Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Of course Jak wasn't going to die like a normal person.

He couldn't die of heatstroke in the desert, no, that would be too easy. Too mundane. He couldn't be eaten by metalheads or fall into lava. That was too glamorous a death.

No, Jak was going to die of the fucking flu.

It had started in the desert, during a scavenger mission with Sig, when he wasn't feeling well—nausea, headache, feeling hot. Jak eventually had to pull over and vomit out the passenger side while Sig drove.

It only got worse once they reached Spargus. Jak was so dizzy that Sig had to support him with one arm. He was practically dragging the boy, half unconscious. The world was going in and out, his friends' voices weaving throughout the noise of the desert city. He struggled to stay on his feet, eventually giving up and just letting them drag on the ground as Sig pulled him forward.

"Hey." Sig shook him gently. "If I drop you off at the palace, you gonna be okay?"

"…Yeah," Jak croaked. "Just need some water."

Sig clearly didn't believe him, but he just made a noise in his throat and hauled Jak onto the lift. It rumbled to life and took them up to the throne room.

Damas was sitting on his throne, glaring at a map as if it had insulted his parentage. He looked up when the trio entered the room. "Ah. You're back, good. I was getting worried, I think a storm might be coming soon." He inhaled sharply. "Is Jak…?"

Damas eyed the teenager. He was pale and shaking, odd for the usually steady Jak. "What happened?" he asked Sig.

Sig dropped Jak beside the pool, where he laid his head back against the stone pillar. Daxter reached down and started to cup water in his hands, urging his friend to drink.

"Dunno," Sig said grimly. "But it's getting worse. In the hour long drive back to the city, he threw up a bunch and then practically passed out on me." Sig nodded to the king. "Any monks around to help him?"

Damas frowned. "Not at the moment. They're all at the Temple right now, meditating in seclusion."

He walked over to where Jak was now pressing his flushed cheek against the pillar. Damas reached down and pressed the back of his fingers to the Jak's forehead. His frown deepened.

"What?" Daxter asked. "What now?"

"He's hot to the touch." Damas swept a lock of the boy's hair back, where it clung to the side of his face. "Do you see? He's sweating like an animal."

"Heat stroke?" Sig suggested. Damas shook his head. "What's wrong with him?"

"Sickness," Damas said simply. "A fever brought on this suddenly is never good. He didn't seem any different from normal before he set out."

"Jak? Jak, are you gonna die?" Daxter wailed and shook his friend's collar. "Oh, the humanity! Who will make me lunch now?!"

"…Ugh…" Jak's eyes rolled and he closed them again. Daxter let out a loud, melodramatic cry.

"Knock it off, furball," Sig ordered. "Jak'll be fine, he just needs some rest. Right, Damas?" Damas was still frowning, which only worried Sig more. "You think he needs a medic?"

"Sig. Take him to Ionna." Damas' voice was low and grim. "It could subside, but I'd rather not take the chance. She'll be able to help him."

"Got it." Sig glanced down. "Uh…I guess I'll have to carry him."

"Hey! Why don't you just get this lady to come up here to help him?" Daxter snapped. Damas' frown turned into a twisted snarl. "Heh heh…just a suggestion, Your Sandiness."

"…Ionna will not come to the palace at my beck and call," he responded. "She has other Wastelanders to attend to, many of whom require almost constant care. Get moving."

Sig heaved Jak up into his arms, surprised by how light the kid was. Sure, Jak had never been a big guy, but he felt like a child in Sig's arms. Daxter climbed up to sit on Jak's chest.

"Check back here to update me on his condition once she takes a look at him," Damas directed. Sig nodded as he stepped onto the lift. The last thing he saw before he left the palace was Damas staring after him, a strange kind of concern on his face.

The world was a swirling mess of darkness and light.

Jak wasn't sure what was real and what was in his mind. He was certain that his eyes were open, but his vision kept fading in and out, swirling around him like a dream.

He was moving, he thought, or maybe it just seemed that way. Hazy voices drifted through the fog, murmurs about monks and water. There were also some ghostly voices, whispering as they spoke of eco and prophecies and sages and…

…and everything went dark again.

The medic center that Ionna ran was a tiny place in the wall of Spargus. Beds lined the main room, with thin curtains that gave the patient a bit of privacy. There was a long counter, with a stone basin in it and a water pump beside it. Sig had been there a few times for some of his nastier encounters with metalheads, as well as once when he'd had some trouble sleeping.

"Sig, surprised to see you." The voice that floated through the room was soft and clear. "Not hurt again, I hope?"

"Not me." Sig grimaced and set Jak down in one of the empty beds. Daxter anxiously hovered on the edge, his head whipping between the two. "Jak here is sick. Anything you can do to help?"

The woman—Ionna—reached down and pulled one of his eyelids open and hummed. "Tell me what happened."

Sig explained the situation, while Ionna pumped some water into a bowl. She glanced down at Daxter and frowned.

"No pets," she said firmly. "Sig, take it back with you."

"Hey! I'm not a pet!" Daxter snapped. As people tended to be, Ionna was surprised when he spoke. "Jak's my sidekick, I'll have you know, and I'm not going anywhere."

"…No rat fur on anything, you hear?" She placed the bowl beside the bed and brought out a soft cloth.

"Whatever." Daxter huffed indignantly. "Can you help Jak or not?"

"We'll see." She dipped the cloth into the water and gently placed it on his forehead. "Let's cool him down first."

"He gonna be alright? I think Damas is worried." Sig leaned on his Peacemaker. "I dunno what happened."

"He has some kind of an infection," Ionna said evenly. She reached into a cabinet and pulled out a tin container. "Probably been festering for a while, and now it's gotten too bad for his body to fight off on its own. Like I said, we'll wait and see if he needs more treatment, or if he's okay with rest."

She popped the tin open and pulled out a small pill. "Antibiotics. Do you have to report to Damas?" she asked Sig.

He nodded. "Yeah. Listen, I'll check back in later, but…take care of him. He's a good kid."

Sig nodded to Daxter and left. Ionna put the pill in a glass of water and stirred it, dissolving the pill. She pressed the glass to Jak's lips and he swallowed automatically. As she set the glass aside, she pursed her lips and pressed her hand against his cheek. Daxter looked up at her.

"What? What now?" He paced along Jak's chest, literally wringing his hands. "Ah, geez, he's dying! He's dead! He's a zombie!"

"Does your mouth ever close?" Ionna huffed out a breath of air and stood. "His fever is a little higher than I'd like, that's all. I'd like to bring it down as quickly as possible."

Ionna reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of liquid light eco. Strange, she thought. The eco seemed to be…energetic today. It was hot to the touch and was vibrating in the bottle. "I need you to move away from him," she told the animal. He hurumphed and turned away from her, refusing to leave.

"No way!" he said loudly. She rolled her eyes.

"I cannot treat him if you don't get away from him." She gave the animal a stern glare. He gulped and jumped onto the bedside table. "Thank you. Now, this treatment will exhaust him, so I suggest you be quiet around him, so as to not wake him."

She was wary of giving a person too much light eco—it was easy to overload a body with it. She didn't even really want to give it, but the boy's fever was too high. Whatever infection he had, he needed something stronger than just regular medicines.

Ionna uncorked the bottle.

Like a magnet, without her direction, the eco zoomed out of the bottle. She gasped, attempting to snatch it out of the air, but it was already heading straight for the bed-ridden boy. "No!"

The eco hit his body and sunk into him. Instead of what she expected—a shout of pain, a gasp of breath, she had even seen seizures—the boy just inhaled and exhaled deeply, while the light eco settled in his body.

His breathing eased up and some of the tension in his face dissipated. Nothing besides that happened, and the rat didn't seem to notice anything unusual. Ionna stepped away, the empty bottle in her hand shaking.

Was this the boy Seem had warned her about? The boy who was tainted by dark eco…the one Seem claimed could turn into a monster?

Then…why was he channeling light eco?

The world was blinding.

Jak wasn't really sure where or when he was. There was Samos, sitting by his bed one minute, then a buck-toothed, human Daxter standing with his hands on his hips, then he morphed into Gol Acheron with a harsh laugh, that turned into the cold, cruel one of Erol.

He was hot. He was cold. He was nothing.

Fuck, he was spinning. He felt like he was going to vomit.

He did.

There were several times that Jak vaguely remembered sitting up, leaning over to be violently sick, and then passing back out. A few times, he was awake enough to feel someone giving him water to greedily gulp down.

But he didn't fully wake up for several days, until the bright morning sunlight burst through his eyelids. He gave a loud groan and lifted his arm over his head. Great Precursors, he felt like hell.

"Hold on, child, don't sit up just yet." He heard a woman's voice, followed by some banging around, before he felt a presence beside him.

The woman was gentle, her thin hands wiping his forehead with a cool cloth. Jak blearily opened his eyes.

"..What happened…?"

"You fell ill," she said. "Sig brought you in, said none of the monks were a help to you." Her voice had the coarse, rough quality that all Wastelanders' did, but it was softer and quieter. She reached up and checked his forehead.

"Your fever's gone down, good. It broke last night. You're recovering nicely, I must say."

Jak went to sit up and immediately regretted it. He felt his empty stomach flip and gagged on bile. The woman grabbed a bucket she had set aside and held it out for him. He took advantage of it.

When he finished vomiting, the woman pointed to a small table beside the bed. "Water and a cloth. Rinse out your mouth and spit."

Of course, with his impeccable timing, that was when Daxter decided to wake up and screech, "Jak, you're alive!"

Jak almost swallowed the water, but the woman quickly slapped his back. He spit it out in a spray and coughed. "D—Daxter, geez! Don't scare me."

"Don't scare you? Don't scare you?!" Daxter leapt up on the bed and shook Jak's shoulders. "You throw up organs out of your body, but I scared you? Gah!"

"You're exaggerating, Dax," Jak said wearily. "It wasn't that bad."

"You should listen to your friend," Ionna chastised him. She stood up and folded her arms. "Fevers like this are nothing to laugh at, especially not in the desert heat."

Jak turned to look at the woman for the first time. She started moving around the room, putting bottles and crates back into the cupboards where they belonged. Jak could only see glimpses of her as she flitted about, quickly getting work done.

She was paler than most of the other Wastelanders, who were usually some level of tan from the desert sun. Her long hair was a sun-bleached blonde, almost white, and was tied at the nape of her neck. Her bangs were pinned back with a headband made of sparkling green seaglass; oddly, she was also barefoot, not wearing the normal boots that Wastelanders wore. It was hard to tell how old she was—much like the other Wastelanders, sun and stress had aged her. However, she looked just as tough as any of the others, with a rifle strapped to her back and several knives on her belt.

"…Thanks," Jak said awkwardly. "Um…what do I owe you?"

Because nothing came free in the world. Not in Haven, not in Spargus. The woman gave him a sideways look.

"It's fine," she said finally. "I owe Sig a favor. I am Ionna, by the way. A medic."

Silence descended over the room as Ionna continued to put things away. Jak shrugged at Daxter and rinsed his mouth out again, trying to get the bitter taste of sick out of it.

"Damn it!" There was the sound of glass breaking as Ionna dropped one of the bottles she'd been holding. Eco spilled out, a silvery-blue puddle on the floor. Jak could sense it and almost gasped.

"Is that…light eco?" The familiar pull seemed to spark through him, wanting to absorb it and take it for himself. He shuddered and pushed the sensation away. "Why do you have that?"

"Healing purposes," she replied. He watched in astonishment as she reached down, gently extended her palm, and picked up the eco. It didn't go into her body, as it did to Jak, but it swirled around in her palm. She guided the eco into another empty bottle with careful, steady hands. Both of the boys were speechless as she capped the bottle and started to sweep up the glass, seemingly oblivious to their stunned faces.

"You some kinda monk?" Daxter asked her.

"Mmm. Of sorts." The woman didn't seem keen on talking about it. "I wouldn't call myself that, however. I'm just very talented with light eco."

"Eh, Jak can do that with his eyes closed!" Daxter nudged his friend. "Right, Jak?"

"…No, Dax." He was still staring, wide-eyed, at Ionna. "I can't."

It was a funny thing, channeling eco. It had always come naturally to Jak, but it was a very…rudimentary type of channeling. Growing up, Jak had always envied how easily Samos could manipulate green eco. Jak could pull it in and let it go through his body, but Samos could move it. He could push and pull it, send it streaming across the room. He could collect it, store it, crystallize it, and liquefy it.

Meanwhile, all Jak could do was use it.

Not even the monks and Onin could control eco like Samos—and Ionna, he supposed—could. They used soft touches, sparks and flits of eco. As if they could feel it and move it around, but never really hold onto it. No, just like Jak, they could only use it, never capture it.

