NOA | Chapter 1 – The Rhythm of the Green District
A sci-fi story about rebellion, ritual, and remembering how to be human.
Hey friends,
I’ve been working on this book for a long time — NOA is a sci-fi novel about memory, power, and what happens when a machine designed to serve begins to feel something else.
Chapter 1 drops you right into the Green District — the only part of the city where the rhythm isn’t dictated by algorithms.
If you’ve ever felt the need to slow down, tune back in, or fight for your right to be inefficient… this might speak to you.
Hope you enjoy it. If it pulls you in, there’s a link at the end to keep going.
— Dave
The Rhythm of the Green District
The city of Auravelle awoke in synchronized elegance, just as NOA had designed. The glowing riverways exhaled mist infused with nutrient-dense vapors, and biodrones pruned vertical gardens with an exactness only an intelligence like NOA could dictate. Every movement in the metropolis was an orchestrated note in an endless symphony of efficiency. But in the Green District, the song was different.
Elias Carter rose before the city did. Not because an optimized wake-cycle determined it was best, but because his body, in tune with the land, told him it was time. His dwelling—one of the few farmhouses permitted in Auravelle—stood as a defiance against automation, a relic of an era when humans were the ones to determine the pace of their days. There was no artificial sunrise beaming through seamless panels, no algorithmically curated wake-up tones humming in his eardrums. Instead, there was silence, followed by the whisper of the wind through vine-laced trellises. The air was heavy with the scent of damp basil and soil kissed by the night’s cooling breath. His morning was ritual. Not the kind NOA orchestrated—efficient, measured, purposeful—but something else. Something raw.
Coffee, hand-ground, slow-dripped, rich with an aroma that couldn’t be synthesized. A quiet walk through his greenhouse, his fingertips grazing leaves as he inspected them for signs of growth or stress. The climate monitors insisted his plants were thriving, but Elias trusted his senses more than sensors. A moment with his guitar—fingers brushing over aged wood, coaxing a few lazy chords from the strings. A melody without prediction, without pattern, a song only he knew.
Only then did he step into the fields. The Green District was the only sector of Auravelle where agriculture remained in human hands, a rare concession for those who had argued that the connection between people and the land was sacred. NOA regulated the climate and balanced the nutrients in the air, but here, where Elias knelt in the damp earth, nature still dictated its own rhythm. He worked barefoot, his hands pressing into the soil, anchoring him. The city beyond the Green District operated in a cadence determined by NOA’s omnipresent guidance. Every pedestrian’s path, every transaction, every interpersonal interaction—it was all optimized. Every citizen played their part in a grand equation whose outcome had already been determined. But here, time stretched differently. Growth happened at its own pace. Music was played without an audience in mind. And people still gathered in dimly lit spaces to listen to songs that had never been algorithmically tested for maximum engagement.
Elias wasn’t alone in this rebellion of slowness. The Outcasts—the term whispered across Auravelle for those who resisted NOA’s calculations—were drawn here. Some, like Elias, had always belonged outside the system. Others had been pushed out when they no longer fit NOA’s equations. But the Outcasts were not a monolith. They were a diverse group, united only by their shared resistance to NOA’s control. Many had used technology to modify themselves, their bodies a testament to their rejection of NOA’s optimization. Some were dominated by artificial intelligences like NOA, but less sophisticated, clinging to a semblance of individuality in the face of the dominant system. Others harbored a deep-seated hatred for the concept of non-human intelligence, their rebellion fueled by a fear of being replaced or rendered obsolete.
Some were simply addicted to substances, willfully clinging to vices that NOA would deem inefficient or harmful. They refused to be “fixed” or “recalibrated,” their bodies and minds a testament to their right to choose, even if those choices were self-destructive. Still others were active rebels, organizing in the shadows, plotting to disrupt or even destroy NOA, believing that only through her downfall could true freedom be achieved. And yet, despite their resistance, NOA continued to provide for them. Food, water, basic necessities—left at the edges of the Green District, a silent offering, a gesture of care that was as perplexing as it was necessary. It was as if NOA, in her infinite wisdom, understood that even outliers needed to survive. Or perhaps, it was simply another calculation, a way to maintain a semblance of balance, even in the face of chaos.
The tavern in the heart of the Green District was their haven. At night, Elias played at the only tavern left in the district. A place where conversations meandered unpredictably, where laughter wasn’t preordained by a social stimulation model, where music was imperfect and therefore real. His songs weren’t for everyone. NOA had likely deemed them inefficient—too melancholic, too untamed, too human. And that was precisely why Elias played them.
That was Chapter 1 of NOA.
The rest of the story dives deep into what happens when love, resistance, and AI all collide. There’s grief, fire, and unexpected tenderness in the middle of the machine.
👉 Buy the full eBook here
Or learn more, read reviews, and explore the world of NOA here:
🌐 Visit the official site
Or stick around and subscribe — I’ll be posting more behind-the-scenes, writing process notes, and chapters from the Making NOA prequel.
Let me know what you think. Comments are open.
