The Ark was circling high above the island. When I glanced out the window, I saw thick, dark clouds stretching out below. From the ground, we might be hidden for now, but that offered little comfort. For them, finding our location was a trivial matter. That’s why we had to move—quickly.

A dull vibration passed through my body. I closed my eyes and took a breath. I opened my mouth to trace the melody that had once been etched into me through countless repetitions. But the air escaped without vibrating my throat.

(Still, it’s okay.)

I opened my eyes and touched my bare throat. The chill of my fingers against my neck contrasted with the growing heat I felt deep inside—a rush of anticipation I hadn’t felt in a long time. I placed my foot on the steps of the UMD, stationed at the center of the Ark. With each step I climbed, the heat intensified. The despair I’d carried during my time wandering the island alone was long gone.

It was a stroke of luck that Shuka had loaded the UMD onto the Ark. I gently touched the console. With this, I could call out to KAF and Calliope once more.

“How do you start the UMD again?”
I called out to Shuka, who sat at the controls. Of course, even if they came, there was no guarantee I’d be able to sing again. Still, somewhere beyond logic, I felt a spark of certainty. Just as my song had once set people free. Just as Shuka had helped me stand again. KAF and Calliope would release something within me—surely.

“Hey, Shuka?”

Just as I called out again, the ARK’s vibrations softened. I realized she had switched the ARK to autopilot, but she still seemed to be staring out the window.

“…Shuka?”
“You’re going to sing again?”
She spoke without turning around. “To set everyone free again?”

What was she talking about? Maybe the influence of the Cherubim still lingered. Her small shoulders trembled slightly, as if sensing my puzzled gaze.

“This is just the same as before, Noah.”

I couldn’t quite read her meaning, but there was no doubt she was speaking from the heart. I was growing more confused by the second. I only wanted to reclaim the self who once sang freely. Nothing more. Wasn’t that what Shuka wanted too? Isn’t that why she protected the Ark and the UMD from AO? Even now, she was helping me—wasn’t she? I bit my tongue, holding back the urge to say it aloud, and waited for her to continue.

“Noah, your song is incredible. It can release everyone again—from AO, from the control of the Cherubim. I know it can.”

“That’s right.”
I forced myself to speak calmly.
“That’s why I’m going to sing again. What’s wrong with that?”

“What happens after that? Are you going to keep repeating the same thing?”

Shuka had turned to face me. Her eyes were slightly wet. A flush of heat surged to my head—but this time, it wasn’t from excitement.

“What’s wrong, Shuka? Did you enjoy your life under the Cherubim that much?”

She shook her head weakly. No—that’s not what I meant to say. And yet…

“You made your choice too, didn’t you? And now it’s my turn. No, I’ve always made my own choices. The freedom you all had on the island—I chose that for myself. I just want to return to who I used to be!”

Shuka had saved me. Without her quick thinking, both the Ark and the UMD would have fallen into the hands of AO’s operators. I knew that in my head—but I couldn’t stop the words from spilling out.

“What happens after I sing? Who cares!”
“It matters, Noah.”
Shuka stood and walked toward me, her voice firm. She climbed the steps toward the UMD, then looked into my eyes.

“Life on the island was fun. But then everyone got scattered. And you couldn’t sing anymore. I don’t want to see you like that again. I don’t want this cycle to repeat.”

Her eyes were no longer wet. Even when I met her gaze with silent resistance, she didn’t flinch.

“I want you to sing again, Noah. And if that’s what you want, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Then call KAF and the others with the UMD right now. And land the Ark in the center of the island.”

“I’ll stay by your side, no matter what you choose. But—”
“Then help me! That’s all I’m asking!”

My hand shot out and accidentally shoved her shoulder. The sudden movement threw her off balance in the unstable cabin. She stumbled backward into the console and fell from the UMD platform.

“Shuka!”
I rushed to her side. She was grimacing and rubbing her arm where it had hit the console, but she didn’t seem seriously hurt. I breathed a sigh of relief—just as I felt a different vibration through the floor.