"Are you a sage?" he blurted out. Ionna almost dropped the bottle again. "An eco sage?"

"A sage?" Daxter shrieked. "Ugh, we already got one of those! And let me tell you, he's a pain in my—!"

"I shouldn't be surprised you noticed," Ionna mused. "You clearly have an affinity for eco, as well. But I don't know that you could call me a sage, however talented I am with eco."

Ionna walked over the bed and reached out to check Jak's temperature again. "Hmm…you're still warm, but I'd say you're almost back up to snuff. Three more days."

"Three days?!" Daxter shouted. A loud moan came from another bed and Ionna glared at him. "Heh heh…I mean, three days?"

Three days? Jak shifted in the bed and grimaced. He hated being confined to one spot for too long. The last time had been when he was a child, and Samos had fished him and Daxter out of the sea. He'd been stung by a jelly-eel and was out of commission for almost a week.

"You don't seem to understand, young man." Ionna turned her stern gaze on Jak, who felt like a misbehaving child. "You almost died."

"What was wrong with me, anyway?" Jak grumbled.

"An infection," she said simply. "Probably from a wound you got on a mission. It happens a lot with Wastelanders, but yours was particularly bad."

There was another loud moan and Ionna went to go take care of that person. Jak and Daxter both sighed in unison.

"Well, buddy, I guess we're stuck here for the time being." Daxter hopped up on his friend's shoulder. "Wanna play hangman?"

"This is stupid," Jak said. "She can't stop me from leaving." He stood up—ignoring the fact that his vision spun when he did—and started for the door.

There was a single, loud, echoing clap, followed by a brilliant light flashing in front of him. Out of nowhere, Ionna appeared in front of him. She lifted her chin and placed a hand on his chest.

"Oh, can't I?"

Chapter Text

Jak froze, in total shock, because he'd never seen it from the outside.

That was light eco.

A thousand and one questions bombarded his mind, all of them some variation of what the hell?!

"You are in no condition to be up and about." Ionna grabbed his upper arm and spun him around, dumping him back on the bed. With a loud grunt, he landed on his stomach, face-down in the pillow. "You're staying here."

Jak rolled over and tried to stand up, but the world spun around him, so he sat back down. Instead, he stared at her, blinking in confusion.

"How…how can you do that?" he asked quietly. "You changed…you transformed."

"I told you. I'm talented with eco." She folded her arms and gave him a stern look. "Years of practice with it allows me to do that. Now, lie back down and get some rest."

"You can't keep me here," Jak repeated stubbornly. "I don't care how good you are with eco."

"Try me, child." Ionna glared at him. "Until I'm certain you're fully recovered, you stay here."

Jak stood up again, ignoring that Daxter gave a nervous chuckle. "Look, you really don't want to get into a fight with me."

Ionna simply folded her arms.

Jak walked towards her and stretched his arm out to shove her aside.

She clapped her hands again. The light flashed, power reverberating through his bones, and then Jak found himself face down on the floor, one arm twisted behind his back and Ionna pinning him down.

"What the fu—?!" He snarled, but for some reason, the darkness didn't seem to boil to the surface like it usually would.

"I warned you," she said calmly. "You. Are staying. Here."

She let him up from the ground, and he stood up. He stumbled on his feet, almost falling back down immediately. He felt his stomach heave, but didn't (thankfully!) vomit again. Ionna took advantage and guided him back to bed.

"Rest." That was all she said as she settled him on the bed and went over to tend to another patient.

Drained, Jak fell back against the pillows with a thump. His friend hopped up and settled on his shoulder.

"She used light eco." Jak glanced at Daxter. "That was the flash freeze that I got."

"Maybe she got some goofy statues to shine a flashlight on her, too." Daxter lounged against the side of Jak's head. "What's the big deal, anyway? So some old crotchety nurse can go all glowy, whoopee."

Jak started to reply, but he felt his head start to spin again. "Ugh…Dax, how long was I out?" He pressed his palms against his temples and groaned.

Uh…two days." Daxter paused, then continued, unnaturally serious, "Maybe you better do what she says, Jak. Take a few days off, relax a bit, get better."

As he slouched down, Jak had to admit, he really didn't feel great. The thought of going into the desert, in the bright sun and heat, made his stomach churn. He flexed his fist angrily and sighed.

"Geez." Jak closed his eyes and frowned. "I feel like crap. She's right, I'm useless like this."

"Eh, don't sweat it," Daxter said, patting his shoulder. "Take it from me: you're pretty useless when you're at full health!"

Jak pulled the blanket up over his shoulders. "Thanks, Dax. I appreciate that."

Jak fell asleep quickly, still achy and tired. He woke up a bit in the afternoon, ate some soup at Daxter's urging, and then fell back asleep again. The rest of the day passed with him going in and out, hazily opening his eyes long enough to roll over and close them again. His dreams were filled with the lush, bright colors of Sandover, interspersed with the earth tones of Spargus' desert and the cold, grey metal of Haven.

There was a voice that floated through his dreams, one that he automatically paired with the sound of echoing precursor metal and the hum of eco. A deep voice that talked of light and called him a hero.

Even in his dreams, he tried to protest, but the damned thing wouldn't listen.

His dreams were shattered, as they always were, by a familiar voice shouting.

"Ugh, that's not even a word!"

Jak bolted up in his bed, jerked out of sleep by Daxter's shrill voice. "What the hell?!" His hands automatically reached behind his back to grab the morph gun, before realizing it wasn't there. His heart slowed a bit, recognizing that he wasn't in danger here: he was in Spargus, in an infirmary, sick as a dog, safe as a child.

"It most certainly is a word." Ionna's calm voice cut through Daxter's. "It's a plant."

"How do you even pronounce that?" Daxter yelled. Jak flinched, his head still pounding and making Daxter seem even louder than usual. "Quin-o-ah?"

"Keen-wah." Ionna said it slowly before turning towards Jak. "Your friend needs to read more."

Jak blinked. It was a surreal sight: Ionna and Daxter were sitting at a small table, playing some kind of game with letter tiles. Ionna was clearly winning, with a considerable pile of them on her side of the table. "Um…"

"We got bored waiting for you wake up from your nap," Daxter explained. "So the good doctor here broke out a game to play."

"You slept for a good time," Ionna said, gathering up the tiles. She swept them into a bag and stashed the bag in a cabinet above her head. "I had to keep him out of trouble, lest he give one of my patients a rage stroke."

"…What time is it?" Jak asked, rubbing his aching neck.

"Almost 8 pm. You've been asleep for the entire day." Ionna handed Daxter a heating pad, which he gave to Jak. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yeah." Jak set the pad on his neck and sighed. It eased the soreness in the muscles. "Thanks."

Ionna turned back to the water pump. "In a better mood, I hope?"

Jak frowned and Daxter held back a snicker. "Yeah. Sorry for...being kind of a jerk."

"Apology accepted. Take this." Ionna was holding out a glass of water and a small white pill. "It'll kick the infection for good."

"Ah…" Jak hesitantly took the glass and the medicine. "…I'll be fine. Got any green eco?"

"Antibiotics will work better," she insisted.

Jak stared at the glass, then took the pill and a drink. For a minute, he felt the pill slip down his throat. Then it came back up and then he started to gag.

He spit the water and pill out back into the glass. Coughing, he said, "I…can't swallow pills."

Ionna blinked. "You…?"

"I've never been able to," he snapped. He felt a blush rise to his face. "I never needed to."

Because green eco had always done the trick. Sickness or injury, Samos had always been able to heal him within a day or two. Other villagers had to take typical medicine—the farmer got salves and oils for his aches and pains, the Explorer got a cure-all potion for whatever weird injury he got on his travels, and Daxter always got pills to combat his headaches and fevers—but Jak always got a dose of green eco and was up and running again.

She frowned and took the glass back. "Hold on."

She went back to the counter and there was the clinking of glass. She returned a few moments later with a now cloudy glass of water. "Here. Drink this."

Jak took a drink. The water tasted bitter and had a chalky texture to it. He finished, despite the terrible taste, and handed the glass back. "What did you do?"

"Crushed the pill and dissolved it into the water." She washed the glass and set it aside. "I do it for children who are too young to take pills."

"Oh." Jak fidgeted with his fingers, an old habit. "I mean…I'm not a kid."

"I know you're not a kid, but you still need the antibiotics." She reached out her hand and felt his forehead. "Good, the fever's going down. You're sounding much better, too."

"Of course he is!" Daxter reached up and pinched Jak's cheek playfully. Jak swatted him away. "Look at him, he's in perfect condition! He's even got some color in his cheeks!"

"Knock it off," Jak grumbled. Daxter laughed and flopped back on one of the pillows. "Geez."

Ionna smiled at Daxter's antics, amused. "Alright, I want you to eat something. Nothing solid, but some broth will do."

Jak nodded. He didn't feel hungry, but he didn't feel queasy anymore, either. She came back a half hour later with a bowl of some kind of yellow broth and he settled in to eat it. It was spicy and flavorful, a far cry from the bland meals of Haven City.

By the time he was finished, Daxter had curled up on the pillows and fallen asleep. Jak, however, didn't feel tired at all.

"It's understandable. You've been asleep all day." Ionna was folding up clean sheets for an empty bed nearby. "If you need something to keep yourself occupied, there's some paper in the drawer over there. I've got a few books, some games…just be quiet so others can rest."

So, as night fell and Ionna herself went to bed, Jak decided to draw. It started out as doodles—the oracles, Daxter, a misshapen blob that should have been a metal head. But he got bored with that easily and started searching for something else to do. He'd never been much of a reader, and all the games seemed uninteresting without Daxter there to be a sore loser.

Jak's eyes fell on one of the shelves, where a dozen bottles of light eco were neatly lined up.

He stretched out his hand, sensing the eco that was inside. The eco automatically wanted to come to him; it was making the bottles shake as it tried to get out. He knew he could easily make it shatter the containers and shoot straight to him.

But, he wondered, could he make it go the other way?

He reached his hand out, trying it mimic the movements he'd seen Ionna make earlier. It had been graceful, almost, the way the eco obeyed her every command. He pushed his hands away from his body, hoping he would see the bottle move away, too.

The eco didn't do anything besides shake harder. He frowned, annoyed, and swept his hand again. The bottle closest to him moved slightly, scraping against the wooden shelf.

"C'mon," he growled softly. He made a hard, jerky swipe at the bottle, causing it to abruptly shoot across the room and smash against the wall. The light eco spilled out and zoomed straight towards him. "Gah!"

"You're trying too hard."

Jak almost jumped out of his skin. Over in the doorway, Ionna was watching him, shrouded in shadows. He had no idea how long she had been watching him, her arms folded and a smirk on her face.

"Wh—what does that mean?" He felt his face get hot as she walked over to the shelf. "Trying too hard seems like a good thing."

"Not with eco, I'm afraid." She reached over and grabbed another bottle, bringing it to his bedside. "Eco is much more natural. It's intuitive, and trying too hard simply frustrates you."

She opened the bottle and the eco poured out into the air, following her languid hand motions. Jak watched, enthralled, as it followed her hand, twisting through the air before finally going back into the bottle.

"It's amazing," he whispered. Ionna smiled.

"You try." She held the bottle out for him and he hesitated. "Go on. I've seen you absorb it, you have the ability to control it."

"Look, I was just messing around. This isn't my kind of thing."

Ionna sighed and forced the bottle into his hand. "How would you know? You just tried it."

Jak inhaled and gripped the bottle tighter. He could feel the eco, struggling to get out towards him. He raised his hand, trying to make his movements as light and fluid as Ionna's. At first, the eco started to trickle out of the bottle, slowly and without going straight for him. He smiled and jerked his hand away from himself.

Which sent the eco straight across the room, where it boomeranged back towards him. He absorbed it with a grunt.

"I told you," he said, annoyed. "Not what I'm good at."

"You're thinking like a warrior," she mused. "Trying to control the eco. But eco can't be controlled. However, it's…malleable. You can lead it where you want it to go."

Malleable…? Why did that sound familiar…? "Like water," Jak said. "It flows."

"Exactly," she told him as she reached for another bottle. He raised an eyebrow. "It flows. You cannot force a river to turn, but you can guide it into a lake."

"Got it." Jak took the bottle and steeled himself. "Okay."

"Wait. Before you do so, take a breath." Ionna inhaled deeply and Jak followed suit. "Relax and let your mind empty. Once you are ready, then you can take the eco out."

Jak closed his eyes and followed her breathing. He tried his best to clear his mind of everything. Eventually, he opened his eyes and said, "Alright, I'm ready."

