Archive of Our Own ^beta

In hindsight, there is nothing wrong if he'd chosen to stay. Even now with whole kingdoms between him and his family's home, Wonpil can very well turn around and just go back. 

Back to the sunlight that crept through the cracks of his windows, tickling his eyes until they opened. To Younghyun feasting on a freshly baked loaf of bread from their oven. To Dowoon's joking complaints while lugging back parcels from the post office. To his mother and her wagon, to his father and his knitting. To Kongie, the animals, and every fixture in the house that weathered his youth. 

(To nightmares of a wild sea, of high waves nearly snatching him from the air. To the voice of a woman he felt he knew but not from where, calling out in a tone that chilled his bones to their core—

"Come to me,” she would say. “Find me where the sea sleeps.”)

To questions. Too many questions.

"You mustn't get caught in dreams, boy," his father once told him. Wonpil was much younger then—young enough to believe that his father had long since wrested the answers from the world with his battle-scarred hands. But the older man couldn’t even look at him, instead training his eyes on the horizon, on something Wonpil was not old enough to see. "There's a reason they exist only in sleep."

Years later, his mother all but jumped out of her skin when he asked her about his dreams. She stared at him long and hard, as if the son she held in her arms had turned into a ghost. “They’re nothing but nightmares, love. Warnings from the god of dreams,” she whispered, rubbing gentle circles into Wonpil’s cheek. Her trembling said otherwise. 

But those times have long passed, and now Wonpil is leagues away from home, on the cusp of an answer long sought for. He’s merely a few feet away from the end of the Wall, a natural rock formation surrounding the town nearest to the shore. And once he looks at the water beyond, he’ll… well. Maybe he hasn’t figured out what happens after that, but it’s a definite start.

If he can just move—

“What are you doing?”

That voice. 

(Waves thrash against each other with the impact of each collision rising higher and higher. The spray of seawater inches closer, like fingers clutching at air, the ghost of a threat to swallow him whole.

The woman, invisible in form, laughs. 

"Almost there.")

He turns, but instead of a woman's, his eyes meet the gray ones of a little girl’s. How she appeared there without making a sound is beyond him, but perhaps he was too deep in thought to notice? 

Wonpil approaches her, relieved for the excuse to put distance between himself and the Wall's edge. "I was trying to look at the sea," he says. "The townsfolk told me this place had the best view."

She perks up in curiosity. “You haven’t seen the sea before?”

“Only in dreams.” He chuckles without mirth, feeling honesty seep into his grin. “They weren’t very good dreams, either.”

“They must mean something, if you came all this way.” She regards him then, seeming less like a simple little girl with the way she stares. “Oppa, are you afraid?”

"Should I be?"

"I don't think so," she teases, her smile almost impish. And yet, Wonpil can't find it in himself to doubt her. "Will you let me come with you? It's not so scary if we go together."

He should say no. Better yet, he should look for this little girl's mother. The sun has all but hidden beyond the Wall, and he remembers the warnings the townsfolk gave him about staying beyond the Wall during the dark hours. But as much as he doesn't want to admit it, he is afraid. Even the company of a little girl is a comfort if it means he can get this over with as quickly as possible. Months of travel have led to this moment, and the urge to know intensifies as the shadows behind him lengthen.

("It's almost time, Wonpil," the voice sighs. "Almost time.") 

Finally, he stretches out his hand to the girl. She takes it and instructs him to trace his other hand along the Wall when his eyes are closed to keep him from falling over. Once she's satisfied, she tugs him along, their pace limited by the length of her stride. 

The seconds stretch to minutes. He's about to scold her thinking she's tricked him into going back to town, when his other hand runs out of Wall and is left gliding through air. The ground beneath him turns soft and the scent of brine becomes stronger. If he stands still enough, he can almost feel the push and pull of the water that's who-knows-how-many feet away.

They stop and she lets go of his hand.

"Open your eyes."

Years of nightmares did not prepare him for the sight before him. The waves gently lap against the shore, the sound like a long-lost lullaby caressing the sand and smoothing away its scars. The water sparkles like crushed diamonds, rivaling the stars of the night in its luminescence. The longer he looks, the more he’s convinced that this is not a sea that could haunt him.

When he turns to look at the little girl, she’s gone. A young woman with long obsidian hair and a dress the color of sea foam stands in her stead, one who is smiling at him right now as if she’s known him all his life. Wonpil is sure he’s never met her, and yet everything about her screamed in familiarity.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” She speaks in the voice that haunted his dreams. 

A voice that, he realizes, was never cruel or taunting, but was filled with sadness that even her smile could not tame. 

As if sensing the turn of his thoughts, she says. “The laws prevented me from showing myself to you, but the god of dreams was kind enough to send my message. Albeit, not in the way I intended.” Her smile is sheepish as she adds, "I'm sorry to have caused you fear."

Wonpil has had a million questions racing through his mind since the moment his dreams first appeared. For the present, he chooses one. 

“Who are you?”

The woman passes him with a thoughtful look, stopping in between him and the ocean. “It's not safe to say so here, brother. But you have questions, surely. Come, for it is a very long story and we are expected back at home.”

Brother? Home?

Before he can press any further, she turns and walks directly into the sea. She is submerged up to her waist before she turns around and beckons him to her. 

Maybe it’s because he didn’t grow up listening to tales about strange women leading men to their watery graves. Maybe it’s because he can’t go back without his answers, no matter how unbelievable the situation is. Or maybe it’s how, in this light, this woman reminds him of his mother. He isn’t quite sure why, but the minute she stretches out her hand to him, he doesn’t hesitate to follow.