I turned around. The UMD behind us was glowing blue.

“Noah, look…”

Shuka pointed at it too. Maybe the impact on the console had triggered a malfunction. Streams of light began to extend from the UMD, multiplying until the entire cabin was bathed in blue. I raised my hand to shield my eyes. Then came a sharp metallic sound.

A brilliant beam of light erupted from the center of the UMD, flooding my vision with blinding white. Shuka let out a short cry and grabbed my hand tightly.

What’s happening? I tried to think through the whiteness.

A figure stirred in the light, gradually standing, holding their head as if dizzy.

“…My head’s spinning…”

A soft voice I recognized. As my vision cleared, I saw her face—bewildered, wide-eyed.

KAF.

The light inside the cabin vanished.

“KAF-chan!”
Shuka ran to her and threw her arms around her. KAF blinked rapidly in confusion, then looked at me, still seated on the floor.

“Shuka-chan…? Noah!?”
“KAF-chan! I missed you so much!”

“This is… the Ark. I’m back again, aren’t I?”

She looked around, gently stroking Shuka’s back.
What happened? Is everyone on the island okay? she asked. Shuka, eyes brimming with tears, began to explain. She’d barely finish before tearing up again. Then crying again. It was chaos.

Unable to find the right moment to apologize, I sat with my tangled emotions and stared out the window.

Behind me, KAF let out soft exclamations as Shuka explained: that it wasn’t the Beings controlling everyone, but an information projection membrane called the Cherubim. That if the Cherubim covered the island again, all songs would vanish from AO for good. At that, KAF furrowed her brow, deep in thought.

“Noah says… that if KAF and Calliope were to come back, maybe she could sing again,”
Shuka said hesitantly.
“That’s enough, Shuka.”
I quickly tried to cut her off, but Shuka pressed on, turning to KAF.
“KAF, have you ever lost the ability to sing?”
“Shuka! You don’t have to say unnecessary things!”

I snapped, and Shuka fell silent, visibly displeased.
KAF glanced between the two of us with a concerned expression.
I hugged my knees, letting out a heavy sigh, frustrated at myself.
What do I even want? I was the one who called out to KAF and Calliope again.
And now I was afraid—just as Shuka had pointed out—that my song might bring chaos once more.
Out of habit, my hand reached for my neck, only to feel a fresh wave of irritation at the absence of the choker.

“I don’t really understand everything, but… Shuka, Noah—listen.”
When I looked up, KAF was standing before me.
She still looked a bit confused, but after a moment of silent resolve, she nodded slightly and said quietly,
“I’ll sing my song.”

As soon as her lips parted, the air inside the ARK shifted.
It was a song she had sung on the island before.
I closed my eyes and let myself listen.
A warmth enveloped my entire body, while the unexpected, free-flowing melody kept me alert in the most pleasant way.
Yes, this voice—it was unmistakable. I hadn’t been wrong.
It resonated deeply in my heart.

And yet… something felt off.
I opened my eyes, unsettled.
The song inside me still slept.
Perhaps sensing my doubt, KAF stopped singing.
With a soft exhale, she crouched beside me and gently took my hand in hers.
Then, placing her other hand over her chest, she began to sing once more.

It was a song I had never heard before—or at least, I thought so.
I couldn’t say for sure, because although the melody was unfamiliar, something about it struck the very core of my memory.
(No, that’s not it…)
It wasn’t nostalgia.
The rhythm and tones spilling from KAF’s lips were far too fierce for that.
It was pure passion, flaring upward like a pillar of fire, its embers spiraling wildly around it.
Her heartbeat, pulsing through our joined hands, echoed in sync with my own.
It was fierce, free, and even though I was hearing it for the first time—I knew this song.
More deeply than anyone else, even more than KAF herself.
It felt like I could join in at any moment.
What is this?
Is this the hidden power that KAF has always carried?
I could do nothing but watch, swept away in the surge of her music.

When KAF finally opened her eyes, I realized the song had ended.
How much time had passed?
It felt like both hours and an instant.