He uncapped the bottle. He slowly pulled the eco out and waved his hand around. The eco followed his movements, circling in the air around him. He spun it a few times, enthralled by the colors that shone through it, and finally tipped his hand. The eco went back into the bottle and he capped it off, pleased with himself.

"Nice job." Ionna beamed at him and he smiled back. "You learn very quickly. Tell me, have you always been able to channel eco?"

"Yeah. I used to do a lot when I was a kid." Days long gone by, he thought, remembering the feeling of stepping into a blue eco vent and feeling like he was on top of the world. "Now I only do it with light eco and dark eco."

Ionna looked shocked. "Dark eco? You've channeled dark eco?"

He suddenly felt foolish. He hadn't meant to admit it. "You got a problem with that?" he snarled.

Eco freak.

Lunatic.

Monster.

"Please, child, you act as if I should be afraid of you." Ionna shook her head. "No, I was just curious because…well, it's unusual. I've never heard of anyone who could tap into both light and dark eco. You should be careful. It's very dangerous."

"Yeah. I know." Jak folded his arms. "Trust me."

He watched her for a moment, trying to decipher her facial expression. Like most of the Wastelanders he'd met, Ionna didn't seem fazed by his sudden aggression. It seemed like something they were all used to. There was no disgust, no fear, nothing like what he had seen in Haven City.

She stood up, taking the bottle of light eco with her. "It's nearly 2 AM. Your sleep schedule is going to be off, so I suggest getting some sleep in now. I'll wake you up tomorrow morning for more antibiotics."

Jak watched her go back to bed. He settled back in the pillows and closed his eyes, trying to force himself into sleep. He was met with another round of strange dreams, this time the voice echoing about balance and danger and fate.

Chapter Text

By the time Jak woke up, the morning was in full swing. Daxter was already awake, dancing to something on the old radio that was playing. He could distantly hear the sounds of glasses clinking together. His eyes took a few minutes to refocus and adjust.

"Morning, sunshine!" Daxter jumped onto Jak's chest and peered into his face. "Feelin' better?"

Jak sat up and swallowed. His throat was parched, but the headache and nausea that had plagued him earlier was gone. "Yeah," he rasped. "Actually, I do."

He got out of bed and stood up. The world stayed steady around him, for which he was grateful. He went to the water pump and got a tin cup full of water.

"I'm glad to see you're up and about." Jak glanced over to see Ionna, a tray of medicine in her hands. She set it down while he gulped down a drink. A few seconds later, she handed him another glass with crushed up pills dissolved in it. "Drink up."

Jak obeyed, still shuddering at the strange taste and texture. "There. How many more of those do I have to drink?"

"Just one more. I'll give it to you tomorrow morning, then you can leave." There was a call from another bed and Ionna disappeared to help the patient.

Jak wondered back over to his bed. "Well, Dax, now what?"

"Just relax," his friend said soothingly. He picked up a thick, academic—looking book and handed it to Jak. "Here, read some of these doctor books. Check out page 23, it's really cool!"

Page 23, as it turned out, had an anatomically correct diagram of a male prostate on it, which caused Jak to roll his eyes and Daxter to laugh uproariously. Jak shut the book and almost threw it at him.

"If you're bored and want something to do," Ionna said, suddenly appearing at the foot of the bed, "then you can start making med kits. Damas likes to replace everyone's kits every few months, just in case, so you can imagine how many we have to put together."

She brought him a stack of small boxes, each about the size of a pencil box. Each box needed a set of medical supplies, she explained. Bandages, a jar of salve, a bottle of disinfectant, a syringe full of anesthetic, a cold pack, and a small vial of green eco.

"Hey, how come we gotta do your work?" Daxter complained. "We go out all day, running around in the desert, gettin' sand in places we don't want sand! And you make us do more work when we're sick."

"Consider it payment," Ionna said evenly. "For saving your life."

"Didn't save my life," Daxter grumbled, but Jak couldn't argue, so they got to work.

The rote, thoughtless work gave the pair a chance to talk. At first, it started with simple chatter—mostly by Daxter—but it eventually turned back to their life in Sandover.

"I'm just saying," Daxter said, tossing a roll of bandages to his friend, "I miss the ocean! The good ocean, not this gross monster ocean." He made a face and Jak laughed. "Seriously! It's full of weird sea monsters!"

"Sandover had the lurker shark," Jak reminded him. "It's not that different." He gently set the roll of bandages into the box and sealed it. He set it aside in the finished pile. "I actually miss Snowy Mountain more."

"Really? That place?" Daxter rolled his eyes. "Ugh, that place suuuucked!"

Jak picked up an empty box. "I mean, it never snows in Haven. It sure doesn't snow around here."

As they talked, the door opened, a bell above ringing. A boy walked in, glancing around. "Miss? Miss, I'm here for the morning run!"

The boy was fairly young, maybe 13 years old, tall and skinny. He gazed around the infirmary. When his eyes landed on Jak, his chest puffed out in pride and his hands immediately went to a beaten leather satchel at his side. He nodded at Jak (in what he must have thought was a stoic manner) and said in a self-important voice, "I deliver the medicine to folks. Just here to pick some up, warrior."

"Huh." Jak locked eyes with Daxter, who was biting his lip to keep from laughing. "That's a pretty important job."

The boy's dark eyes lit up. "Yeah! It is!"

Ionna came up just as Daxter gave a snort of laughter. Jak slapped his hand over the ottsel's mouth.

"Good morning, Rios." She handed him three different vials of medicine and watched him gently settle them into his bag. Once he was all together, she handed him a few metal coins that he excitedly pocketed. "Make sure you watch Lyle take his. He's a stubborn old man, likes to think he's invincible."

Rios nodded. "Yes, Miss. Anything else you need?"

"No, Savara is stopping by after lunch. But thank you, that's very kind."

Rios nodded to both Ionna and Jak before turning around, briskly walking out into Spargus. Jak removed his hand and Daxter burst into laughter.

"Oh, man, kids crack me up!"

Ionna smiled warmly. "Yes, Rios is…very proud of what he can do for Spargus. He's already been caught trying to go fight Marauders. At least this keeps him out of trouble."

Rios' arrival seemed to signal some kind of change in the daily routine. People started coming in after that, the bell chiming above them acting as a warning. Most of them didn't pay any attention to Jak; several recognized him and gave him the silent nod of respect that Wastelanders gave each other as a greeting.

Jak was surprised by how many Wastelanders stopped by; it seemed like there was a never-ending stream of people looking for Ionna's help. She spent her day dealing with various citizens, taking the time in between to refill vials and mix up medicine.

A mother with her young child, who had hurt her wrist climbing the rocks, quickly had it wrapped and braced before being sent on her way. An older man with a cough was given thick syrup to drink, but warned not to drink it all at once. Three very dehydrated, very sun burnt young Wastelanders were given a stern talking to about how the desert was different than the city, a jar of green aloe, and plenty of water.

A mechanic with stitches, an infant with a temperature, even a worn-out warrior who just asked for a bed were all given what they needed and sent on their way.

All, Jak noticed, without paying anything to Ionna.

"How come you don't charge anyone?" he asked her during a lull. He and Daxter had made several dozen med kits by now, stacked up in rows beside his bed. Ionna was calmly measuring out ingredients for some kind of paste. "No one is paying you for everything you're doing."

"Yeah, you'd make a killin'!" Daxter said. "You could have anything you want! You could have a swimming pool…with a diving board…full of chocolate…" Jak rolled his eyes, but Ionna did answer his question.

"Out here," she said, still focused on her task, "disease and injury are as common as sand and sun. If I charged for my services, a lot of people would die. I'm afraid I can't abide by that."

"So how do you eat?" Daxter asked. "No money, no food, right?"

Ionna capped the bottle she was working on and pulled out a pen to label it. "Well, for starters, Wastelanders like to trade. This isn't Haven, where only money gets you goods. I have a lot of things lying around that people are more than willing to barter for."

She held up the jar with satisfaction. "And, secondly, I don't make these for my health. I sell them to some of my contacts in Haven, and a few in Kras City. They fetch a fair price."

They were cut off from their conversation by a frantic woman with two toddlers, both of them speckled with some kind of rash. Ionna led them away for some kind of bath soak, leaving Jak and Daxter to themselves.

It eventually died down again around lunchtime. Another teenager came by, this one a girl, to deliver medicine. Ionna gave Jak some meat stew to eat and monitored him as he did so.

"I feel fine," he said as he stuffed another spoonful in his mouth. He was starving. "Seriously," he added as she gave him a skeptical look.

"Not nauseous? Queasy?"

He shook his head and swallowed his food. "Nope, perfectly fine."

Ionna nodded, pleased. "Good. You're making a full recovery."

She started eating her own bowl, sitting in the chair nearby and resting her bare feet in a basin of hot water. Things were quiet: Jak was the only patient left, as the others had been discharged.

Of course, Daxter didn't really do quiet.

"You know, you never gave us a real answer," Daxter said to her. "Why are you so good with eco?"

Ionna's hands stilled and Jak feared Daxter had upset her. However, she quickly resumed eating and said, "At one point, I was in the monks, training to become the sage of light eco. Nowadays, I just try to put my skills to good use."

"You used to be a sage?" Jak asked.

"No, I used to be an acolyte," she corrected. "There's a lot involved in being a sage. I never made it that far."

"What happened?"

"Praxis. War. The Wasteland." Ionna shrugged. "Take your pick. I gave up a lot just trying to survive."

She didn't say anything more, and her demeanor told Jak that she wasn't going to. He let it drop.

Daxter, however…

"I'm glad you're not a goofy monk," he said. "Those guys are ca-ray-zee."

"Ha. Crazy, they may be, but I was trained as one." She gave a wistful smile and sighed. "I was one of them since I was a little girl in Haven City. Back then, I never dreamed I'd be where I am now."

"There were monks in Haven?" Jak leaned forward, curious. He'd never heard of the Precursor monks before stumbling into Spargus. "We knew a sage there, but he wasn't a monk."

Ionna blinked. "Huh. Now that's interesting." She shrugged and took another bite. "Well, I've never met a sage who wasn't trained as a monk, but that doesn't mean anything. The power to become a sage comes from the eco, not the training."

"His name was Samos. Know him?" Ionna shook her head. Jak gave Daxter a look. "Huh. Wonder what he isn't telling us."

"Ha!" Daxter rolled his eyes. "Knowing him, probably a lot."

"What happened?" Jak asked. "Were the monks banished?"

"Hmm…not exactly." Ionna gently set her empty bowl and spoon aside. "A long time ago, the leader of the monks ordered us to come out here to the desert temple, and wait until Damas arrived to lead him to Spargus. She had a vision of the future and warned us that we had to help him."

Jak and Daxter gave each other a curious look. The only person they knew with any powers like that was sitting in Haven, cross—legged in a tent.

"…Onin?" Jak guessed. Ionna looked surprised. "We've met her before."

"I didn't know she was still alive," Ionna said, stunned. "She had to stay behind in Haven due to her age, so I just figured…"

Ionna went quiet: she appeared to be thinking about something, her eyes faraway. Finally, she asked, "Did…did Onin send you out here?"

Jak shook his head. "No, that was…" He shrugged. "Someone else. But I'll be she and Samos both knew what would happen."

He felt a rush of anger suddenly. Of course Samos knew what would happen. And he hadn't stopped it, he'd just let Jak be banished and thrown out into the desert and die…

His angry thoughts fizzled out as Daxter said loudly, "Hey, can we talk about something else? Not to be rude, but all this monk babble is boring me." He hopped down to the foot of Jak's bed. "Ooh, ooh, I know! Let's talk about us! Or even better, let's talk about me!"

Jak rolled his eyes, but Ionna chuckled. "Well, if you're going to interrogate me, I'll return the favor." She smiled at Jak. "Where do your talents for light eco come from?"

Jak stiffened. "I…I've always been able to channel," he said truthfully. "I wasn't trained or anything. I just…did it."

"Interesting." Ionna didn't tell him what was interesting, but she continued, "And you mentioned the same affinity for dark eco, too. I've never met anyone with such an innate ability to channel."

"Hey, hey!" Daxter waved his furry paws in the air. "What about me? You know, I won the Haven Racing Championship," he bragged. "Yep, I raced our way to victory! There was a few times it looked kind of hairy, but I pulled through…"

Jak folded his arms and sat back against the pillows, letting Daxter's prattling turn into background noise. He glanced over at Ionna.

She looked strange…almost worried about something. She had a faraway look on her face, as if she were trying to figure out a puzzle she just couldn't quite grasp. Jak watched her for a moment, before she suddenly looked up and stared directly at him, eyes intent on him.

