During the day, the island is full of sound.

The waves, dull and heavy, shook the air—but they no longer carried the noisy, stirring rhythm that once filled this area. The hum of vehicles transporting construction materials, the rumble of heavy machinery piercing the ground.

Instead of covering my ears, I pulled up my hood. It didn’t do much to block the noise; it only added the sound of raindrops hitting the fabric.

From the elevated hills of the former Gamma District, I could see the entirety of the small <island>.

It used to be swallowed in darkness after nightfall, but now, half of it was bathed in a faint glow, day and night.

Judging by the slow, encroaching light of the <Cherubim>, “restoration” seemed to be progressing from the eastern side.

I guessed that it would still be some time before the hands of <AO> reached the former Gamma District at the island’s western edge—but even that hopeful assumption didn’t mean much.

Eventually, even this area I called home would be visited by AO operators equipped with <Beings>.

When the hill was completely covered in Cherubim light and the Gamma District wrapped in radiance, the restoration of the island would be complete.

As I descended the hill, I thought of this quietly, without emotion.

At the foot of the hill stretched the residential zone developed by AO.

I pulled my hood lower over my face, but no one in the crowd gave me a second glance.

I’d been wandering the streets at night more often lately, though I didn’t have a specific reason.

At first, it was for food supplies in preparation for the future—but now there wasn’t even a scrap of trash on the roads, let alone food.

Besides, the former Gamma District still had some leftover provisions and shelter.

In other words, walking through the lower zones meant risking capture by AO, with nothing to gain.

And yet, my feet kept carrying me into town night after night.

If I had to name a reason, perhaps it was to prove I was still free.

Just as my left hand brushed my neck with that thought, I suddenly came to a halt.

“Free?”

The word slipped out, followed by a low chuckle rising in my throat.

The crowd flowed around me without interruption, parting gently as they passed.

Freedom.

What I once believed I had gained on this island—wasn’t it all an illusion?

Have you already forgotten, Noah?

The laugh spilling out of me was no more than self-mockery.

I was supposed to be the one who had tasted the most freedom in this world.

And yet—look at me now.

I don’t even remember why I sang.

A marionette never sees the strings in its own eyes.

I raised my left hand.

Can I really say for certain that there are no strings attached to it now?

In the corner of my vision, the Cherubim lights flickered.

I started walking again.

Yes, I’m free now. So free.

So free that there’s nothing I can do but drift.

I simply watch the people passing by.

Strangely, those wearing Beings on their left hands looked far more free than I did.

The restored areas unavoidably reminded me of AO, the place I used to call home.

Somewhere in this city, my old companions must be living.

How is KAF doing? Calliope?

That girl who supposedly arrived via <UMD>, like them—and Shuka.

Are they all living somewhere in this zone, wearing Beings?

I spotted a group of operators ahead and instinctively ducked into a dim alley.

At my feet, something shifted.

I tensed for a moment, but it was only a puddle, reflecting the light of the Cherubim.

The glow spilling from the street shimmered on the water’s surface, changing colors.

I tapped the puddle with the tip of my shoe.

The light rippled with the water, then quickly settled back into place.

I did it again, and again—then suddenly, frustration boiled up in me, and I stomped hard into the puddle.

Droplets scattered, reflecting light, leaving only the unpleasant feeling of wet toes behind.

Once I confirmed the operators had passed, I emerged from the alley with a faint sense of futility.

Time to go home, I thought, looking up at the former Gamma District, still cloaked in darkness as if left behind.

It had been nearly twenty days since Rio arrived on the island.

The transformation of the island was remarkable, but what puzzled me most was the way the pace kept accelerating.

At this rate, AO might reach the Gamma District within a few days.

I reconsidered my earlier assumption as I pushed against the flow of people.

But even that no longer mattered to me.

Since the day Rio came to the island, I haven’t been able to sing.

＊

Since the day Rio arrived, song vanished from the island.
And before anyone besides me even noticed its absence.
But in a world without song, what surprised me was how vibrant everything else was.

