberly. "Have it published, no one will censor it in the future. Or find the right people to encourage."

"And what then? Writing only goes so far. I have seen for myself the power of words, yes, but there comes a time when words must give way to action."

"Encourage others to action", he repeats. "Or spend as much time in that world as you can, and come back here to get solid again."

He sighs and sets his glass down.

"My friend, you remind me of my duty, and for that I must thank you."

"Every man needs a rest from duty, once in a while", Gavroche says, watching him. "And you'll need to find a world to go to, first. Take some time. Meet new people."

"You said it was possible to travel to the future of our own world?"

"Or a world much like it, yes. I used to know a dancer called Meg who came here from Paris, but she doesn't come in anymore. Maybe there's someone else with a door."

"I will seek them out, Gavroche. Thank you."