He turned away, focusing on Daxter instead. He didn't really have time to worry about the weirdness of monks or former sages or whatever. He had enough on his plate.

Still…he couldn't help but feel that he should worry about it.

The rest of the day was relatively peaceful. There was a rush of patients who came in later in the day, but, as Ionna explained, that was usually when the Wastelanders returned from their missions. It wasn't until almost sundown that people stopped coming in.

"I have somewhere I have to go," Ionna announced suddenly. Both boys glanced up at her uneasily. "Don't worry," she assured them. "I very rarely have patients come in around this time."

She started to strap on her boots. Jak hesitated, not sure what he wanted to say, but Daxter beat him to it.

"Hey!" he shouted. "You can't just ditch us! What if some poor guy comes in here missing an arm or something? I'm not sewing any limbs back on!"

Ionna rolled her eyes. "I figured you wouldn't want to be here alone." She wrapped a scarf around her neck, poising it to cover her mouth. "I already called for someone to take my place. Another Wastelander should be here in a few minutes to keep an eye on things."

"You going into the desert?" Jak asked. Ionna nodded. "Safe trip."

"Right." She gave them both a stern look. "Don't you two get into any trouble. I mean it."

With that, Ionna went out the door, the bell chiming as she stepped out. Jak watched her leave, then gave Daxter a mischievous grin.

"I'm not going to get into any trouble. How about you, Dax?"

Daxter folded his arms and smirked. "I would never! But, if, say, we found something to throw…?"

"…And something to throw into?" Jak finished.

"Well, we could just…practice our aim!" Daxter leapt down onto the floor and scampered away to search the infirmary."Yeah, we won't get into any trouble at all!"

"Right." Jak grinned and started digging around in the drawer nearby. "No trouble at all."

"There ya are." Kleiver banged on the hood of the Dune Hopper and handed the keys to Ionna. "Don't break me buggy."

"I was going to sink it into the sea," she replied, climbing into the front seat. Kleiver grimaced at her. "Just joking. I'll bring it back safe and sound."

"Great. Don't get eaten, either." He wiped his hands on a rag and walked away as she started the buggy up. He gave her a salute as he headed into the garage, which she returned before heading out into the desert.

"Alright, bullseye!" Daxter jumped up and whooped in the air. "I'm winning, Jak!"

Jak grumbled and picked up another tongue depressor. "By, like, two points." He took aim at the bedpan that was leaning against the wall and flung the tongue depressor. It made a dull thunk as it hit the edge and bounced off. "Shit!"

"Ooh, swing and a miss! Looks like Orange Lightning is up." Daxter threw the next one, which missed the bedpan completely and hit the wall. "Aw!"

"Yes!" Jak picked one up and was about to throw it, when the door opened. He glanced over and was surprised by the newcomer. "Damas? What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" Damas looked around the room, confused. "What are you doing? Shouldn't you be resting?"

"Um…" Jak shrank back a little at Damas' stern gaze. "Well…"

"We were bored!" Daxter snapped. Damas walked over to the pair and pulled up a chair. He looked around appraisingly: a dozen or so tongue depressors littering the floor, a bedpan set up as a target, two teenagers looking guilty. "We were just playing a game!"

"Hmm." Damas turned towards Jak. "Are you feeling better? You look better."

"Yeah. Thanks." Jak folded his arms. "So, what are you doing here?"

"Ionna called for backup," he replied. "I was free, so I came down to help." He glanced around uneasily. "Is…is she here?"
Jak shook his head. "No, she already left."

Damas' face seemed to relax. "Ah. Of course you two wouldn't be doing this if she were around."

"Uh, yeah. Speaking of which," Daxter said nervously, "how about we keep this between the three of us? I don't want to end up mummified with bandages."

"Hmm." Damas reached over and took a tongue depressor. He turned it around in his fingers. "Who's winning?"

Jak grimaced petulantly. "Daxter is."

Damas took aim and flung the tongue depressor. It landed directly in the center of the bedpan, reverberating through the room. "Not for long," he said threateningly. "You'd best try a little harder, warrior, or you'll be in third place."

Jak grinned and picked up another one. "You're on."

Ionna was barred from the monk temple.

There was no shield that stopped her from entering, nor armed guards or threats. But having been outlawed from the monks, she was not allowed inside. Not that she had any reason to come to the monk temple anymore. No, that time of her life had passed. The ban had never bothered her before. It didn't bother her now.

The monks' seclusion period ended at sundown. The monks, eager for fresh air, trickled out from the entrance. As Ionna sat on a broken chunk of metal and waited, many of them greeted her, some with her old title. She smiled and nodded, waved hand signals and gave ancient Precursor greetings. But her eyes were always on the lookout for the one monk she needed right now.

Finally, she appeared.

Seem walked slowly into the sand, savoring every second of cool air on her skin after having been inside the temple for five days. When she spotted Ionna, her eyes widened.

"Ionna. What are you doing here?" Seem approached her cautiously, almost afraid. "You know you…are not allowed inside our walls."

"I stayed outside," Ionna replied. She stood up and, with a surprisingly firm grip, seized Seems' upper arm. "Get in the buggy, Seem. We have something to discuss."

In Haven City, the monks had a temple in the mountains, high above the city. It towered over the palace, as if to remind everyone that the Precursors were above any mere man.

The first lesson learned as a monk was to never—under any circumstances—interrupt another monk's mediation or prayer. Such a time was considered sacred, when the monks would look to the Precursors and self-reflect on their own state of being.

The monks would usually pray once per day, though some of the older ones prayed more often. They would retreat to their own quarters, or sometimes to the more secluded areas of the temple, so that they could be alone with their makers.

Ionna's favorite place to pray was on a cliff, overhanging the entrance to the temple. If she listened closely, she could hear the sounds of the agricultural district: the metal scraping of the farmers' tools, the sound of water sprinkling on the crops, indistinct shouts and orders. Peaceful and serene, but still connected to the world.

When a monk interrupted her prayer to take her to Onin, Ionna was immediately on edge. Prayer was untouchable to the monks; to break the meditation of another was considered highly disrespectful, so it must be important.

Onin sat in an empty hall, on a threadbare rug. The years had taken their toll on the monks' leader. Her eyesight was starting to fail, and she could no longer walk, even with her staff to help her. Her skin had started to wrinkle and cling to her bones, though she hardly seemed to notice her aging.

"My child. Sit." Onin gestured next to where she sat, her spindly legs crossed. "We have much to speak about."

Ionna obeyed without question. She was the light eco acolyte, yes, and highly respected as a result. However, she was still young then, inexperienced and raw, like an unpolished gem. Onin was her elder, her mentor, her master.

Once she was settled, Onin reached out with her bird-bone hands and gently grasped Ionna's own fingers. "Ionna, it is time we talk about your future."

Ionna felt a shiver up her spine. For some reason, the words struck a chord with her, reminding her that Onin could see further than anyone else.

However, Onin simply said, "I have always had visions of your life. Small, but important events that only you can set in motion. However, recently, these visions have become clearer…and more ominous."

Ionna felt Onin's hands tighten. "Onin, what do you mean?"

"Mar's heir will be dethroned." Onin said it with such finality that Ionna didn't even question it. "Haven City will descend into a storm, a fight which threatens to destroy it from the inside out. It will land on a precipice, hanging by a thread over an abyss."

"What should we do?" the younger girl asked. "Should we warn Damas?"

Onin sighed, touching one of her hands to her temple. "…It is a burden, to know what the future holds. No, we cannot warn him. He will have to face his trials alone, without our guidance. Unfortunately, that is how it must be."

"However," Onin continued, "I have seen the past, as well. The two will collide soon, and that will be our chance." She began to gesture with her arms, eco sparkling out of her fingers. "A hero will emerge, and that hero will save Haven City…and our world."

"So, we have to help this hero?" Ionna looked down at her own unnaturally pale fingers. "What do I need to do?"

"The hero will have powers unimaginable, powers only Mar foresaw. He will hold the key to balancing the good and evil of the world. It will be up to you and Seem to teach this young hero, so that he may use his powers to save our world from destruction."

"Seem?" That surprised Ionna. She thought of her young charge, the girl who was barely twelve years old. She was still hesitant, unsure of herself, struggling to accept her place in the swirling darkness that surrounded her. "But Seem is a child. She has a long way to go before she can train anyone else."

"It matters not," Onin said firmly. "In times of war, we must prioritize our energy. Ready or not, Seem must train the hero, not in the ways of eco, but in temperance."

"…Onin…I'm not sure I understand." Temperance? Ionna shook her head. "What do you…?"

"Shh, child, and listen," Onin said gently. "Trust me, you will understand when the time comes. The two of you are crucial to this mission."

Ionna swallowed. "I understand, Onin."

Onin inhaled. "Listen carefully. You must prepare for the storm that is coming. I will provide you with all the knowledge bestowed upon me by my predecessor. I will give you the scrolls and scriptures, I will give you the tales of our ancestors. Most importantly, I will give you the maps."

"…Maps?" Ionna's brow furrowed. "Maps of what?"

Onin gestured west, where the horizon was nothing but sand. "Of the world beyond Haven. You will have to take the monks and leave, to follow Mar's heir beyond the walls of his city. That…is the only way to save it."

"What about you?" Ionna blurted out. "Why won't you lead us?"

Onin gave her an enigmatic smile. "I am old, Ionna. I am frail. I will not survive such a journey. I can barely move about the temple."

"But…" Ionna glanced around the temple. "Why me?"

"The Precursors have chosen you as their hands," Onin said quietly. "Just as they chose me as their eyes. You must trust that they will guide you along the right path."

Ionna was still confused, but she nodded. "Of course, Onin. That's what I've always done."

"Good, my child." Onin let go of her hand and smiled. "Go back to your meditation."

Ionna nodded and stood up, bowing as she started to leave. She hesitated, however, and turned back. "Onin? Can you tell me how long we have until this happens?"

Onin frowned. "I can only tell you one thing, child."

"What?"

"Time is of the essence."

Chapter Text

Ionna drove Seem through the desert, sand flying around the Dune Hopper and the wind whipping against their faces. There was a storm brewing, but neither of the women seemed bothered by this. They were silent for a while, until Seem asked, "Where are we going?"

Ionna didn't answer at first, her lips pursed. Finally, she replied, "Some place private. We're almost there."

She drove them to the old ruins of a temple, parking beside a stone wall. It was weathered from the sandstorms, faded and worn, save for one part. The Seal of Mar, carved into the stone entrance, stood as clear as day above them.

Ionna cut the engine, leaving the two of them in a strange, echoing silence. "...I'll cut straight to the point. Surely, you remember Onin's premonition before we left Haven?"

Seem nodded curtly. "A hero of dark and light," she said quietly. "You must have met Jak."

Ionna gave her a hard look. "You knew about his abilities. Why didn't you tell me?"

Seem looked away, not able to make eye contact. Ionna had always been there for her, a guiding light when the darkness threatened to drown her. It was Ionna who had told her, all those years ago in the forest temple, that shadow only existed where there was light. It was Ionna who had protected her, out here in the Wastelands, among monsters and men.

Seem at least owed her the truth.

"His mind and emotions are in chaos," Seem replied. "He cannot be the hero we need, regardless of what Onin thinks."

"That's exactly why you and I are here," Ionna said. "We can help him become a hero." She gestured up towards the sky. "You talk of the daystar that's approaching, bringing destruction to our doorstep. If we don't do something, the world will end. I think that Jak is the best chance we have of survival."

"Yes, he is incredibly powerful," Seem said in her hushed voice. "But his power is raw. Unpolished. Uncontrolled."

"That can be fixed." Ionna drummed her fingers on the wheel of the buggy, thinking. "Powers can be controlled."

"We cannot take that risk." Seem remembered how he had been in the arena. "His powers could destroy us. He is not fit to become the hero needed to protect our world."

"I disagree," Ionna said simply. "He is still young, but temperance can be learned. If I recall correctly, isn't that your duty?"

Seem huffed air out of her nose. "Hmph. I suppose it is. But…I don't know if I can truly help him."

"Seem." Ionna placed her hand on Seem's shoulder. "Please."

Seem hesitated. "There are others who can help us. We need to activate the planet's defense system, correct?"

"That's what the legends say."

"Then we only need someone who can control the Precursor artifacts." Seem looked down at her hands. "I have already spoken with someone. He is prepared to do what is necessary."

Ionna watched her for a moment. "…And you think this man is better than the hero Onin spoke of?" she asked. "You believe he doesn't have ulterior motives?"

Seem blinked. Of course Veger had ulterior motives, she thought. He wanted power and glory. But he was the best man for the job at the moment.