I climbed the path toward the former Gamma District, each step heavy—until tiny lights danced at my feet.
Looking up, I saw the sky filled with a flock of chidori birds.
Their small wings scattered moonlight into shimmering fragments that fell to the ground.
Each glint dissolved in an instant, passed to the next flapping row.
“The world was always this full of song,” I whispered.

The cries of birds, the babbling of streams, the groan of machines installing Cherubim—
Yes, these were sounds, but they weren’t songs.
And yet, the migratory birds tracing every direction through the sky—though silent—were undeniably music.
When I strained to hear that soundless melody, I felt something stir gently within.
Opening my lips, I tried to join the birds in the air above.

The chidori flock, soaring beyond the plane of gravity, displayed a clear axis of verticality.
Their formations compressed and dispersed in three dimensions, revealing an abstract flow of time expressed through speed.
The more I observed, the more I noticed a distinct regularity in their flights—
A clear repetition in their timing and patterns.

Undulation. Time. Repetition.
If their positions mirrored musical pitch, their changes in velocity a kind of rhythm, and the patterns a motif—
Then what unfolded above my head was a structure of song.
Each bird, a single note soaring across a sky of staves.
They held no sound, yet they were song incarnate.
I moved my lips to the unheard melody.
My throat did not produce a single vibration, and still—it didn’t matter.
Together with the freely flying birds, I shared a silent rhythm, a common heartbeat with the future.

“How did I never realize this before?”

The chidori weren’t the only ones performing inaudible music.
With newfound lightness in my step, I ran the rest of the way up the hill.
From the summit of the former Gamma District, I felt the island’s many songs all around me.
The flowing river, the wind-swept trees, all ceaselessly performing their melodies.
The moon, the stars—even the rain.
And—
My gaze turned downward, toward the Cherubim lights drowning out the faint moonlight.
The island, ringed with flickering luminescence, and the people moving beneath it.

I couldn’t discern the Cherubim’s exact projections from here.
But their shifting, prismatic hues created a mesmerizing sight that I could watch forever.
Even a single Cherubim was captivating, but seen in total from above, the entire island pulsed like a living creature.
Each Cherubim shimmered on its own unique rhythm,
but together they created a periodic wave that rippled across the island like peristalsis.

I let out a long sigh.
Cherubim—alongside the Beings—had always symbolized AO’s control and technological dominance.
And still, I had to admit it:
The island, bathed in this light, was beautiful.

“This too… is a kind of song.”
I couldn’t deny it.
The slowly shifting glow of the Cherubim.
The people living beneath them.
Even though these were artificial creations, designed by complex calculations—
The island, illuminated by the Cherubim, sang a silent tune.
My body swayed unconsciously, in rhythm with the island’s breath.
I had only just returned home—and already, I longed to be back under that light.
A faint ache spread in my chest.

Why had I ever thought Rio was controlling AO’s citizens?
The view before me seemed nothing like domination or coercion.
It was warm. Smooth. Free.
Just like the birds in flight, or the flowing river—unbound by anything.

Maybe I’d made a terrible mistake—

My thoughts were interrupted by a harsh cry.
I looked up.
The flock had vanished.
Only a lone bird remained, flapping unsteadily, separated from the others.
A stray, I thought, glancing briefly before returning my eyes to the glowing foothills.

Warm, smooth, and… no one is being controlled.
Everyone is just living, freely.

The sharp cry echoed again, grating against the night air.
Annoyed, I looked up once more.
The bird traced a clumsy arc through the sky.
There had been someone like that on this island too, once—
Just as that thought crossed my mind, the chidori’s wing caught the moonlight.
A sliver of light stabbed my eye.
I reflexively shut my lids.
And in that momentary darkness, the fading afterimage illuminated a memory buried deep within me.

“Warm. Smooth… and yet, why does it feel so wrong?”

Once, this island had been a symbol of overflowing freedom.
I opened my eyes slowly.
The lights before me, the people living beneath them—they were free.
And yet, the peace of this city stood in stark contrast to the island I once knew.

"Ah" slipped from my lips as confusion began to take hold.
The Cherubim-bathed island was too still.
Peaceful. Warm. Too smooth.
As if someone had neatly trimmed away all the messiness of freedom, keeping only its sweet parts.
That vague notion resisted clarity.
I struggled to hold onto the thought as my mind scattered.

