“Shuka, why do you like Noah?”

The island, once blanketed in constant clamor, had grown remarkably quiet of late—even in District Alpha, it was no longer uncommon to go an entire day without hearing anyone sing. One afternoon, idling away in the silence, I posed the question. Shuka paused her tapestry weaving and replied with a shy smile.

“Because Noah never once told me I was a bad singer.”

“…I see.”

I couldn't help but wonder if that wasn’t just a misunderstanding. Of course, I didn’t say that aloud—not in front of Shuka, who was speaking with such genuine delight.

It was true: Shuka was remarkably poor at singing. But from Noah’s perspective, Shuka was probably no different from the people who had once booed her off the stage—or anyone else on the island, for that matter. It wasn’t kindness that kept Noah from commenting; she simply didn’t think of Shuka’s singing as bad. More accurately, she didn’t think of it at all. A songstress sings only because she wants to sing. With the exception of KAF and Calliope, Noah probably didn’t even listen to anyone else's songs.

“And you know what? I used to sing Noah’s songs, even before she came to the island. People would say all kinds of things—‘You’re too loud,’ ‘Stop copying Noah,’ ‘You’re not Noah.’ So many things…”

Despite her words, Shuka showed no hint of bitterness.

“One day, Noah happened to pass by. And everyone started saying to her, ‘This girl keeps singing your songs in this awful voice.’ Do you know what Noah said to that?”

“Hmm… maybe something like, ‘Shuka’s singing has a flavor you can’t replicate with technique’? Or maybe, ‘What matters is the effort’? Something like that?”

Even as I said it, I knew I was probably wrong. Noah didn’t strike me as the type to offer kind words to a girl who idolized her, only to be ridiculed by others. She seemed like she’d just keep walking without a second glance.

Shuka beamed at me.

“She didn’t get angry or anything. She just said, ‘Huh? If she wants to imitate me, let her.’”

“I see.”

That sounded exactly like something Noah would say. Whether it was imitation or originality, it was all trivial to her. It held no value either way. For Noah, the only thing that mattered was whether it was free or not.

“That’s why… no matter what, I’ll always choose Noah.”

Shuka spread out the tapestry she’d just finished. “Let’s go hang it up later,” I said, making a conscious effort to sound cheerful. Maybe if the island becomes beautiful again, Noah will sing once more...

*

How many days had passed since Noah stopped singing?

I walked along the river, lost in thought. With song vanishing from the island, even the wind overhead seemed to have lost its strength. Shuka’s tapestry hung limply. That morning, a group from District Beta had come all the way to our home to beg us to convince Noah to sing again.

“I don’t think she will,” Shuka said, her expression troubled.

I agreed. Noah wasn’t someone who could sing on request. The people of Beta had likely been drawn to the island by the allure of Noah’s unrestrained freedom. That same freedom, now that it no longer served them, they tried to command. It felt deeply selfish—and it irritated me more than I wanted to admit. Leaving Shuka behind, I stepped outside.

The river, muddied from days of rain, rushed past with a thunderous roar.

Noah had never looked particularly healthy. But since she stopped singing, she had visibly withered.

“Singing is life itself for Noah,” Shuka had said, worry in her voice.

Once, I might have dismissed that as a cliché. But now, standing by the roaring current, I wasn’t so sure.

Noah’s songs on this island—those raw, powerful expressions of freedom—had entranced everyone who heard them. If she stopped singing, that smoldering fire within her might begin to consume her from the inside, until—

“Noah, why won’t you sing?”

I asked the question aloud to the torrent before me. I remembered her once saying, jokingly, “Just get KAF or Calliope to sing instead.” Jealousy? That couldn’t be it. Noah herself had called them here—just as Rio had called for me.

“Sorry. I just really enjoy being able to have these kinds of conversations.”

Rio’s words echoed in my mind. I looked up.

I see now...

Noah had been surrounded all this time by voices demanding her song. The reverence for her, as the symbol of freedom, had never once ceased. Everyone watched her. Listened to her. So maybe that’s why she summoned KAF and Calliope—people who could meet her gaze as equals. People who could share in her vast loneliness, even a little. People from outside her world.

I had often wondered why Noah had taken an interest in me. I couldn’t even sing like KAF or Calliope.

Because I didn’t revere her.

I was moved by her song, yes—but I didn’t shatter my being for it. Maybe it was because I wasn’t a citizen of AO. Or maybe there was another reason. But I was someone from outside her world—not from the past, but from the margins of the world Noah had built.

That’s why she chose me.

The rain began to fall harder. Across the river, AO’s skyline hovered faintly in the mist.

*

“Shuka, will you sail the ARK tomorrow?”

Evening had fallen when Noah arrived in District Gamma. Her voice, though firm as always, lacked its usual force.

“Tomorrow? I can take it out, but… where are you going?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to sing. The people from Beta want to go back. To AO.”

The murmur of the river echoed hollowly. More and more days passed with no one singing on the island.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Now they say AO would be better. They weren’t even invited here, and now they want to leave… So selfish.”

The people of Beta had made their choice. They had come for Noah’s song—but in the end, they chose to leave. It was natural, in hindsight. And yet, part of me had assumed they would decay here with Noah.

“Noah!”

Shuka’s cheerful voice rang out awkwardly.

“Alright, I’ll take everyone back to AO.”

Noah murmured a quiet thanks and slowly stood. It had been just over a month since she arrived, and her face looked thinner than ever. Two weeks had passed since she last sang.

Perhaps this island had always been a miracle of unstable balance. Or maybe there had never been any balance at all. Every lifeline here was broken, neglected, or forgotten. The only reason this fragile community survived was because of Noah’s song. Because everyone looked to her.

