I was half-forcibly awakened by singing echoing from all directions. A far cry from the gentle awakenings in the Nexus. I squinted up at the sunlight streaming mercilessly through a gap in the ceiling and rose from the crude bedding. I touched the wall—nothing happened. I’d known it wouldn’t, but the sigh of disappointment escaped me anyway. There were no Cherubim here, unlike in AO, where they had been embedded into every surface. This was just a plank, nothing more. I looked around, but there was no sign of Shuka, the owner of the room. With nothing else to do, I leaned against the wall.

“Here, you can just do whatever you want.”

That’s what Noah had said yesterday. But there was nothing I wanted to do—never had been. Even so, I’d begun to feel certain that simply curling up and waiting wasn’t going to be enough. Steeling myself, I reached for the door. The building gave a soft creak.

The air outside smelled faintly of smoke. Not just the smell—the whole view was hazed over. No Cherubim in sight out here, either. Perhaps they were burning fires in place of illumination. The stark contrast with AO caught me off guard once again. Physically, this island couldn’t be far from the Nexus… and yet.

Still, the singing continued unabated. I walked on, glancing up at a banner swaying in the wind. Scattered throughout the land that Noah and the others called “the island” were small, makeshift stages—each one so crudely built it was a miracle they remained standing. People climbed up at will and burst into song. I watched one rickety platform nervously, half-convinced it might collapse at any moment—when a peculiar voice rang out from the stage behind me.

I turned.

There, on a sparsely attended platform, was Shuka, singing.

I stopped walking and listened to her voice.

＊

“How was my song…?”

Flushed with excitement, Shuka asked me as she stepped down from the stage—well, more accurately, as she was removed from it. It seemed everyone on this island wanted their turn to sing. There were more stages than I’d expected, but even more singers.

“It was lovely,” I said.

“Like Noah’s?”

I hesitated, then gave a nod. It was during her performance that I realized: this island had no concept of lines or order. Even here at the food distribution, where Shuka and I now stood, people kept cutting in front of me despite my polite patience.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

As she spoke, another person slipped in ahead of us. I looked up at the sky, exasperated. Truthfully, Shuka’s performance had been far from good. Her pitch was erratic, her rhythm lurching between on- and off-beat. I listened closely, hoping to glimpse some brilliance in the rawness—but none revealed itself. Soon enough, a new group arrived and forced her off the stage.

To be blunt, she’d been pretty bad.

And of all the songs to sing—it had to be Noah’s, the one I’d heard back in AO. Most of the spectators hadn’t even tried to hide their smirks.

“Does Noah sing on the island too?”

Following the local custom, I’d started referring to Noah’s base of operations as “the island.”

“Of course. She doesn’t sing as often anymore, though.”

Shuka touched her neck as she spoke. A necklace gleamed there—one that looked strikingly like Noah’s choker.

“Matching with Noah?” I asked.

Her face lit up.

“Yeah! I made it to look just like hers!”

The wish to wear what one admires seems universal. I remembered seeing others yesterday with similar necklaces. As I stared at the sun-darkened nape of Shuka’s neck, an image of Noah’s pale throat surfaced in my mind.

“So… you really love Noah, don’t you?”

I said it without thinking. Shuka nodded earnestly.

“Not just me. Everyone on the island loves her. We all followed her because of her song. You too, right?”

“Yes.”

“KAF-chan and Calliope-chan are amazing too.”

KAF. Calliope. Perhaps they were the ones who sang alongside Noah when the ARK appeared in AO. Their unfamiliar names seemed oddly out of place in that world.

“But it has to be Noah’s song that sets people in AO free from the Beings.”

She said this with quiet pride. I didn’t understand the mechanism, but perhaps Noah’s song did possess something special. Still, to my ears, KAF and Calliope’s voices had rivaled Noah’s. Which meant—

“Maybe… I couldn’t destroy my Being because I’m not a true citizen of AO.”

The words slipped out. They were swallowed by the roar of the crowd.

“Noah!”
“It’s Noah!”
“She’s gonna sing!?”

Her name echoed like a chant. Shuka, eyes gleaming, pointed ahead. Noah was standing on a shabby platform just a few paces away. A wave of people surged forward, quickly making movement impossible. There had hardly been anyone there just moments before—where had they all come from?

One of the crowd shouted to her.

“Singing in Gamma? That’s rare, Noah!”

“I’ll sing wherever I want.”

Noah answered curtly. I didn’t know the details of this island, but even I could see—the stage didn’t suit her.

“I’m the one who decides.”

With that, she began to sing.

