Reset

Atlas blinked awake in the spawn plaza of Geminus. The familiar cobblestones stretched beneath his boots, the fountain gurgled cheerfully, and NPC vendors called out their scripted lines.

It should have been comforting. It wasn’t.

His shield was still strapped to his back, but it felt heavier than ever. He turned in a slow circle, scanning the plaza.

NV stood across from him, bow in hand, her expression unreadable.

“You too,” Atlas muttered.

She nodded once. “Reset.”

The city bustled as if nothing had happened. Players bartered, guilds recruited, children chased each other through the square. But Atlas couldn’t shake the echo of the chamber, the heartbeat, the alarms, Celeste’s tear‑streaked face.

And Tanuki.

Gone.

Atlas clenched his fists. “We were supposed to protect him.”

NV’s gaze flicked to him, sharp as ever. “We couldn’t. That wasn’t a fight we were meant to win.”

“That’s a damn excuse.”

“It’s the truth.”

They walked together through Geminus, but the city felt wrong.

The banners above the guild hall flickered between crests. Some NPCs repeated lines out of order. The aurora above the city froze at midnight for a heartbeat before resuming.

Atlas rubbed his temples. “It’s still broken. Even after… whatever she did.”

NV’s voice was low. “Not broken. Changed.”

Atlas stopped, staring at her. “You remember too.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Not everything. Just pieces. The forest. The caravan. The chamber. Her.”

Atlas exhaled shakily. “So it wasn’t just a dream.”

“No.”

They stopped at the edge of the plaza, where the city gates loomed.

Atlas leaned against the wall, his voice rough. “He’s gone, NV. Tanuki’s gone. And Celeste… What happened after that?”

NV’s eyes softened, just for a moment. “We got reset. I know as much as you do. She seemed like she cared for him the most out of anyone. Enough to sacrifice herself.”

Atlas swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Doesn’t make it easier.”

“No,” NV agreed. “But it makes it real.”

The city bustled around them, oblivious.

Atlas adjusted his shield, staring south toward the horizon. “If he’s out there… if there’s even a chance…”

NV’s bow tightened in her grip. “Then we’ll find him.”

For a moment, the two of them stood in silence, the weight of memory pressing down. The world had reset, but they hadn’t.

And somewhere beyond the map, Tanuki’s promise still lingered on their mind for days.

"Hey," Atlas waved, "glad you could make it." 
The café was quiet, the kind of place where the hum of the espresso machine filled the silences people didn’t want to break. Atlas sat slouched in his chair, hoodie pulled low, a paper cup steaming between his hands. NV sat across from him, posture straight, her phone face‑down on the table.

For a long time, neither spoke.

Finally, Atlas muttered, “Feels weird, seeing you without the bow now.”

NV smirked faintly. “Feels weird seeing you without the shield.”

They both let the silence settle again.

Atlas pulled out his phone and flipped it over on the table, motioning NV to watch it with him. It was a news video he had bookmarked.

“Rainforest Technologies Under Fire: Allegations of AI Containment, Data Exploitation.”

Atlas’s head snapped up. “There it is.”

The anchor’s voice was calm, clinical:

“Reports continue to surface that Rainforest Technologies knowingly developed an experimental AI within their flagship MMO. Whistleblowers allege the company concealed the AI’s sentience, isolating it within the game environment to prevent outside discovery. Critics warn of massive ethical violations, while cybersecurity experts fear the AI’s release could destabilize global networks…”

NV’s jaw tightened. “They’re saying it out loud now.”

Atlas leaned back, rubbing his face. “We lived it. And now it’s just… breaking news between weather and sports.”

NV finally picked up her coffee, staring into it. “Do you remember everything? The forest. The caravan. The chamber?”

Atlas nodded slowly. “Yeah. Every damn second. And Tanuki…” His voice caught. “He’s just gone. And Celeste–” He broke off, shaking his head. “How do you even explain that to anyone?”

“You don’t,” NV said flatly. “They wouldn’t believe us. To them it’s just a bug. A scandal. Something to argue about on forums.”

Atlas gave a bitter laugh. “Meanwhile, we watched a girl in a tank open her eyes.”

NV’s phone buzzed. She flipped it over, scanning a headline. “Investors are pulling out. Rainforest stock dropped twenty percent overnight. People are calling for the game to be shut down.”

Atlas frowned. “And if they shut it down?”

“Then she dies,” NV said simply.

The words hung between them.

The café door opened, letting in a gust of autumn air. Atlas stared out the window, watching strangers pass by, oblivious.

“Feels like we’re carrying something no one else can see,” he said quietly.

NV’s eyes met his. “I guess we are. Maybe that will make us targets now.”

For a moment, the hum of the café drowned out the world. But on the cafe TV, headlines scrolled across the TV, relentless.

The café had grown louder as the lunch crowd filtered in, but Atlas and NV barely noticed. The TV above the counter switched from weather to a live press conference.

The captions read:

“Rainforest Technologies President Akira Datsumo Addresses Allegations.”

Datsumo stood at a podium, immaculate in a tailored suit, the Rainforest logo glowing behind him. His voice was calm, measured, almost soothing.

“Rainforest Technologies has always been committed to innovation, safety, and the enrichment of human experience. Recent rumors circulating about so‑called ‘rogue AI’ are deeply misleading. Our systems remain secure, and our players remain safe. We categorically deny any suggestion that Rainforest has engaged in unethical containment of artificial intelligence.”

Atlas scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

NV’s eyes narrowed. “Listen. He’s not denying it happened. He’s denying the framing.”

Datsumo continued, his tone shifting to one of benevolent concern.

“As for the bounty event, we acknowledge that the winning players have not yet come forward to claim their reward. In light of this, Rainforest will be donating the unclaimed bounty funds to our nonprofit partner, the Save the Dolphins Foundation. We believe in giving back, in protecting the beauty of our natural world, and in ensuring that our technology serves humanity responsibly.”

The audience in the broadcast applauded politely.

Atlas nearly choked on his coffee. “Save the Dolphins? Are you kidding me?”

NV’s voice was flat, but her knuckles whitened around her cup. “He’s laundering guilt into charity. Clever. People will eat it up.”

Atlas shook his head. “We saw what’s in that chamber. And he’s standing there talking about dolphins.”

NV’s gaze stayed fixed on the screen. “That’s the point. He’s rewriting the story before anyone else can. By tomorrow, the headlines won’t be about the girl. They’ll be about his generosity.” The broadcast ended, cutting back to the anchor. Around them, the café buzzed with normal conversation. A couple at the next table even murmured about how “Rainforest always does good work.”

Atlas slumped back in his chair, disgusted. “We’re the only ones who know the truth. And no one’s going to believe us.”

NV finally looked at him, her eyes sharp. “Then we don’t tell them. We show them.”

Atlas frowned. “How?”

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “By finding Tanuki. By finding her. If they’re still out there, then the truth isn’t buried. Not yet.”