Maybe Noah’s frailty had always been there—even when I first met her. But when she sang, we didn’t notice. Just like all the other things we hadn’t wanted to see.

I stared at a cracked windowpane.

“Then sing. Before the ARK sets sail.”

Noah stopped at the door. Without turning, she asked:

“Why?”

“Everyone is waiting for your song.”

Shuka tried to sound cheerful, but her voice trembled. Noah didn’t move. The tension in the room grew taut.

She’s not going to sing. If anything, this will just make things worse.

Noah slowly turned to Shuka, her gaze like frozen glass.

“Again?”

Her voice was low, laced with danger.

“I sing only for myself. Don’t make me say it again.”

Shuka faltered, but then forced a smile.

“Then don’t sing. It’s okay. But come back to AO with us.”

“What are you saying?!”

Noah’s sudden outburst made Shuka flinch. I was startled too. Shuka, what are you saying...?

“First you want me to sing. Then you don’t. And now you want me to go to AO?!”

“Please, Noah. If you go to AO, you can borrow a Being. If you stay like this, you’ll… you’ll really fall apart.”

Tears welled in Shuka’s eyes as she clung to Noah’s shoulders.

“If going to AO means losing my freedom, I’d rather die here.”

“If Noah would be happier without singing, then I want to protect that future too. But… but that’s not it, is it?”

“I don’t care! I don’t need a future protected by you, Shuka!”

Noah shoved her away. Shuka collapsed to the floor. I rushed to her.

“Shuka! Noah, that’s too—”

But when I reached to hold her, it felt like Shuka brushed my hand aside.

“Shuka?”

She stood on her own. Her eyes were no longer wet.

“…I understand.”

She drew a deep breath and said clearly:

“If you won’t choose, then I will.”

With that, she ran out of the house.

They were both falling apart. No—this island had been broken from the start. We had just refused to see it.

I made up my mind. Tomorrow, I would return to AO with Shuka on the ARK.

“Noah, I’m going back too. With the people from Beta.”

“…”

Noah stared past the door Shuka had left through. The sound I had thought was the river was actually thunder, faint beneath the rain.

“Noah, listen. Shuka doesn’t want you to sing. She just—”

“Then what?!”

I couldn’t answer. It wasn’t because her anger stunned me.

It was because I already knew.

Shuka didn’t want Noah to sing. That’s where she stood apart from the others on the island.

She didn’t love the diva. She loved Noah—the person.

Maybe it all began with the song. But now, it had become something more.

Was it just one-sided, though?

Maybe Noah could only exist through song. Maybe, no matter what anyone else thought, that was an unshakable truth within her.

Or maybe not.

Only Noah knows that. No, maybe even Noah doesn't understand it. ......

I didn’t understand any of it.

And if I didn’t understand it, how could I possibly put it into words?

“I wish I could sing.”

The words escaped before I realized it. They startled me with their sincerity.

For the first time, I wished it were so. That I could convey this feeling, this tangled emotion.

With Rio, I could always find the words. I could share in the future she dreamed of.

But with Noah—and Shuka—I understood nothing.

If only I could sing.

But I don’t think my whisper reached Noah.

＊

A familiar sensation stirred beneath my soles.
Outside, a few scattered voices still lingered in song—but here, there was silence.
Perhaps the bundles of paper were absorbing the sound. I pulled a book at random from the shelf.

In Search of Lost Time.
Marcel Proust.

Saying the title aloud sparked a recollection—ah, yes. I had once tried to borrow this book from the Nexus.
But the moment I carefully turned a page, the grand river of memory it held slipped through my fingers like sand.

It was then that I heard the melody.
A hesitant voice floated between the shelves, weaving through the narrow corridors of books.
It mingled with the still air and seemed to seep into the very bones of the building.
Unconsciously, I found myself drawn toward the sound.
It was a voice steeped in tenderness—one that inspired no fear, even in darkness.

The singer sat upon a block of stone at the entrance, her gaze turned to the sunrise.
The same girl who had sung with Noah.

Noticing me, KAF rose to her feet in surprise. The song ceased. I, too, came back to myself with a start.

“Um… you’re KAF-san, right?”

"You're making me blush..."

She lowered her eyes, shrinking in on herself.
So unlike Noah—who always radiated pure confidence.

“Just call me KAF!”

Up close, KAF didn’t seem much older than Shuka.
And yet, from that small frame had emerged such a powerful voice.

“KAF. You’re not from this place either, are you?”

“That’s right. I came from far, far away… because Noah called me.”

“I did too,” I replied. 

"Then I guess we’re the same. Oh—want some bread?"

I accepted it with a quiet “thank you.”

“So, why did Noah call for you?”

“She asked me to sing for her.”

It was a straightforward answer.
Yet I struggled to picture Noah asking anyone for anything.

“I heard you in AO. And many times again on the island. …Your songs were beautiful.”

“Thank you. That makes me really happy.”

She smiled.
Though surely she’d been praised many times before, that modest smile seemed entirely sincere.

And as I looked at her, a thought surfaced.
The island was filled with songs.
But no one else could sing like Noah.

Surrounded by worshippers on all sides, Noah had always been alone.
Not even Shuka—nor I—could grasp the smallest fragment of her soul.
Even among so many who adored her, she had been utterly alone.

“Um… so…”

KAF spoke hesitantly.

“Noah’s stopped singing. You know that… right?”

I nodded.
She glanced around before continuing.

“This island lives through Noah. If she doesn’t sing, everything falls apart.
Neither I nor Calliope-chan can fix that, no matter how much we sing.”

“Because what everyone wants—is Noah.”

KAF nodded.

“They all followed the sound of her voice.
You did too… didn’t you?”