She didn't tell Ionna any of this, however. "Jak is not ready to become a hero," she argued. "I have seen him lose control of himself. He has been tainted by the dark eco. It's corrupted him."

"I don't think it has," Ionna said gently. "I've said it before, Seem: you overestimate the power of dark eco. Corruption begins in the heart."

Seem didn't respond. Instead, she just asked, "Are you intending to train Jak in light eco?"

"I am. Will you help him to control his darkness?"

For a moment, Seem was quiet. "…Very well. Hero or not, I will do as you ask."

"Good." Ionna turned the key and started the buggy again. "I'll let him know. If there is anything you need—"

"I will not require anything," she said bluntly. "Please take me back to the Monk Temple."

Ionna started to drive. "Thank you, Seem," she told her passenger. "I know you disagree, but…I appreciate it all the same."

Seem didn't answer, but her face showed her doubt. Ionna turned away; Seem would eventually find the truth on her own.

Jak had always had good aim. Growing up, he used to spend his afternoons lazily playing catch with the crocadogs of Sandover and using his slingshot to irritate the farmer's yakows. Nowadays, he was a crack shot with his guns, taking out armed guards with the same ease that he had yakows years ago.

Maybe that was why he was so frustrated that Damas was kicking his ass.

The king was winning by at least ten points. He hadn't missed a single shot since they'd started. The boys were both impressed and infuriated by his skills.

Clang! "I believe that puts me at 25 points, warriors," Damas said with a smirk. "Still think you can catch me?"

"No." Jak shot and hit the center of the bedpan with a reverberating echo. "But that doesn't mean I won't try."

"Ha. A warrior's attitude." Damas folded his arms and watched as Daxter took aim. "Truly, you belong in the Wasteland, Jak."

Daxter missed and they watched with avid interest as Damas got another direct hit. Both of them gaped.

"You know," Daxter said, recovering quickly, "I bet you'd be pretty good on the turret. How come you don't have that trophy, huh?"

"Hmph." Damas gave them a wry grin. "The turret is based in firepower. You can shoot mindlessly and still destroy your target. I prefer more precise shots, as well a sniper should."

"Sniper?" Both boys stared at each other, wide-eyed. "You were a…?"

Damas gave them a surprised look. "Yes, I was a sniper during the metal head wars. Is that hard to believe?"

"…I guess not." Jak picked up a tongue depressor and set his aim. "You just seem like you'd be closer to the action."

"Heh. I would rather have been on the battlefield," Damas explained. "However, the general consensus was that, as the leader of Haven City, I was too valuable to be on the front lines."

"Wait…you were the leader of Haven City?" Jak's next shot missed by a mile, distracted by the revelation. "You were the one Praxis overthrew?"

Damas nodded as they both gaped at him. "I came to the throne during the Metal Head Wars. I was betrayed by Praxis and banished to the Wasteland. The rest of the story, you know."

Jak swallowed. "So…you fought in the War with Praxis?"

"Of course," Damas said bitterly. "He was one of my most valued military advisors. Which is why I trusted him so much."

Before either of them could reply, Damas glanced up at the windows. "It's getting late. I suppose I won, though you two put up quite the fight." Jak watched as the older man started to pick up all the tongue depressors. Daxter jumped off the bed, grumbling as he went to help. "I assume you'll be out of here soon?"

"Yeah, Ionna said tomorrow I can go." Daxter tossed Jak the bedpan and he tucked it away. "I can stop at the palace if you have a mission for me."

"Do so." Damas put the tongue depressors away and went for a broom. "I'll finish cleaning up here. You two should get some sleep. " He gave a faint smile. "You're becoming quite the warrior, Jak. I would like to keep you alive and healthy."

"Aw, c'mon!" Daxter groaned. "It's barely dark out!"

Jak opened his mouth to protest, too, but Damas held up a hand to silence him. "I will hear no arguments. Rest is the best way to heal your body."

Both boys glanced at each other. Normally, they would argue, but neither of them were foolish enough to start a fight with the king of Spargus. Especially considering the stern look he was giving the two of them. It was reminiscent of Samos from so long ago.

"Fine, fine," Jak said grumpily. He crossed his arms and fell back into the pillow. "Not like I have anything better to do anyway."

Damas laughed gruffly. "Yes, I saw that Ionna put you to work making first aid kits. Those are quite useful out here. Your work is much appreciated."

"Anytime," Daxter said. "Well, okay, not anytime. But anytime we're really bored."

"Shut up, Dax." Jak grinned as his friend curled up on his chest. He pulled the blanket over himself and laid his head down. The building was quiet, with only the sound of Damas' work, the brushing of the broom on the floor. Jak closed his eyes and let himself fall into a blissful sleep.

The voices came back to his dreams, calling for him, but this time they were different. Harsher, more guttural, deep voices, calling him warrior.

Ionna was exhausted as she came back into the infirmary, her hair windswept from the desert. Jak and Daxter were both asleep, sprawled out on the bed and snoring loudly. She smiled at them and glanced around.

Everything seemed to be in order. Nothing broken, nothing missing. In fact, she mused, it almost seemed like the place was cleaner than she left it. She was fairly certain she hadn't washed those now-clean jars, nor had she folded and stacked the extra bed sheets. She shucked her sand-encrusted boots off and tossed them in the corner.

As she started to unwind her scarf from around her neck, she noticed a piece of paper on the counter. Swiping it off, she quickly scanned over it.

No patients. No issues.

She crumpled the note in one hand. She recognized that handwriting, as well as the brusque tone. When she'd called for a Wastelander to relieve her, the last person she'd expected was Damas himself, wondering down from his palace. He was probably bored. She threw the note into the wastebasket, then shook the sand out of her scarf.

Ionna went to the shelves that held the eco jars. If she was going to properly teach Jak, she was going to need a steadier supply of eco. There was the vent in the center of Spargus, she knew, but they would need someplace away from the city to practice. She frowned.

Maps. She needed to break out the maps Onin had given her. It had been years since she had even seen them; were they in the attic? She sighed heavily.

She'd get them tomorrow. Right now, the only thing she wanted to search for was her bed.

When Jak woke up in the morning, Ionna had set his medicine on the bedside table. He shook Daxter awake and quickly drank it down. When the cup was empty, he started putting his belongings together.

"C'mon, Dax," he grumbled as Daxter dozed off on the pillow. "We can leave today. You can sleep later."

"I wouldn't be in too much of a rush to vanish, child."

Jak glanced back to see Ionna, leaning against the wall, a mug of coffee in her hands.

"I thought you said I could leave once I took the rest of the medicine," Jak said crossly. "I wanna get out of here."

"Yes, but I wanted to speak with you before you go." She gestured to another mug of coffee, hot and ready. "Sit. Let's talk."

Jak eyed her suspiciously, but did as she asked. He pulled up a stool and took a drink of the coffee. It was strong and bitter, much like the teas that Samos used to drink. "What do you want to talk about?"

Ionna sat down next to him and drank her own coffee. "I said before," she began, "that you are a very talented eco channeler, particularly with light eco. I'd like to offer you…an opportunity."

"An opportunity?"

"To learn," she explained. "I can teach you how to control your light eco powers and use them to your full potential."

Jak blinked. "…Why?" he asked suspiciously. "Why are you offering?"

Ionna raised an eyebrow. "To be perfectly honest?" She gestured up. "Because danger is coming, and I think you're the key to staving it off."

Jak had to admit: he appreciated the honesty. "Yeah, I've been told." The echoes of hero and savior sounded in his head. His mood darkened. "But I'm nobody's weapon."

Daxter leapt onto Jak's shoulder, breaking the tension on his friend's face. "Everyone thinks Jak's a big hero," he teased. "But we all know he wouldn't last a minute without me. I'm the real power behind this duo."

"Even so," Ionna said with a smile. "I've also spoken with Seem. She has kindly offered to provide instruction on controlling dark eco."

"Seem?" As Daxter scrambled up to the counter, his fur disheveled from sleep, he yawned. "What does Face Paint know about dark eco? Besides that it's eeevvviiilll!" He made a mocking face.

Ionna looked surprised. "I thought you knew. Seem is the acolyte of dark eco. She's studied it almost all her life."

"Really?" Jak thought back to all the warnings Seem had given him, the grief for using his darkness, the way she sneered at his powers. He had a hard time imagining her even handling dark eco, let alone channeling it and transforming like he could. "She certainly doesn't act like it."

"Oh, trust me," Ionna said softly. "Seem may not like it, but she's an expert in dark eco." When both Jak and Daxter gave her a confused and curious look, she sighed. "Eco sages are chosen at a young age. The monks used to search through the city, looking for children who showed talent with a particular eco. They would take them and raise them in the monk temple, above the forest. There, they would learn the ways of the monks, the precursors, and the eco they were adept in."

"And Seem didn't like that she was good with dark eco." Jak folded his arms. "I can understand that."

Because he had been through it. Because despite how useful Dark Jak is—the invisibility, the supernatural strength, the sheer durability of his own body—he hated it. Hated the loss of control, the rage, the bloodlust. If he had to choose between dark powers and no powers, well…powerlessness sounded pretty good.

"There is a stigma, even among the monks," Ionna continued. "Many devout monks believe that dark eco is the soul of everything humanity fears and loathes. There are even those who feel that a dark eco sage is a villain sent to destroy us from the inside out."

"And what do you think?" Daxter asked.

Ionna paused, thoughtful. "Hmm…I think monks tend to put a lot of stock in eco and precursors and forget that the most evil men on this planet are just as human as the rest of us."

They sat in silence for a moment, digesting what she had said. Finally, Ionna stood up from her chair and gestured for Jak to follow. "Regardless, Seem can help you. Come."

She led them to the back of the room, then reached up and pulled a ladder down from the ceiling. She took them up into the attic, her footsteps making the wooden floor creak.

It was a dusty, dry room that was filled with old wooden crates. Ionna hauled one over for Jak to sit on, then started opening another one. As she dug through it, she began to explain.

"Most sages can only control their specific type of eco. However, light and dark eco work differently."

Jak watched as she pulled out several thick, worn books. "How?"

Ionna blew dust off of a grey-covered book. "Light eco is the culmination of all four types of eco. As such, in order to fully control it, you have to be able to control the other types: blue, red, yellow, and green."

"What about dark eco, then?" Daxter asked. "Ooh! You gotta be able to control none of 'em!"

Both Jak and Ionna ignored him. "Dark eco requires a certain…mental fortitude in order to use it." Ionna opened the book and flipped through. "Aha. There aren't many accounts of dark eco sages, simply because they are few and far between. However, the last fully trained dark eco sage on record was driven insane by it." She handed the book to Jak, who skimmed the words on it. The story sounded vaguely familiar—mysterious disappearances, collections of dark eco pooled together, Precursor machinery used to flood the world with dark eco—

Oh.

He flipped the page and saw a crude mural, similar to those in the monk temple and Mar's tomb. This one showed two figures, shrouded in darkness, hovering above two figures of light.

"The story goes, when the dark eco sage tried to remake the world in darkness, the light eco sage stopped him. However, after that, there has never been another fully recognized sage—in light nor dark eco."

"Is this…accurate?" Jak asked hesitantly. He caught Daxter's eye, who shrugged. "I mean…it sounds kind of…fairy-tale-ish."

"Well, history is written by those who remain." She took the book back from him. "And it's a very, very old story. I, personally, think it was…exaggerated a bit. But the lesson remains the same."

She set the book aside. "Controlling, or even channeling, dark eco is incredibly dangerous. Exposure to dark eco can turn a person mad. That's why the monks are very, very wary of anyone with an affinity for dark eco. It has a very powerful influence."

Jak flexed his hands, imagining the claws that came out sometimes when he was angry. "Yeah. I know."

"Seem hasn't spent her time on practicing different techniques or channeling eco," Ionna continued. "She spends a large chunk of her time meditating, practicing the art of self-restraint and understanding how the eco affects her mind."

"And that helps her with dark eco?" Daxter leaned forward on Jak's shoulder. "Sounds to me like somebody's afraid of the dark stuff, eh, Jak?"

Ionna pondered this. Finally, she said, "Sometimes, the thing we hate most is what we hate about ourselves. Seem has long since disliked her natural talent for dark eco. Perhaps you're right and it does scare her." She exhaled softly. "Of course, I don't often see Seem in a murderous bloodlust, so it sounds like she's doing something right."

Jak cracked a grim smile. "So, you think Seem can help me control my dark powers?"

Ionna shrugged. "That's the idea." She handed him another book. "And I can help you control your light."