What gave form to this indescribable unease was the island’s silent song—
and the way my body swayed in sync with its rhythm.

(This pattern… is it hocket?)

An old technique of weaving melody from shared fragments of sound and silence—this is hocket.

 More than a division of labor, it’s a method of synchronized structure.
Each moment of silence and sequence of notes calculated backward from the desired whole.
No individual can produce the final result alone.
Hocket only works because of the structure.

The song of the Cherubim resembled the chidori’s flight—at first glance.
But the birds moved freely, their harmony born from instinct.
Whereas the Cherubim’s lights were parts of a predetermined melody,
divided, assigned, and executed by individuals.
The unnatural smoothness I felt—that was proof.
The song had already been composed.
And the island was merely performing it.

And it wasn’t just the light that moved to this rhythm.

“Not just the Cherubim. The people, the vehicles… the entire island is playing a hocket.”

Perhaps I had misunderstood everything.
My earlier sense of resignation—maybe it had been right in some way.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding in my chest.

The Cherubim chorus.
The synchronized citizens.
The seamless, pristine melody flowing from the entire island.
I widened my eyes.

“They’re being guided to different roles, different actions…?”

Why?
For the harmony that AO and Rio are trying to achieve.
The lives of those beneath the light were designed backward—
from AO’s ideal, from the finished melody.
With a predetermined harmony, conflict became unnecessary.

It all seemed so absurd.
I shook my head, hard.
And yet, if this was true, it made sense why I hadn’t noticed in the city below.
You can’t perceive hocket unless you see the whole.
And in this island, only I—up here in the former Gamma District—could see it.

“It’s not the Beings that are controlling everyone.
It’s the Cherubim. That light.”

As I muttered, Rio’s words echoed in my mind.

“There’s a more effective way to use Cherubim…”

This was it.
The true function of Cherubim.
My heart skipped violently, and I clutched my chest.

Just moments ago, I had gazed at that light in a trance—
the very same Cherubim I had once hated as a symbol of AO.
How had I not realized it?

A cold shiver raced up my spine, and I gritted my teeth.

More than anything, I had broken my own Being.
That was proof I had always been free.
But now, after regret came anger.

Why hadn’t I trusted myself?
The free person that everyone else had believed in?

I broke into a run—
Toward the residential zone below, bathed in warm light.

＊

I returned to the residential district, now full of light and people, and looked around, panting. Cherubim were installed everywhere—on buildings, on the pavement, in every corner of my vision. The moment this island truly falls under AO’s control will be when Cherubim covers everything. Amid the crowd, I closed my eyes tightly. Even then, the light of the Cherubim seemed to seep into my skin through my eyelids.

I’m not being controlled by anyone. I’m the only one who can set everyone free again.

Resolutely, I opened my eyes and threw back the hood that had been covering my face. The rain, growing heavier, struck my forehead.

“Everyone, listen to me!”

I took a deep breath and shouted.

“It’s not the Being that’s controlling you. It’s the light of the Cherubim!”

I pointed in every direction, pleading with all my might. But no one turned toward my hoarse voice. I kept shouting anyway.

“Don’t look at the light…!”

Even as I cried out in the middle of the crowd, no one stopped walking. No one even glanced my way.

“AO is using the Cherubim to control you!”

It was as if I had become invisible.

“Why…?”

My choked whisper was drowned out by the rain and the sound of footsteps. Why wouldn’t anyone turn around? Was it because the Cherubim were drowning out my voice? Or was it because, back on the island, I never listened to anyone else’s words?

“Would my song have reached them…?”

Once, my song had set everyone in AO free. But now? Not a single person turned to my voice. Without a song, are my words meaningless? I sank to my knees on the wet ground.

Maybe I really have no power without my song. No… maybe I never had any power to begin with. I wasn’t singing for anyone else. I was just singing freely, because that’s all I could do. And now that I’ve lost my voice—everyone is gone.

