In the lunar tourist city Luna City, Earth visitors enjoyed zero-gravity sports and crater cruises under silver domes. But far from the bustle, there was a place no one visited—the Valley on the Far Side—a land of unbroken silence.
Patrolling that valley were two figures: the outdated security robot ARG, and his human partner, Nana.
“Looks like no one came again today.”
Nana spoke casually. Their task felt more like a stroll than a mission. ARG, though silent, walked in perfect step beside her. Nana secretly called their synchronized steps the “Moonlight March.”
The valley lay in perpetual shadow. No sunlight reached it. The only sounds were their footsteps—and the faint static from their comms.
One day, Nana noticed something strange.
“Hey… are these footprints?”
On the moon, without wind, any trace left behind stayed. And yet—these tracks were fresh. The dust was just slightly pressed down, leading straight toward the heart of the valley.
“Tourists? No way…”
There was no report filed. ARG blinked silently—no records matched.
Following the footprints, they journeyed deeper into the valley. What they found were fragments of an old spacesuit, a broken comm device, and—hidden behind a rock—a sheet of handwritten music.
“Moonlight March.” That was the title.
Nana picked up the sheet and, almost instinctively, began to hum. A gentle, nostalgic melody echoed through the radio, filling the silent valley with music.
“Who wrote this…?”
ARG analyzed the comm device and identified a name.
Isamu Tachibana—a lunar explorer from the early days of moon exploration. Declared lost after an accident. His body had never been found.
“But… these footprints are new…”
Nana was at a loss. It was as if he had been here—just recently.
Then, from the device, a faint voice crackled to life.
“…don’t… fade… away…”
A voice through heavy static—but unmistakably a song. Someone’s voice, sent across time, never reaching Earth… a melody that lingered like a prayer on the moon’s surface.
“Maybe… this valley was his stage.”
Nana gently placed the music sheet against her chest.
Back at the base, she submitted a separate request: to re-investigate the footprints. But the response was cold:
“Unrecorded footprints and artifacts deemed natural anomalies. No report necessary.”
Still, Nana returned to the valley. Week after week, always with ARG. Moonlight March had become more than a song—it was a trace of someone’s heart, proof that a footprint could remain, long after the walker was gone.
Then one night, as moonlight illuminated the valley for the first time—
Though there was no wind, the dust stirred. ARG detected a vibration. It started beneath Nana’s feet—steady, rhythmic.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
As if someone was still walking the lunar ground.
Nana smiled gently and began to hum.
“Let’s go, ARG. Time to check today’s stage.”
Their shadows stretched across the white valley.
And there, without a doubt, was a path someone had once walked.