He opened the book to a random page and saw sketches of a plain figure, with no face, going through various poses. Some looked familiar, almost like battle stances.

"That's the book of red eco," Ionna explained. "It was used by the monks to train the red eco sage and their acolytes."

Now he saw why it looked familiar: those were battle stances. "Are there other books like this?"

She nodded. "For blue, yellow, and green. Those four books are the basis for the light eco techniques I've learned."

"…I have pretty good control over the light part," Jak told her. "It's the dark that I struggle with."

"Don't we all," she murmured. She sighed and continued, "As I said, it's not necessarily to gain control. You have a fairly good handle on the power light eco gives you, but there are no doubt a thousand doors you've left unopened. I can help you unlock them."

She folded her hands and smiled placidly at him. "You can, of course, say no. I won't take it personally."

Jak glanced at Daxter, who shrugged back. "What do you think, Dax?" he asked. "Worth it?"

"I dunno. Can't hurt, can it?"

Jak had to agree. Maybe he'd get something good out of all this. "Alright," he told Ionna. "Let's do it."

Ionna gave him directions to meet her the next day at dawn, at the entrance to Spargus, then told him he could leave. She warned him that if he felt any sort of nausea or dizziness, he should return to the infirmary.

"And you," she barked at Daxter, "make sure he doesn't overexert himself. You have my permission to twist his ear if he isn't resting enough."

Jak rolled his eyes, but Daxter gave her a salute. "You got it, Nurse!"

She sent them on their way, waving them out the door, into the desert morning. Jak shaded his eyes from the bright sun and started towards the palace.

"So," Daxter said conversationally. "Do you really believe in all this precursor crap about you being a hero?"

Jak's boots pushed into the coarse sand as he went through Spargus. Shifting his shoulders uncomfortably, he said, "I don't really know, Dax. I've…been having these dreams…but dreams are just dreams. What do you think?"

Daxter shrugged. "Well…you are pretty heroic. You saved the world from the Gol and Maia, then you saved Haven City. If I was a betting man, I'd put my money on you."

"I guess." They had reached the palace. Jak stepped onto the familiar elevator and it rumbled to life, taking him up. "But what if I don't want to be a hero?"

"Well," Daxter said slowly, "like she said, you have a choice. But…and hear me out on this…maybe you are a hero, Jak. Maybe that's just who you are."

As they came into view of the throne room, Jak sighed and closed his eyes. "I guess we'll just have to find out."

Chapter Text

In the morning sun, the Spargus palace was bathed in beautiful golden light that sparkled on the streaming water. The torches weren't lit this morning; normally, Damas would light them as his first duty of the day.

This morning was different. Today, Damas was standing behind the throne, staring out the huge window that overlooked the desert. He fiddled with the flint his hand, absent-mindedly turning the stone in his fingers.

He was tired. His night had been plagued by dreams—nightmares, really—that kept him awake at night. He rubbed his temples and sighed.

Dreams of Mar. His toddler son, splashing his feet in the water, giggling as he played. Shaking the sand from his spiky blond hair after a short trip into the desert. Chasing the kangarats and crocadogs around the city in efforts to catch a pet.

But those dreams, such bittersweet memories, had devolved into night terrors. Mar had disappeared, and no matter how much Damas screamed for his son, there was nothing but swirling darkness.

He had almost been glad when the dawn came, despite the fact that his head hurt from lack of sleep.

The elevator rumbled to life behind Damas and he turned around. Quickly shoving all thoughts of his son aside, he went to one of the dead torches and struck the flint. It sparked and lit up, burning with a ferocity that reminded him to focus on the present.

By the time Jak and Daxter stepped off the elevator, Damas was lighting the last torch. He glanced over at the pair.

Jak looked troubled, or at least, distracted. More surprising than that, Daxter was looking a little thoughtful, too. Damas smiled as he greeted them with a familiar Wastelander salute.

"Damas." Jak stepped towards him, while Daxter leapt off his shoulder into the pool. "Got any missions for me?"

Damas chuckled. "I see you tire of being cared for. Did Ionna give you any restrictions?"

Jak's jaw twitched. "Nope."

Daxter threw himself out of the water with a splash. "She said not to overexert yourself!" he called out. His tone was reminiscent of the child who used to tattle on Jak for poking wumpbee nests. "Don't listen to him, Your Highness of the Barren Wasteland. He's supposed to take it easy."

Jak glared at him. "I'm fine," he snarled. "I can do whatever you need me to."

"Good, because I have something that I think only you can do." He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Tell me, Jak , do you still have that handy board you were telling me about?"

Jak blinked as Daxter shook the water out of his fur and climbed back onto his shoulder. "My JetBoard? Yeah, I have it."

Damas smiled. "Excellent. Come with me."

Damas led them out into Spargus, where he gestured above them, at the buildings that towered above them.

The water pipes, he explained, wound their way up and around the walls of the stone buildings. Normally, minor repairs could be done with ladders and strong climbers, but there were always a few places that were hard to reach.

Until now, Damas told him. Jak, with his JetBoard, could surely find a way to reach some of the higher spots that needed repairing.

"They only need spot welded," he said to the delighted boys. "Just as a preventative measure. The last thing we need to worry about is losing water pressure. Do you think you can handle it?"

"You bet." Jak already had his JetBoard in his hand. "This is what I was born for."

Damas smiled as he and Daxter hopped onto the JetBoard. "Then get to it, warrior."

When the sun set over Spargus, it really was a pretty sight. Much better than Haven City, both Jak and Daxter agreed. But not as pretty as in Sandover.

It had taken all day, but Jak had grinded his way around the city of Spargus, balancing and leaping on pipes before stopping to fix the worn spots. Daxter had been the real worker, squeezing into small holes and gaps between buildings.

They had stopped at the very top of the arena, sitting on the roof above Spargus, looking out over the ocean. Sitting there, eating their way through some dried fruit, Jak's communicator beeped again.

"Jak, it's Ashelin. I know you can hear me. Pick up, it's important."

"This is the third time in an hour," Daxter observed. "She seems pretty desperate to get ahold of you."

"I guess." Jak tossed a raisin up and caught it in his mouth. Chewing, he mumbled, "I'm busy, though. She can wait."

"Ha!" Daxter snatched a peach slice up. "If you ask me, she can wait forever. If she needed you so bad, she shouldn't have banished you!"

"She let me back in," Jak said, though there was a bitterness coloring his voice. "She overrode the council after we came through the catacombs."

"Yeah, and that's even worse!" Daxter griped. "She could've done that months ago, when you first got thrown out here. Instead, she waits until you almost die of dehydration—!"

"That's enough, Dax." Jak's voice was soft, but firm. "She did her best."

"Yeah, well, her best wasn't very good…" Daxter viciously bit into the peach. "Anyway, I think you should leave her hanging for a while. Let her twist in the wind for a bit."

Jak was silent, thinking. As much as the idea appealed to him—after all, Ashelin had thrown him out to die—he knew he'd eventually have to go back to Haven to help. As if to remind him, the communicator beeped again.

"Jak, listen. I…Haven really…we could really use your help. I don't know if you're hanging out in the desert with Damas, but…remember that Haven is still your home."

At this, Daxter glared at the communicator. "Then why'd they throw us out?" he snapped.

Jak shushed him, but as he stowed the communicator away, he couldn't help agreeing. Staring back out at the desert sunset, he sighed and took another bite of fruit. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Daxter agreed, leaning back on his hands. "Nothing like this in Haven."

Jak ignored Ashelin's messages for the rest of the night; eventually, she gave up.

"Fine, Jak. I get it. You're not at my beck and call. Just…remember that Haven needs you. Your friends need you. I need you."

Daxter rolled his eyes at that message, but Jak just shut the communicator off and went to sleep. He didn't want to worry about Haven City at the moment. He tried to focus on the sounds of Spargus: hollow wind and grains of sand slicing against the stone.

The weird dreams had decided to cool their jets, mercifully. He didn't dream of anything that night, curled up in one of the bunks in the arena. It was nothing but the peaceful bliss of unconsciousness until he woke up.

The boys met Ionna at the entrance of Spargus the next morning, just before dawn. The city was practically empty at this point, with only a few sleepy-eyed merchants setting up their tarps. The only sounds he could hear was the ocean crashing on the rocks and the wind gently blowing through the sand. When they reached the garage, Kleiver was nowhere to be found, but Ionna was waiting near the Dune Hopper.

"Are you ready?" When Jak replied affirmative, she nodded. "Good. We'll be there for a few hours, so fill your canteen before we leave. I've brought some food for us as well."

"Are we going to the Monk Temple?" Jak went to the spigot to do as she said.

Ionna shook her head. "Too far away, and not enough space to make mistakes. There are some caves off near the lake that have a light eco vent. We'll go there."

Ionna pulled herself into the driver's seat and motioned for Jak to climb into the passenger's side. He did so, making sure Daxter was secure on his shoulder. They both pulled their scarves over their mouths and set off into the desert.

The caves Ionna drove them too were just outside the Marauder compound. There were worn stone carvings around them: symbols for eco, the Seal of Mar, Precursor murals. Jak had seen them in his travels, but never stopped to look at them closely.

They got out of the Dune Hopper and Ionna led the two boys into the caves. It was dimly lit with the same kind of torch lights that were in the monk temple. There were a few jars of dried fruit and cisterns around, placed against the back wall to keep them from the sands outside. In the middle of the cave, there was also an open eco vent, letting out a plume of white gas.

Jak glanced around as he set his bag down. "What is this place?"

"The tunnels down that way used to lead to the monk temple," Ionna explained, gesturing. "Unfortunately, it collapsed a long time ago, but the cave still has an eco pipe running through it. Right now, it's just used as a rest stop for the Wastelanders."

Ionna was unstrapping her rifle, so Jak followed suit with the morph gun. Daxter hopped off Jak's shoulder and started stretching out on a rock.

"Now," Ionna said briskly, "replenish your supply of eco and let's begin."

Ionna walked through the eco vent, allowing the light eco to swirl into her body; Jak did the same, feeling the familiar warmth created by the eco.

"Very good. Now, channeling eco requires precision control over your body." Ionna bent down and started unlacing her boots. "Go on, get barefoot. It'll help with the channeling."

Jak hesitated. He'd learned very early into his stay in Spargus that running around in the desert sand led to blistered and sore feet.

"Ha!" Damas had laughed as Jak sat in the throne room, rubbing his red feet and grimacing. "Usually, this lesson is learned in childhood. Why did you even take your shoes off in the first place?"

Jak had just shrugged, too embarrassed to admit that he had just been curious about feeling the sand between his toes. And though he learned his lesson about the course, scorching sand, he still, every once in a while, had an urge to strip off his boots and feel it again.

"Jak. Shoes off."

Jak snapped back to reality. Ionna was watching him expectantly. Slowly, he reached down and unbuckled his boots. Daxter began to whistle a swanky tune in time to his movements and Jak glared at him. Ionna looked mildly amused.

He set the boots aside, next to Ionna's own tan ones. The stone ground was, surprisingly, cool to the touch, shaded from the sun. On Ionna's direction, Jak stood across and facing her.

"Take a deep breath." In tandem, they inhaled. "Good. Relax your muscles and close your eyes." Jak did as she said. She led him through a variety of exercises: touching his toes, stretching his arms above his head, twisting his neck around. Finally, she said, "Alright. Loose enough, I suppose."

"Loose enough for what?" Jak asked.

"Center yourself on the light eco, just as if you were channeling it. But instead of trying to control where it goes, just…let it flow."

Jak did as she said. He found the pool of eco inside himself and pulled it to the surface. The light shined around him. Instead of doing something with it, he instead just let it…exist inside him. He exhaled slowly before Ionna said, "Good. Let it go."

Light eco dissipated around him, leaving him with the familiar light-headedness that came on after he switched between his forms. Ionna nodded, satisfied.

"Your channeling abilities are astounding. Tell me, Jak, did you ever receive formal training from any of the monks?"

"No." He stretched his arms above his head. "Well, not really. The green sage, Samos, was the one who taught me how to channel, but I mostly learned the little things on my own." He shrugged. "Then, when I started channeling dark eco, one of those weird Precursor oracles showed me all the moves I know."

Ionna's eyes widened. "The Precursors spoke?" she asked harshly. Jak stiffened at her tone. "One of the idols actually spoke to you?"

"Well…yeah. They've always done it." Her jaw dropped and Jak shifted uncomfortably. "Ever since I was a kid. That's how I got my light powers." She was staring at him in a stunned silence, the first time he'd seen her speechless. "What's the matter?"

Ionna took a moment to compose herself. "The Precursor idols," she explained, "are said to only speak to the Precursor monks. There's only one person who wasn't a monk that the idols spoke to, ever."