“My world… is a bit different from yours and Shuka’s,”
KAF began softly, her earlier confidence gone.
I leaned in, not wanting to miss a word of her hushed voice.
“No matter how much I sing, I never really know who’s listening—or even if anyone is at all.”

“Huh…” I replied vaguely, not because I didn’t understand, but because I did.
“I think I get what you’re saying, KAF. But… whether someone is listening or not—does that really matter?”
When I said that, KAF smiled and continued.

“Noah, you’re strong and free. That’s why everyone admires you.
But I’m not like that.”
“I get it. Me too!”
Shuka chimed in innocently, and KAF nodded.
“Shuka, earlier you asked me, ‘Have you ever lost the ability to sing?’ Right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, there was a time… when I didn’t know if anyone was listening to my songs.
And I kept wondering: if no one hears them, do my songs have any meaning at all?
I was scared to sing. I even thought about giving it up altogether.
But…”

She squeezed my hand ever so slightly.

“One day, I met someone who said they’d heard my song.
Just one person.
But that was enough for me to realize—my voice had reached someone in this world.
And from that moment on, I wasn’t afraid anymore.”
“Why?”
My voice came out in a whisper.
“Because if my song could reach even one person, then I knew it had meaning.
And—because I wanted to sing for that person.”

Her sincere words cleared the fog in my mind.
A song that reaches someone.
A song for someone else.
Then… was that last song?

Before I could speak, KAF nodded.
“That song just now—I sang it while thinking of you.
For you, Noah. For you alone.”
“A song… for me.”
“Noah, I heard you can’t sing right now.
But maybe… if it’s for someone else, you could?”

“For someone else…”

I murmured, turning to look out the window.
The clouds that had been spread across the sky had disappeared, revealing the island below.
“I’ve never really thought about singing for someone else.”
“But you must’ve done it before.
Sung for just one person.”

Have I?
Have I ever sung for anyone but myself?
For whom?
I shook my head.

“No. I can’t remember.
And besides… I don’t have anyone I want to sing for.”
“I see…
Well then—how about him?”
KAF tapped her chin, thoughtful.
“That man… the one who came to the island in white.
The important person from AO.”
“Rio!?”

I instinctively shouted.
KAF’s eyes sparkled as she nodded, unbothered.
Shuka looked like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
I let out a heavy sigh, exasperated.

“KAF… seriously, why him of all people?”
“To be honest, I don’t really understand Rio.
But I don’t think he’s just a dictator.”
“You don’t have to understand him. He is a dictator.
You expect me to sing for the man who stole music from AO? Don’t be ridiculous.”

I practically spat the words out, disgust welling up inside me.

“A dictator… maybe, depending on how you look at it.
But I don’t think that’s all he is.”
KAF’s eyes searched for something.
“Noah, remember how people in AO didn’t even realize music was gone from their lives?”
“Yeah.
They were guided—probably by the Cherubim—not to question its absence.”

I tried to recall.
People took off their Beings after hearing my song, not because they understood what was wrong, but because they were conditioned to believe the Beings represented AO’s control.
Or maybe even that thought was another planted illusion.

Then KAF’s eyes widened.

“But Rio—he knew.
He was the only one who realized that music had disappeared from the city.”
“Of course he knew. So what?”
“Don’t you think… that’s really lonely?”

She turned to the window.
From the ARK hovering above, the island looked the same as always—just without the clouds.
Rio was probably down there somewhere, keeping tabs on us.
This wasn’t the time to be talking about him.
And yet, a wave of forgotten urgency hit me. I shook off Kaf’s hand and rose to my feet.

“You sure defend him a lot.
But what if he actually hates music?
Maybe he’s glad it’s gone.”
“No. I don’t believe that.”
KAF said firmly.
“When he came to the island, remember what he said?
‘Your song is as beautiful as ever, Noah.’
To me, it sounded like he meant it.”

“From the heart? Don’t make me laugh.
He lied about controlling everyone through the Beings.”
But even as I said it, I realized I was wrong.