＊

Before the song was even over, Noah stepped down. The crowd watched her in longing for a moment, then, realizing she had no intention of continuing, dispersed like a receding tide. The fervor melted away with the people, leaving behind a stage that, stripped of Noah’s presence, was just a pile of lumber.

Her performance couldn’t have lasted even a minute. Yet her voice still resonated inside my skull.

“…Incredible.”

The words rasped from my throat. Shuka’s eyes shimmered, as if on the verge of tears.

“Right? She usually sings at the main stage in Alpha… so it’s rare to hear her here.”

Shuka’s voice, right beside me, felt far away.

“I think I understand now why you and everyone else are drawn to her.”

When I placed a hand over my chest, I could feel Noah’s voice lingering there, pulsing with warmth. What surprised me most was how different she seemed from the Noah I’d seen destroy a Being just the day before.

Both were selfish, self-serving, indifferent to others. But when that same egotism was released through her voice, it burned with breathtaking vitality—like smoldering embers bursting into flame, fanned by the wind. Fire that reached skyward in unpredictable shapes, no one able to foresee its form.

“Freedom, huh…”

“What’s wrong?”

Shuka peered into my face, concerned.

“So that’s it. Noah is… boundlessly free. That’s why we…”

She tilted her head, puzzled by what she must’ve thought was an obvious statement.

“No… sorry. I’m not explaining it well.”

I slowly shook my head. The food rations were long gone, but the intensity I felt made that seem insignificant.

＊

The island was divided into three main zones. Shuka’s dwelling, where I was staying, was located at the far eastern edge—in the Gamma district. Alpha, on the other hand, was where Noah, KAF, and Mori Calliope often sang. Unsurprisingly, it attracted large crowds every day. Gamma, by contrast, was sparsely populated.

At first, I’d found the island impossibly noisy. But now I realized that, by its standards, Gamma was actually quite peaceful.

Two weeks had passed since I’d come here. I’d grown used to life on the island, and had even made the trek to Alpha with Shuka a few times. Perhaps because Noah and the others used it as their base, the stages here looked far more grand than those in Gamma. The atmosphere buzzed with energy, and the songs were powerful.

Amidst that energy, Calliope’s voice crashed like thunder. A singular, beautiful bolt of lightning that tore through clouds and struck silence dumb. Unlike Noah, whose presence teetered on the edge of chaos, Calliope wielded her instability with grace, almost playfully.

“So this is the kind of person who can sing beside Noah,” Shuka said, her voice tinged with envy.

Prompted by Calliope, KAF stepped forward. On the stage still reverberating with frenzy, she seemed painfully delicate—her small frame adding to the effect. But it lasted only an instant. When her lips parted, her voice rippled through the air like rain on a still lake, sending gentle waves through the depths of my chest. The stage itself seemed to breathe with her intention—concentric ripples spreading, merging, deepening. Before long, they had swelled into a tide that shook even the unseen lakes of the world.

“She’s amazing too. Noah really knew who to call.”

“Noah… called them?”

I asked, surprised. Noah—the epitome of self-interest—had invited others like KAF and Calliope?

And more importantly—

“People like that… still exist in AO?”

“They’re not from AO. They came from ‘outside.’”

The familiar voice behind me made me turn.

“Noah!?”

“I just borrowed one of those U-M-whatever devices,” she said with a shrug.

Noah stood there, unfazed. Her disheveled hair, her simple black clothes—offstage, she looked like any ordinary girl. Her skin was pale—not white, but sickly pale. No trace of the brilliance she radiated when singing.

The crowd barely spared her a glance.

“Noah! Will you sing too?”

“Not in the mood.”

Shuka pouted in disappointment. But more pressing—

“<UMD>, huh. I saw it in the news. And borrowing doesn’t count if you never return it.”

I couldn’t help the accusatory tone. AO’s people didn’t seem to hesitate when it came to bringing others in from different worlds.

“Hey. You.”

Noah ignored my remark, fixing her dark eyes on me.

“Come with me for a bit.”

＊

Evening, Gamma district. I walked along the river with Noah. Behind us were KAF, Calliope, and Shuka.

Noah marched in silence. Her face betrayed no emotion. Even when greeted by islanders, she merely said, “I’m not singing today,” and brushed them off. Shuka, sandwiched between her idols, seemed overjoyed—her happy chatter drifting from behind.

Awkward, I pointed toward a nearby tapestry.

“You made that, didn’t you, Shuka? It’s beautiful.”

“Hm? Oh… yeah.”

“You’re really good with your hands.”

“She’s the best at flying ARK too.”

That was all Noah said before falling silent again.

Her choker glinted darkly—obsidian black, sharp and cold.

“Lots of people on the island wear ones like that.”