The wet ground reflected the light of the Cherubim. Why did my song once reach their souls? Why did they seek it out? What did I come back here to do…?

＊

“I remember when the people from AO first came to the island…”

Through the sound of the rain, a voice reached me. I lifted my head, and the rain blurred my vision. A hazy figure continued in a flat voice.

“I was the one who brought them to the island.”

I wanted to ask, Why? But my dry throat could only rasp air. The girl before me—Shuka—was staring off into the distance, her eyes reflecting the light of the Cherubim.

“I wanted to take the song away from you. So that you wouldn’t have to sing anymore.”

I stood, breathing hard, and stepped in front of her, shielding her from the light.

“Shuka…”

I barely managed to squeeze out the word. Did she hear me? She went on, unfaltering.

“You don’t have to respond to anyone. You don’t have to sing. Just being alive—that’s enough. That’s what I thought… but.”

For the first time, she looked me in the eyes.

“For you, Noah… singing is the same as living, isn’t it?”

That’s not true. I grabbed her shoulders. I’m alive on this island. I wanted to say that, loudly, like before. But… what if even Shuka couldn’t hear me? What if, just like the others passing us by, my voice couldn’t reach her? Fear swelled in my throat, and it became hard to breathe.

“I was wrong to take your song away.”

No. You weren’t wrong. I wanted to say that. I tightened my grip on her shoulders. Her face twisted with emotion.

“I don’t even know how to sing in this city. The choice I made… it was a mistake.”

“That’s not true!”

I was nearly shouting. A few people glanced my way, then continued on as if nothing had happened. Only Shuka was still looking at me.

“No, Shuka. You made that choice for yourself.”

I cupped her cheeks with both hands. Her rain-soaked skin was cold.

“Even if your choice brought pain, it wasn’t a mistake. It couldn’t possibly be.”

“But because of me, you…”

“You made your own decision. That’s all that matters, Shuka.”

A faint warmth spread through my palms. I didn’t know if it was hers or mine. But I realized—the fear was gone.

“And you found me. In this city that had lost its song.”

I pulled Shuka into a hug. She stiffened for a moment, then let herself be held. Her back was smaller and more delicate than I’d imagined.

“It’s okay, Shuka. This time, I’ll be the one to choose.”

＊

The water’s surface swelled upward, and the ARK shook violently. Sudden shifts in pressure made the walls groan all around us. Kicking up mud from the riverbed, the vessel surged upward with force. A small component, dislodged from somewhere, rolled to my feet. I hoped it wasn’t anything important.

“This might be our final flight, Shuka.”

“Noah… don’t say stuff like that. It’s bad luck.”

Back then, right before Rio and the Operators arrived on the island, Shuka had loaded up the ARK with as much as it could carry and hidden it beneath the riverbed.

“Anyway, we have to reclaim the song. No matter what.”

I murmured with resolve. Shuka looked at me, concern in her voice.

“Do you… have a way?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Hey, Noah. If you can sing again…”

“I said I’ll be fine!”

I cut her off before she could finish, forcing the words out as if to convince myself more than her.

“That’s why I needed you to move the ARK, right? Don’t worry.”

The vessel was cloaked in optical camouflage, but I already knew—ever since that day with Rio—that AO’s surveillance couldn’t be fooled by something like this. That wasn’t what worried me. What bothered me more was the thought that this ARK, like the UMD, had once been operated by AO. Its camouflage, which let it blend into the sky, must have been a product of Cherubim technology too. The idea that we had used those tools—cheerfully, unknowingly—made my blood boil.

“I watched all along. I wanted to see what would become of your island.”

Rio’s voice echoed in my memory.

What if everything was still unfolding just as he intended? What if even this action—what I was about to do—was all part of his plan?

I took a deep breath, shaking off the dread rising inside me.

“Shuka, disable the optical camouflage.”

“What? But that’ll make the ARK completely visible from the ground!”

“Just do it. Quickly.”

Shuka looked like she wanted to protest but silently moved her hand over the console.

It’s fine. I haven’t been controlled—then or now. I am who I am because of the choices I’ve made.

And if that’s true, then there’s only one thing I need to do now.