Author's Notes: By now you could proably already tell that I have a certain attachment to father relationships. Anyway, I would like to thank everyone who subscribed and made an effort to comment, specifically, iregretthis, babujjung, SunnyNight, jungli4evs, jungchoi, prettylittleliar16, ackung, and truelunatic576. I couldn't thank you guys enough. Thank you so much. It really feels nice to see a lot of familiar usernames and new ones at the comment section. It made me feel elated. This one is short though. It's only meant to make or break this fic. Phew. Oh and I loved that MV! Made me slightly nostalgic over the absence of Sulli, but anyway, I loved it.

PROLOGUE

A mile above the small square of a merry, gradually unfamiliar crowd, the man with a mission momentarily rubs his shoes on the dusty ledge of the low cliff he chose to be in. Was it a habit? A push of a thought? He was not sure at this point.

He lets out the breath he didn't know he held as he looks down at the visible nerves of his wrist. They were burning, even warmer than they were minutes then.

He smiles.

'Soon, Soojung,' he says to no one in particular as he flexes his fingers.

The bulging nerves of his wrist were nearly the color of the horizon ahead — orange. The skies of this land was nothing like the cerulean hues he was in love with as a child back home.

'Are you sure you do not want to say your goodbyes?'

He turns, and offers the approaching older man a thoughtful smile.

'Your wife sent you?'

'Good guess—' the stranger settles himself beside his supposed friend '—but I went here on my own.'

The two men shared a few minutes of silence before the other half of the duo decided to speak.

'It will be hard to leave—' he flexes his fingers once more as he took one last glance at his throbbing wrist '—considering what this place has become to me.'

'But it is not home.'

'It is not. Home is where Soojung is.'

'I have a daughter too, so I can say I share that sentiment.'

The departee lets out a chuckle, letting the irony press through his facade.

'Have you decided?' he askes, changing the subject.

The older of the two shakes his head, but he was not writing the question off as a negative; sorrow seeped through his eyes.

'I have not. I could only wish my daughter a better life, but Jinri is all we have left.'

The pain running through the younger male's veins was now ignored.

'I am sorry.'

'It is not your fault. You only told us what we should have seen many years ago.'

The older male sighs and pulls himself off the ground. He offers his friend a contagious smile as he dusts his hands.

'You should see Jinri before you go. She wants to flick your ears as a parting gesture.'

The younger male laughs genuinely.

'I don't think I should,' he said through his slowly disipating laughter. 'I will need my ears through the trip, but—' he pulls out a silver pocket watch from inside his jacket '—give her this.'

The older male's eyes sparkled in interest as he takes the watch by its chain and lets it dangle directly before his line of sight. As the silver craft gradually turned, symbols foreign to the watch's beholder glimmered with the faint orange of the sun in the horizon.

'What does it mean?'

'In our language it is read as Isaac.'

'Isaac,' the older male repeated with wonder. 'What is Isaac?'

'A watchmaker back home marked all of his crafts with it.'

'This is a watch?'

The younger male nods.

'What is the purpose of a watch?'

'It's supposed to tell time—' the younger male scratched his brow and smiled sheepishly '—but it won't work here. I have never really bothered knowing why.'

'Perhaps the value of time in this realm is not the same in yours,' the older male concludes as he pockets the watch. 'Time has long stopped moving for most of us.'

'There is hope, Choi.'

'You mean there is my daughter Jinri, Jung?'

Jung nods at the older male out of respect, but nonetheless bites his tongue.

Choi hisses as he tightens his grip around the watch inside his pocket.

'We used to believe that the future of Adanhym, the children, deserve all the time ahead of them—' both men look distantly at the crowd below '—and now, we are left with only scraps. Most of the time I would like to think that we have paid for our sins enough with our dying culture—'

The faint laughter of a young girl dancing with her mother in the crowd below dignified the look in the Choi's eyes.

'—but I see my daughter then I want to have hope again.'

He turns to the suddenly quiet Jung.

'—it might be too late for the rest of us, but if Jinri survives, we are putting all our hopes, our entire culture in her. And—' he extends a hand to his departing friend '—our thanks to you, Jung.'

The younger male returns the gesture with his trembling hands.

'—for saving this dying realm.'

Before the Jung could say one final good bye, an earsplitting clap of thunder roared across the quiet sky and smoke rose from the ground where the younger male had once stood.

The Choi lowers his hand and follows the silvery smoke with his eyes as the light particles slithered and spread thin towards the clouds.