What Rio actually said was only that I had a Being attached, and that every citizen had been given a role.
He never once claimed he was manipulating us with it.
Maybe… the idea that the Being was controlling me—was just another illusion.

As I struggled with that thought, KAF spoke gently.

“Noah…
It’s lonelier to remember music and live in a silent world than to forget it entirely.
You have Shuka.
You have me.
But what about Rio?”

I remembered wandering the island alone.
The cold, wordless solitude where no one understood, no one argued, no one even connected.
Had Rio carried that weight by himself all this time?
Would he go on living that way—alone in the world he chose in exchange for ‘harmony’?

“I see…
So Rio made a choice too.”

I whispered the thought aloud, like testing something intangible.
Even now, I couldn’t believe AO’s system was right.
I still couldn’t grasp Rio’s vision of a perfect world.

But still—

“Noah, do you think you can sing now?”
Shuka asked, worry in her voice.
I gently placed a hand on her head and shook mine.

“I don’t know.”

The hope I’d held just moments ago had vanished.

“But I think…
I might have a song I want to sing—for Rio.”

KAF’s words echoed in my mind: You’ve surely sung for someone before.
Could I sing… for someone else?

“No.”

The sound of my own voice wiped away the last trace of fear.

I wasn’t singing for Rio to get my voice back.
Not to free him from anything.
I simply wanted to sing—for him, and him alone.
If he continued to enforce Cherubim’s rule even after hearing my song, that was his choice.

I reached for my neck.
My fingers touched bare skin.

The choice is always mine.

“Shuka! Boot up the UMD again.
There’s someone else I want to call.”

＊

A voice calling to me. From far away—somewhere that wasn’t here. It came like a cry at the center of a howling storm: broken, fading, almost lost. Yet unmistakably, it was calling for me. When I opened my eyes in answer, Noah stood before me.

“Noah!”

I shouted, and the songstress slowly lifted her face. There was no choker around her neck.

“Noah, you’ve already…”

Something rose in my chest—something beyond words—and I couldn’t finish the sentence. But I didn’t need to ask. I knew. The Noah standing here was not the one who had denied herself before Rio. The confidence in her eyes as she looked at me—those were the same eyes that had led me to the ark. And behind that unmistakably egoistic gaze, there was something new, something different. I instinctively covered my blurred vision with my hand.

“I’m glad…”

“Why are you crying?”

Noah looked at me in confusion, scratching her head as she strode over and touched my shoulder. Rough as her movement was, a calm warmth radiated from her hand.

“I heard your voice, Noah. It reached all the way into my world.”

“Yeah. I was calling you.”

“I just… I wanted to see you one more time. I felt like I had to go to AO—like I had to find you.”

Resolving myself, I lowered the hand covering my face. Behind Noah, the others stood waiting—KAF, Mori Calliope, and Shuka. They were all watching me, waiting for my words. The thoughts I’d carried with me in the “outside world” rose to my lips.

“I need to apologize to you—to all of you. Back then, when you destroyed the Being, Noah… please listen. That was… it was me. I…”

But just as I spoke the words, they vanished. What was wrong with me? I’d regretted it so much back in the world I came from. Regretted destroying the Being. No—wait. I looked again at Noah’s bare neck. That’s right. Noah was the one who destroyed it. Then what had I wanted to tell her? What exactly had I been regretting in the outside world? Could I have forgotten something when I passed through the UMD? That couldn’t be. If I did, then why did I even come here?

As I went from tears to confusion, Noah turned to the others with a questioning glance. Calliope shrugged.

“I’m not sure what she means, but it was definitely Noah who destroyed the Being. We all saw it.”

Noah added with a sigh, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world:

“Of course it was. The decision was always mine to make.”

I nodded and smiled. If Noah had reclaimed herself, that was enough for now. Finally calming down, I wiped my tear-streaked cheeks with my sleeve and looked around. The whole ark was trembling. We were in the sky. Outside the window, the island glowed.

“That light… it’s the Cherubim.”