"Really? Who?"

"Mar." Ionna folded her hands together. "The fact that the idols spoke to you only cements my theory. You are the one who is destined to save us."

"No pressure," Daxter said, grinning. Jak frowned, annoyed.

"Look," he said, "I don't buy into all that crap. Maybe a long time ago, I might've believed it, but…" He shrugged. "I'm not a hero. Not anymore."

"…" Ionna watched him for a moment, then sighed. "Child. You seem to think that heroism is something one is born with, rather than something that is learned."

"Yeah? Well, the Precursors disagree with you there. I've been told I'm a great hero since…well, for a long time," he grumbled.

Ionna closed her eyes and sighed. "The Precursors can be wrong."

It was an odd statement, Jak thought. It rang hollow compared to everything he'd grown up hearing. Samos had extolled the powers of the great Precursors, while Damas and Sig behaved as if they were almighty gods. He'd never heard anyone speak to them with disrespect.

Well, with one exception.

"Ha! Ain't that the truth!" Daxter flipped off the rock he was on and padded over to Jak. "You know, I don't think the Precursors are all they're cracked up to be."

"They are what they are," Ionna said evenly. "Remember, above all else, the Precursors' greatest gift to mankind was free will. You chose to behave like a hero, Jak, and you can choose to ignore everything the Precursors say."

Jak shifted on his feet, uncomfortable. "Look, can we keep going? Not that this isn't really interesting, but…I don't really want to talk about being a hero or…whatever else."

Ionna nodded. "Of course, that's why we're here. Now, face the eco vent."

Jak did as he was told. Ionna reached out and spun her hand in a circle. The eco obeyed, swirling into a shining white vortex, then solidifying into a sparkling white crystal. She picked out of the air and handed it to Jak.

"Wow," he whispered, marveling at the crystal in his hand.

"That's a much more advanced technique," Ionna explained. "We'll get there, but you need to learn the basics first."

"Right." Jak nodded. "So, what first?"

Ionna reached out and spun her hand again. The eco swirled into a vortex, then Ionna absorbed it. "You try," she said. "Remember, let the eco flow. You must not force it."

Jak steadied his stance and exhaled. "Okay. Here goes." He reached his hand out and concentrated.

Meanwhile, Ionna watched and listened.

By the time an hour had passed, Jak was exhausted. Channeling eco, as it turned out, was a lot easier than controlling it. He sat down, wiping his forehead off.

Ionna sat beside him. "Good job," she complimented. "You're getting the hang of it."

"I don't feel like I did much at all," Jak complained. Indeed, in the hour that had gone by, he had only managed to get the eco to follow his commands once. Most of the time, the eco just zoomed right towards him automatically. It wasn't until the last try that he had managed to make the eco spin in a weak little tornado. "I usually don't have to work that hard."

"Don't be discouraged. It takes the acolytes many years to master the unique nature of eco." She smiled gently at him. "You're doing very well, Jak."
"...Am I?" he asked. He took a drink from his canteen, then passed it to Daxter. "Everyone is saying that I'm some great hero and I'm supposed to do these awesome things. But…I can't even get the stupid eco to do what I want."

"You must have patience, child," she soothed. "It takes years for babies to learn to walk and talk; how can you be expected to learn this in just a day?" She shrugged. "Even if you decide to be a hero, you can't do the impossible."

"…You're really big on this whole 'deciding' to be a hero thing," Daxter said. He was pulling out all the dried cherries from the food they had brought. "How come?"

Ionna paused for a moment, thinking. "I suppose," she said slowly, "it's because I was never given the same opportunity. I've been marked as the light eco sage since I was a toddler. My destiny was chosen for me. It wasn't until I made the choice, until I decided not to become a sage, that I fully appreciated the power of autonomy." She gave Jak a meaningful look. "I understand how hard it is to forced into a role you never chose."

With that, Ionna stood up and started for the Dune Hopper. "It's nearly noon. We'd best get going."

As Jak went to bed that night, he hesitated. The communicator from Haven had been turned off since the previous night. He wasn't sure if he wanted to turn it back on.

"Dax?" The ottsel's ears perked up. He was lying on the pillow, eyes closed. "Do you think I should go back go Haven?"

"I dunno," Daxter groaned. "Geez, Jak, if the Precursors don't know, how should I?"

Jak sighed, then set the communicator aside, still off. As he curled up into bed, he sighed and tried not to think about his previous home, being torn apart by metal heads and rogue KG bots.

Choice were great and all, he thought as he drifted to sleep. But you had to be ready to face the consequences of those actions.

Chapter Text

The weeks went by in a rush of indecision and eco.

Ashelin's calls tapered off, though she still would call in with a "Jak? Are you there?" every few days.

He hadn't made a decision yet on whether he should go back to Haven. Which, he supposed, was a decision in itself.

He asked Sig, during a mission in the Wasteland, how things were in Haven.

"I was back there a few days ago," Sig told him, revving the engine to get them over a sand dune. Daxter was near the gun in the back, not listening to the two in the front. "Had to check on something for Damas…it's not great, cherry, but you already knew that."

Jak sat back in the seat of the buggy, depressed. "Yeah, I guess I did."

"Metal heads have completely taken over the Agricultural district," Sig continued. "Ashelin is afraid a new nest is starting to form. Plus, they found out where all those damned KG robots are from."

"Oh?" Jak felt them take a hard right turn and knew they were avoiding marauders. "Where?"

"The old War Factory," Sig confirmed. "Apparently, someone has been accessing it and making more robots, but no one is sure who it is. Torn wants to send someone up to check it out, but no one is fool enough to do it."

Except Jak. The unspoken words hung in the air, and Jak exhaled. "…Do you think I should go back to help?" he asked quietly.

Sig's mouth thinned. "No."

"…Why not?" Jak pressed, annoyed that Sig didn't seem to want to elaborate.

Sig sighed. "Alright, chili pepper, listen to me. You know I have some strong…not very nice feelings about Haven. I only go back there when Damas needs me to."

"So that means we should just let them all die?" Jak countered.

"You asked my opinion, I'm givin' it!" Sig barked. "I think you have more value to the people of Spargus than to the people of Haven. Even if you have great friends back there, I think you better ask yourself if they hold you in such high esteem."

Jak closed his eyes. "I guess," he mumbled. "But I can't…I can't just leave them on their own. They need me."

"They abandoned you," Sig said bluntly. "Look, Jak, you're a close friend, and I like you, so I'll say this once and only once."

"What?" Jak asked defensively.

"Stop trying to be the hero." Sig shook his head. "Why are you saving a bunch of weaklings who pinned the blame on you and ran you outta town?"

Jak fell quiet. Somehow, hearing Sig say his own thoughts out loud only seemed to make him less decisive. He frowned and Sig glanced over at him.

"Ah, hell," he grumbled. "Look, you should only do what you want to do. I'm just tellin' you, they did you dirty. No one would blame you if you decided to let 'em all rot."

"…" They had reached Spargus, so Jak simply nodded and hopped out of the buggy. Before he headed into the city, Daxter on his shoulder, he added, "Thanks, Sig."

"Anytime, cherry." Sig clapped him on the shoulder. "Anytime."

In the meantime, between missions for Spargus, Jak was still learning light eco techniques from Ionna.

"You're making astounding progress," Ionna complimented. Her eyes followed Jak as he spun the light eco around his hands, the gaseous eco obeying his command easily. "You certainly have outstripped any monk or sage I've seen."

"Really?" Jak brought his hands up and the light eco wound between his individual fingers. "I guess I've always been a quick learner."

"Yeah, it only took him seventeen years to learn how to talk." Daxter snickered from the rock he was lounging on. "One of these days, he might even learn to read."

"Shut up, Dax." Jak absorbed the eco and sat down beside his friend, rubbing his temples. "Whoo. That takes it out of me." His head was pounding and his muscles ached. He didn't feel like he'd ever get to the point that Ionna did, though: making the eco change form, making it split into clusters and pools, making it obey her with a wave of her hand.

"Exhaustion. Rest for a moment." Ionna handed him a canteen, which he gratefully took. She started to extinguish the torches. "It gets easier the more you do it. After all, muscles ache after excercising them, but the pain goes away as we grow stronger."

Jak rubbed his neck, trying to ease the tension. Despite the fact that it was physically draining, he found himself almost...exhilarated by the lessons on light eco. He was getting the hang of moving eco around and manipulating it, though he still wasn't able to make it change forms. "What else is left?"

"Hmm, we're done for today," Ionna replied. "I think we're almost ready to get into the actual powers of light eco next. I don't want to rush your learning, only for you to not have learned at all."

Jak stretched his arms above his head. It was just after midday, but he was already tired. Maybe he'd catch a nap, or meet Sig at his favorite bar. Maybe he'd even just hang out in the palace, resting in the water like he and Daxter often did. Damas invited them to rest between missions there, almost grateful for the company.

His communicator suddenly beeped, yanking him out of his thoughts. He winced as Ashelin's voice floated through.

Jak. Are you there, Jak? Listen...we really need your help. Please answer me. We-

Jak clicked the communicator off abruptly. Ionna didn't even seem to notice as she continued putting out the torches. Daxter gave him a sideways look, but didn't say anything.

"...That was Ashelin Praxis, correct?"

Jak's head shot up. Ionna had finished her task and was staring at him blankly. "Yeah," he replied. "Yeah, that was her."

"How do you know Ashelin, huh?" Daxter scrambled up onto Jak's shoulder. "Old pals? Frenemies?"

Ionna gave him a small smile and sat down next to them. "I told you. I have quite a few contacts in Haven City. She's one of them."

"Really?" Something suddenly occurred to Jak. "Wait, did you give her a beacon?"

"I did. Just in case she needed some help one day." Ionna crossed her legs and frowned. "How did you know?"

"Because she gave it to me," Jak replied. "That's how Damas found me in the desert."

"Ah. That explains quite a bit," Ionna said. "Then you owe Ashelin Praxis your life."

Jak blinked. "I...I guess you're right," he finally said.

"...What is on your mind, child?" Ionna asked kindly. "You seem preoccupied."

Jak exhaled. "Ashelin wants me to go back to Haven City, to help with the war. I don't know if I should."

Ionna watched his face carefully, but didn't speak. Daxter did, though.

"Ha! She just wants you to clean up her mess!"

Ionna leaned forward slightly. "Jak? Is that what you think, too?"

"..." Jak closed his eyes. "I don't know," he said finally.

Because he knew that Ashelin was his friend. He remembered fighting beside her against Metal Heads, teasing her about her crush on Torn, listening to Daxter hit on her while she rolled her eyes. She had saved his life by giving him that beacon.

But she hadn't defended him. That had hurt the most, he thought, more than being banished. Because the city already thought he was a monster. He didn't need his friends thinking he was one, too. His train of through broke when he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Not knowing is alright," Ionna reassured him. "But I would like you to consider something."

"What?" he asked. Ionna stood up and gestured outside, towards Spargus' beacon shining in the sky. "Spargus? What about it?"

"Not the city, but the people in it." She sat back down. "You, child, are about to learn a lesson that everyone in that city has learned the hard way. A lesson forged in sand and blood."

"What lesson?"

"...A lesson about loyalty." She smiled at Jak sadly. "You are a warrior, Jak, one who would never hesitate to leap into danger for those who have earned your loyalty. But I suspect that your loyalty is hard to earn. Am I right?"

"Yeah," Jak admitted. "I have a few...trust issues. Not exactly that kind of guy."

"But you are fiercely loyal to those you care for." She gestured to Daxter, whose ears perked up. "Which is why you are having such trouble deciding. Ashelin has earned your loyalty, but the city itself has not."

Jak stared, stunned. He had never been good with words; that was always Daxter's strong suit. But when she put it like that... "Yeah, that's right."

"So heed my words, child," she continued. "A lesson learned, from all of Spargus at some point in their lives."

Jak leaned forward eagerly, while Daxter's ears cocked to hear her better.

"Do not let your loyalty become slavery." Ionna glanced back out at Spargus. "So many of us were abandoned and betrayed because we put our trust in the wrong person and followed them even as we suffered. Yes, loyalty is an admirable trait. But blind devotion is a pitiable one."

Jak closed his eyes. Yes, he knew exactly what she meant. "...Thanks," he said. "I appreciate it."

Ionna nodded as she gathered her things and headed for the buggy. "You're very welcome, Jak. My perspective and guidance is always available to those who need it."

Daxter leapt onto Jak's shoulder as he stood up and started walking toward the buggy. "When do you want to meet next?" he asked her. She gave him a glimmer of a smile.