Noah gave a dry chuckle and glanced at Shuka.

“You ever get into fights over who was copying who?”

“Yeah. I was usually the one doing the copying, though.”

“Figures,” Noah said, a little too smugly. It annoyed me. I was the one trying to keep the conversation going, after all. What was this walk even for?

Unfazed, Noah went on:

“Just copying the look is meaningless, though. Don’t you think?”

“Maybe… And yours?”

“It makes me feel safe.”

She said it simply. But the word stuck.

Safe. It didn’t seem to fit the storm of a voice I’d heard her wield. Noah toyed with the choker in her left hand. It looked like a stone—but there were no seams, no clasps. Too stark to be jewelry, but it somehow suited her.

“Why does your song set people free?”

“You’re different. You came to the island with your Being still attached.”

“…But thanks to you, I remembered how to sing. Back in AO, I’d even forgotten that I’d forgotten.”

I found myself speaking in a tone that sounded like an excuse, though none was needed.
“Hey, when you arrived on the ARK, didn’t you say... Rio?”

The name falling from Noah’s lips sent a faint ache through my chest.
“I…”
“I’m not blaming you or anything. That’s not why I brought it up. I just… wanted you to hear something.”

＊

Have you heard of the People of Arka? …No, I guess you wouldn’t have.
Even among people from the same nation—people who look the same—there are all kinds of genetic roots, right? I’m descended from the People of Arka. We look pretty much the same, sure. But this hair color—maybe you didn’t see anyone with it back in AO?

Anyway. So, before humans ever had language, how do you think they communicated? Through song. That’s what I’ve heard.
But once we gained language, our ability to communicate through music faded. Naturally. It was like a tail—we lost what we no longer used. Even if it remained, it just got in the way.
But once in a while, a person is still born with a tail, right?

The People of Arka… had traits that set us apart. For some reason, we carried that lost genetic factor. I don’t really get the details, but Rio and the others explained it to me like that.

Why Rio? You’re wondering why I keep bringing her up?
Apparently, Rio and her team tried to incorporate the abilities of the People of Arka into the city’s systems. I don’t remember it clearly anymore, but they attached something to me… made me sing, or something like that.

Not that they did anything inhumane.
From what I was told, they wanted to analyze our nonverbal communication capabilities—and build an entirely new system out of it...

＊

“I see.”
It was a stupid response, even to my own ears. But I had a feeling that what I’d grasped was only the outline of her story.

It sounded like whatever project Noah had participated in, it was long ago. She probably didn’t understand the full scope of it either. Especially since the system they’d tried to build eventually became the foundation of AO—grasping it from the roots was no easy task.

More than that... Even though Noah had been so eloquent on stage, she seemed awkward when it came to regular conversation. That gap between the two sides of her made it all the harder for me to follow her meaning.

Maybe I was just too used to Rio’s clear, structured way of speaking.

“…Why are you telling me all this?”

Still, I didn’t dislike it.
It made me happy that Noah had opened up to me so personally. But I couldn’t help wondering—why me?

“No reason. I just felt like talking, I guess.”
“And what happened to that system?”
“Probably failed. I haven’t heard anything since—not me, not the others who were involved.”
“But a system of harmony through song… That sounds so beautiful. Why did it have to fall apart?”
“Hah? How should I know?”

She was the one who started the story, and now she pushed me away the moment I engaged.
But looking at Noah, I felt like I could guess why the project had failed.
Maybe Rio had abandoned the singing system and sought harmony by other means. Maybe that was what the Beings were all about…

“Harmony, huh. Do you really think something like that is beautiful?”

The voice came from behind.
I turned to find the speaker—tall, composed, and unmistakably commanding in presence.

It was Mori Calliope.

I answered, though my voice faltered.
“AO… It was a good city. Peaceful, clean… and people cared about one another.”

I spoke as I remembered.
A city full of greenery, adorned by Cherubim.
Not just beautiful on the surface.
It wasn’t like this island, where people threw their waste on the ground, mocked those with lesser skill, and ignored the very idea of waiting their turn.

Actually, come to think of it, I don’t even remember there being lines in AO at all.

“I only lived there for a little while… But the harmony wasn’t forced. No one made us act that way—it was our choice, our freedom.”

“But there were no songs. Didn’t that seem strange to you?”

As I fell silent, Calliope continued.

“A society where everyone does what they want, and it still runs smoothly? That’s impossible. To gain something, you have to give something up. People clash. Noah did. So did I. And you—KAF—you’re no different, are you?”

KAF gave a small nod beneath Calliope’s gaze.

The sun had sunk while we talked.
Now, the line between the water and the land had all but disappeared.