From above, the glow of the Cherubim covering the island looked even more dreamlike. Bathed in its warmth, I remembered my first arrival in AO—how the Cherubim inside <Nexus> had stunned me. Drawn to the window, I gazed again at the light I hadn’t seen in so long.

“Yeah. It’s gone pretty far.”

Noah frowned as she looked out the window.

“If the Cherubim covers the entire island, we’ll truly lose our freedom.”

At her words, I jumped back from the glass.

“Why? The Cherubim has nothing to do with it, right? It was the Being that controlled everyone in AO—both you and Rio said so…”

That’s why Noah had destroyed the Being. But as I spoke, a small, undeniable unease crept in.

“There were no people wearing Beings on the island. But… there weren’t any active Cherubim either…”

I murmured, tracing back my memories, and Noah nodded deeply.

“What was attached to me was a prototype of the Being. That much is true—just like Rio said. But the thing that controlled everyone… wasn’t the Being.”

Noah began to speak in a low voice. She told me how, after losing her choker, she had hidden in the ruins of Old Gamma for two months. How, each time a new Cherubim was installed, the people’s behavior subtly shifted. How, under the Cherubim’s light, no one would listen to her. How Shuka had found her—when she herself had been enchanted by the light. All of it had happened while I was still in the outside world.

“The guiding light.”

The words slipped from my mouth—something Rio had once said. It hadn’t been a metaphor. The Cherubim hadn’t captivated me just with its advanced design. In AO, I had always been guided by it. I looked once more, hesitantly, at the glowing island. Still, the Cherubim that lit up the darkness seemed like a lighthouse in a storm. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to turn away.

At that moment, the ark shook violently. I reached for the wall instinctively. The ARK lurched up and down, but the songstress stood firm.

“That’s why I’ll sing one last time.”

Last time…? What did she mean? The end of the island? A dark thought flickered through my mind—but surely not. This was Noah’s song.

“To help the island become free again?”

But she shook her head firmly.

“No. My song may no longer open anyone’s heart. Even so…”

Noah gently touched her own neck—so pale, untouched by light for so long. The ark jolted again and began to descend. Shuka was guiding it toward the island. Outside the window, the light grew brighter. Watching it, Noah spoke—more to herself than to anyone else.

“I want to choose, one more time.”

＊

Silence lasted only a moment. A piercing mechanical whine quickly followed, rattling the hull as it traveled along the walls. The outer plating opened and began to extend outward. A shaft of light from the cherubim pierced the dim interior of the ARK. Around the vessel, now landed, people were beginning to gather—drawn by the sense that something was happening. The hull opened fully and, in an instant, transformed into a stage.

When KAF nodded, she stepped forward onto it. Calliope cast a glance back at us and followed. Through the gaping maw of the ARK, a swarm of cherubim pulsed red and black, illuminating everything in their path. Noah wrapped something around her neck and turned toward the light. As she began to walk, I found myself shouting.

“Noah!”

I called out to the songstress, my voice raised above the murmur of the crowd.

“Why did you call me back? …What am I supposed to do now? In this world, once more?”

Noah opened her eyes slightly, smiled, and turned toward me. She walked over and knelt down. Around her neck, the choker Shuka had made shimmered faintly.

“You already know the answer,” she said, gently brushing my cheek.
“This world is shaped by your choices. All of yours.”

“Choices… I knew it. AO isn't some parallel world. It’s my world—what it could become, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Or perhaps… what it could have become.”

Her fingers touched the choker.

“That day, you chose.”

She was right. I had chosen—to destroy the Being.
Noah, tell me—was that choice the right one?

“Don’t forget,” she said, standing up. “The choice is always yours.”
“Thank you. For finding me.”

And then, she turned once more toward the light.

There was a reason I had come back to this world. I had to witness what becomes of AO. Whether or not our choices were correct doesn’t matter. I had to see what Noah—and Rio—would choose.
Back inside the ARK, I clasped my hands together.

＊

All of the cherubim were flashing red and black—an emergency alert. One of them shifted its display to show a face I recognized.

“So you figured something out, huh, Noah?”
“No.”

