I'm on a hillside overlooking a sparkling ocean in Korea. It feels like the north east coast near Incheon, but everything is older, ancient. Wooden boats glide slowly through the harbor below, and Yui stands beside me. 

We explore the streets, looking for a house. They're all empty - devoid of even furniture. 

We're in a boat at sea, chasing another wooden ship. Aboard are Koreans, attacking the Japanese ship ahead of us. A man fires a bow and arrow, hitting the mast of the other ship, and angering it's commander. He wears riveted bamboo armor, like a Samurai. 
The dream splits in two - the chase continues, but we're simultaneously-  we're at dinner on a boat. The beams are made from solid wood, and the L-shaped table before me is lit by candle light. Yui, or a very similiar Korean girl sits beside/behind and to my right. The seafood on the table flickers between different dishes, even as I serve it. Yui pulls me around, and in close. [...]

We're back in the old city streets, north one block of where we we stood before. All the houses are dark, and crickets sound quietly in the distance. A park is behind us, with a white fence obscuring the memory of what occurs beyond. 

Yui and I are looking for a house - her house. / We're walking up a street, and into a 2nd floor house. The room is narrow, with windows facing outward into the night on one side. There are four beds, each with their own shelf to the left of it. The bed at the far left end of the room has a TV on the wall, but it is off. The room is empty, except for us. Yui tosses herself on to the bed, and begins studying a book in Korean. I notice a 3A-like figure on her bedside shelf, and begin to apply weathering to it by wiping off excess paint. She doesn't seem to notice. The robot looks like a thin 'Bertie', but wears a WW2 era german army helmet. I put it down, and join Yui on the bed. 

She teaches me Korean phrases and reading. She smiles back at me, and I realize this is just a memory - a closed loop within my mind. The rest of the room is falling dark, like a store in the mall as someone turns off the power for the night, bit by bit. Even she fades, transposed between memory and dream until it's only me on the bed, looking out into the nightscape beyond.

I'm a substitute teacher at an old house in a small town, reminiscent of a house at the east end of my street, on the left.  The sky and air are a hazy grey. I'm not suppose to be here, I feel. People eye me warily as I enter the house, and ascend the stairs spiraling to the right. A police officer is asking me questions about where this other teacher is, as a class of grade school children wait sitting down on the carpet for him. 

Apparently, I know his girlfriend - the person who directed me here. Other adults mill around a room that overlooks the entranceway downstair. Their glass 2nd floor windowed kitchen overlooks the street below, with a sloping nearby roof presenting nearby. 

Two large vehicles pull up to this house, and various tough but skinny looking men step out. One in particular takes point, and shouts something about a teacher to the house, then waits. 

I approach the group outside, and maintain a friendly, clueless persona toward this group. They all appear russian, but the skinniness I noticed earlier is actually a fetal alcohol syndrome-like look to their heads and bodies. The shaved head leader addresses me, looking for this missing teacher. I tell them I'm just filling in for him because he's missing. I don't mention the police, just the kids and adults inside. He asks what else in inside - I tell him "Just a bunch of textbooks". I notice how dirty and unclean his earlobes are. Many of these people look like they haven't bathed in a long time. I maintain a relaxed posture, and try to be friendly-helpful -- pretending like everything is ok, and gesture that I needed to get back to class. The man dismisses me and the group head back to their vehicles. 

In the hazy distance, I see figures moving slowly in the distance. Anxious, I quickly return to the house, and kitchen over looking the yard. In a nearby room on the north side of the house, a man and a woman anxiously await news of what the men want. "They look like Russian mob, and were asking about that missing teacher - and the house contents". I warn them to reinforce the sliding windows with wood door jams.

In the kitchen, a ragged looking woman in her 50s from the street below has scaled a nearby house and is now climbing up the slanted roof toward the kitchen. The house is empty, and I am nowhere.