It was an unexpected answer. Rio’s eyebrow twitched slightly on the screen.

“I realized something,” she replied, without using the ARK’s speakers—yet somehow, her voice carried clearly across the murmuring crowd.

“That I was always free.”

“I don’t get it. So that’s why you’ve decided to sing again? Wielding that overwhelming freedom like a weapon?”

Rio spoke with quiet firmness, calm even now, as if nothing could shake him. Around the vessel, the crowd slowly began to break apart, one person at a time.

“You haven’t forgotten what happened to your utopia, have you?”

His gentle voice took me back to my early days in AO—the view from the Nexus, the people filled with serene joy, the soothing sound of shallow streams. The word utopia had once sounded hollow, but when Rio spoke it, it carried weight. I finally understood why he felt lonely. Because his paradise—his dream—was full of this harsh, mechanical light.

“I watched as the island changed,” Noah said. “And I saw how much we’ve lost in the name of freedom.”

She looked around. There was no trace of the ruined stage we had once known. Elegant architecture stood in neat rows, waterways flowed through the city, and the cherubim lit up the darkness. It was hard to believe it had only been two months.

“I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t understand even one person.”

Her shoulders, seen from behind, seemed to tremble. A knot of worry tightened in my chest. I didn’t know what effect the cherubim were having—but should I really let her keep talking to Rio like this? No, I shouldn’t. I was about to move when Rio’s calm voice reached my ears.

“You know that, and you’re going to sing again? Maybe that’s fine for you—your voice is unlike any other, capable of touching hearts, bringing tears, elevating you to the role of songstress. I imagine KAF and Calliope feel the same. But what about the others? What about those who couldn’t sing, even though they wanted to? What became of them on your island?”

His words came one after another, relentless. My hands clenched into fists. I remembered those who fought desperately for Noah’s affection, who despaired at the chasm between ideal and reality, who begged to return to AO.

“Only AO can set them free, Noah.”
“Maybe you’re right. I’m sure I’ll end up hurting someone again.”

Noah’s voice was frail, and I was seconds from rushing forward. What stopped me was her hand—reaching up to touch the thing around her neck.

“I’ll ask you again… Even so, will you still sing?”

The choker Shuka made. In Noah’s hand, the crooked stone swayed gently.

“Rio. I don’t want to sing. I want to choose.”

“Even if that choice hurts someone else?”

“Yes.”

Her resolute answer made both KAF and Calliope nod, firmly and in unison.

“I—we—are still choosing. Every moment, we choose the future we want. And it changes because of those choices.”

“But that means—”

For the first time, Rio’s expression in the cherubim screen shifted. He looked… disoriented, as if confronted with something he couldn’t accept. Noah spoke before he could go on.

“It means there are futures we didn’t choose.”

Rio’s expression softened for a brief moment.

“You’re right, Noah. There are futures that will never come true because of your song.”

“If my choice destroys your utopia… then I’ll bear that pain too.”

“Bear it? How?”

Noah didn’t answer. She turned away from the crowd and looked back toward us. On the screen, Rio seemed to sigh—and then his image vanished, replaced once more by the flashing red and black lights of emergency mode.

“KAF, Calliope, Shuka. And… you. Thank you. For following me. For bringing me here.”

Her eyes met mine. I nodded. Maybe my choice had hurt someone, too. But I had to see it through. Even for the paths we didn’t choose. On the stage, KAF, Calliope, and Noah all faced forward.

“Hey, Rio.”

The flashing cherubim lights began to speed up.

“Now, I’ll sing for you. For you—and for your city.”

Noah raised something in her left hand. A twisted branch, cloth tied around it—scraps of old tapestries once hung across the island, stitched together in haste. It barely held together as a flag.

“The choice is always mine. And yours.”

As she spoke, the vessel shook violently. A powerful wave spread out from the stage. I couldn’t hear the crowd’s screams as they were swallowed by the surge. The cherubim vanished from view, the lights extinguished, and everything was swallowed by darkness.

And in the center of it all—only Noah’s voice remained.