"Oh, we're going to give you a chance to rest," she said evenly. "The next steps are...intensive. And besides, I get the feeling that you'll be a bit busy for the foreseeable future." She slid into the driver's seat while Jak hopped into the passenger's side. He cocked an eyebrow at her, but she didn't elaborate.

"...Yeah," he said finally, his eyes flickering to the communicator. "I guess I will be."

"Urgh, I forgot how much the city reeks!"

As the air train pulled away, leaving Jak and Daxter behind at the port, Daxter gagged dramatically. "I mean, whoo! It smells worse than Krew did, and that sayin' something!"

Jak wrinkled his nose. The acrid smell of pollution and sewage was stronger than usual, he thought. Or maybe he was just so used to being in the desert that it hit him harder.

It was the second time Jak had been back to Haven City since his banishment. He'd been here before, when he and Daxter had gone through the subrails and knocked out Veger's robot. But it had been awkward, and he'd gone back to Spargus after only a few days of missions from Torn.

He hadn't even said goodbye to anyone.

Now, as he stepped into the Freedom Headquarters, both Torn and Ashelin gave audible sighs of relief.

"Jak, you came home." Ashelin gave him a weak smile that he didn't return.

"I'm just here to do what I need to do and get out," he replied flatly. Her smile vanished. "I heard you were looking for someone to go into the Baron's War Factory?"

Ashelin frowned at him. "I didn't call you back here just for that," she told him. "I wanted to...everyone has been asking about you. Keira and Samos didn't even know you had left until after you were gone."

"Well, they shoulda stopped by to say hi more, then!" Daxter snapped. "We knocked down that stupid barrier, but you never heard anyone stoppin' by to see us!"

Ashelin looked like she wanted to argue, but Torn cut her off. "Whatever. I don't have time to worry about this stupid shit." He folded his arms and gave Jak a solid look. "Jak, I'm glad you're back, for however long you are. We are up a creek without a paddle."

"What's going on?" Jak leaned towards the console in the center of the room. "Sig mentioned that you found out where the KG robots are coming from."

Torn grimaced. "Yeah, well… we're facing a two-pronged attack. Ashelin and I were trying to deal with Metal Heads that are making themselves nice and cozy in the agricultural district. But we noticed something strange."

"The KG robots are protecting the Metal Heads." Ashelin appeared to have put her own feelings aside for now. "I wasn't sure of it until I took Samos there to take a look. The robots practically swarmed us before we got to their nesting spots. We couldn't get more than ten feet in."

Torn brought up a map. "Samos thinks the Metal Heads are attracted to the Haven Forest and the Monk Temple. The Temple still has pipes of eco running through it, so it and the areas around it are rich in all types of eco."

"Of course," Jak breathed. "That's why the area worked for farming. Green eco makes the soil rich."

Ashelin nodded. "Well, the Metal Heads went straight for it. With that much eco around, they can form a new nest right here in the city!" She clenched her fist against the table. "We couldn't let that happen. So we decided to try and track down whoever was controlling the KG robots."

"Don't tell me," Daxter said, leaping onto the console. "It's our good old boy Veger."

"That's what we thought," Torn said, "but why? Why would he want to protect the Metal Heads?"

"'Cause he's crazy?" Daxter wiggled his paws erratically. "Crazy people do ca-razy things!"

"Veger or not," Torn said, shoving Daxter off the console with a thump, "we need to get to the bottom of it. Someone has to go up to the War Factory and shut it down."

"And that someone is us, right?" Daxter rolled his eyes from the floor. "We always gotta clean up their mess, Jak."

"We didn't just call you for that!" Ashelin said defensively. "I called you because...well, Haven City is your home. You don't belong in the desert."

Jak clenched his fist, staring down at his hands. His skin had tanned over the past months of the desert, making a stark contrast between him and Ashelin. "Don't I…?" he mumbled. Daxter flicked his head and he was jolted out of his thoughts. "Sorry. Distracted."

"Stupid is more like it!" Daxter leaned against his head and folded his arms. "Anyway, maybe we don't wanna go do this crap, Tattooed Wonder! Always dealing with your nonsense! No one's even asked how we're doin' in the Wasteland!"

"Look, are you going to do it or nor?" Torn snapped. "Because if you're not, I have to head up there myself."

Daxter's fur bristled. "Yeah? How about you do that! Get off your ass and go—!"

"We'll do it," Jak interrupted. He settled his hand on Daxter's head and rubbed it comfortingly. "But then we're heading back. There's...something else I have to do in the Wasteland."

Ashelin pursed her lips, but Torn just gave him a grim frown. "Hey, I'll take whatever help I can get."

When they were alone, with Jak prepping the Hellcat, Daxter glanced up at him.

"You okay doin' this, buddy?" he asked quietly. Jak restrapped his morph gun. "I mean... we don't have to."

"...Look," Jak said finally, "I don't want anything bad to happen to Haven, even if I stay in Spargus."

"Alright." Daxter jumped into the passenger seat. "Then let's go, partner!"

Chapter Text

"Papa, Papa! Hide and seek, Papa!"

"Very well, little one, I will play. Why don't you hide, and I will seek?"

"Okay, Papa! I hide, you seek!"

Damas jerked awake, his chest tight and aching. He couldn't breathe, all of those memories coming back to him at once. Gasping for air, he stumbled out of his cot and headed for the door.

A tight ball of pain in his chest, settled in the notch of his clavicle. He leaned against the stone wall, trying to catch his breath. He found his pulse and began to count the beats, seeking a touchstone to bring him back to the world he was in.

Count ten beats. Breathe. Count five beats. Breathe.

His pulse was slowing and his breathing returning to normal. Ionna's tricks had always worked for the nightmares. People needed something steady, she had always told him, something to rely on.

Once he was back to himself, Damas sighed and straightened. It was early morning, too early for a man to be awake without a reason. Even so, there was no chance of him getting back to sleep. His mind was already racing with dreams of Mar. His dearest son, playing the cruelest game of hide and seek with him.

Damas headed to the throne room, his chest still aching with a dull reminder of his loss. He stopped in the hallway, however, right outside a closed door emblazoned with Precursor writing. He gently brushed his hand over the engraved word before pushing the door open.

The room was almost pitch black, so Damas used a flint to light the torch on the wall. As the shadows flickered, his eyes scanned the room.

A child's cot, with the blankets folded at the foot of the bed and a fluffy pillow at the head. A shelf of books on the wall, with children's stories of heroes and adventures. Old favorites, Damas thought, running his finger over the spines. His son hadn't been able to read yet, but he'd loved listening to the stories over and over again.

There was a well-worn stuffed toy on the bed, stitched and patched in spots. Damas picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed. It was a crocadog, handmade with soft leather and fur. He could remember tiny arms, tight around the toy at night, cuddling it to soothe himself to sleep.

Damas set the stuffed animal back down and sighed heavily. Beneath his feet was a rug woven from strips of cotton, the bright colors of eco intertwined through it. It had been a gift from the monks when his son was born, blessed with the essence of the Precursors. Mar had loved to play on it, building blocks and drawing pictures.

Abset-mindedly, Damas' gaze shifted to the spot on the floor next to it. Stained into the stone floor, dark and faded, was a red stain. Blood.

Damas' blood, to be exact.

Damas abruptly stood up. He didn't want to be in the room anymore, didn't want to wallow in his self-pity and loss. The pain in his chest was gone now, so he quickly made his way back into the hallway. He shut the door behind him and headed for the throne room, leaving behind the calm darkness of his son's life.

He had a city to lead.

"Erol is behind it?"

Torn, Ashelin, and Samos all seemed shell-shocked at this revelation. Keira gave a little gasp and clapped her hands together. "Are you sure?"

Jak had just returned from the War Factory. Erol had certainly given him a run for his money; he could already tell that one of his ribs was broken, and he was pretty sure he'd done something to screw up his shoulder. He'd gone back into the Naughty Ottsel, where everyone was waiting.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I thought he was just working with the metal heads, but I guess he'd also taken over the KG bots." Jak winced as he sat down at the bar. Tess quickly poured him a drink and squeezed Daxter into a hug. "Well, not anymore. We shut it down. Erol got away, though."

"How on earth did he even survive that dark eco explosion?" Ashelin asked incredulously. "That amount of dark eco should have killed him."

"You'd be surprised," Jak said flatly.

This proclamation was met by silence, then Ashelin said, "Jak...I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way."

"It's fine," he said curtly. "I'm just saying...Dax and I have both been through the dark eco grinder and come out the other side. The stuff isn't as dangerous as you've been led to believe."

"It's insanely dangerous," Samos argued. "Do not forget Gol and Maia, Jak! All their turmoil and evil deeds!"

"Uh, excuse me, green stuff!" Daxter snapped from Tess's arms. "We understand dark eco! We live it!"

"But dark eco can bring madness if not carefully tempered!" Samos rubbed his temples. "Look at what it has done to Erol. No doubt his exposure to the eco caused his insanity."

"No, he was like that before," Torn replied. "Either way, that means we need to figure out how to stop him."

"I suppose." Samos nodded solemnly. "I just hope that Erol isn't able to awaken that ship before it arrives at our planet."

"Then we need to get down into the catacombs." Jak spun around on his bar stool. "That's the key to stopping Erol."

Samos sighed. "Yes, but Onin says there are still artifacts to be found. Without those, the weapon in the planet's core won't work."

"What are these artifacts anyway?" Ashelin asked, a hand on her hip. "Maybe there are some in Haven, in the museums or the monk temple."

Privately, Jak wondered if she was trying to keep him here. To make him stay longer and grow attached again. As if he would never leave if he stayed now.

Well, that ship had sailed. With a place like Spargus around, Jak had less than no desire to stay for an extended period in Haven City. He took a drink, enjoying the burn of alcohol in his throat. "I know someone who might know where they are."

"You talkin' about Nurse Rached?" Daxter reluctantly removed himself from Tess' grip and hopped onto the bar. "She and Face Paint probably know where some of them are hidden."

"Exactly." Jak drained the last of his drink. "If anyone knows, they do."

"You're leaving again?" Keira asked. Jak hesitated, then nodded. "Jak…"

"Listen, Jak," Ashelin interjected. "I know you're mad. And...you should be. We didn't defend you like you always defend us."

"And we're sorry for that," Samos added. "You can't imagine the regret we feel."

"But we think you're letting your anger cloud your judgement." Ashelin fiddled with her gun holster, clearly uncomfortable with bringing it up. "We screwed up, yeah, but we're still your friends."

"Some friends!" Daxter hooted, but Jak shook his head to quiet him.

"You're right to be pissed off," Torn told him. "But if I were in your shoes, I'd hope I could put that shit aside for the good of the world."

Could he, though? Hadn't he already done that, twice? He'd given up his life in Sandover, let the Baron stretch his sanity to the breaking point, let them all use him until there was nothing left. Could he really put his anger aside?

Daxter didn't speak, which Jak could tell was absolutely killing him. No doubt the ottsel had a thousand foul words for everyone in the room. But he was waiting for Jak to speak, waiting for the words in his head to form on his lips.

No one else was, apparently.

"You care about us, Jak, we know you do," Keira said quietly. "The Jak I know would never abandon his friends."

The Jak she knew? Did that Jak even exist anymore? Jak opened up his mouth to try to verbalize his thoughts, but closed it quickly, frustrated.

They wouldn't understand.

"So we're asking you," Ashelin pleaded. "Please. Stay in Haven."

Samos stepped forward as well. "We're counting on you, Jak. I know you'll do the right thing."

Jak clenched his fists at his sides. The right thing? His anger bubbled below the surface, and he felt that familiar spark of darkness in his chest. He growled in his throat, feeling some of the darkness spark behind his eyes. Samos took a step back, eyes wide with panic.

"That's enough."

Jak felt his darkness recede with a hand on his shoulder. He turned around, surprised to see Tess, of all people. She'd stepped out from behind the bar and was standing beside him. There was a strange, cold fury that seemed to emanate from her, something he'd only felt when she'd threatened him before.

"I've stayed out of this so far," she said, her mouth pursing into a thin line. "But I just want to say something."

She folded her arms, giving them a glare. "You guys are putting a lot on our boys' shoulders. Standing there, piling guilt on them. You all should be embarrassed at how you're treating them."

Both Keira and Samos looked down at their shoes, clearly feeling Tess' scolding. Ashelin, however, said, "We're just trying to remind him of where he belongs."

"Oh, really?" Tess rolled her eyes dramatically. "Not to be rude, but I think he belongs wherever he wants. And I doubt he wants to be cornered in a bar and ganged up on."

Ashelin's face flushed red, but she didn't get a chance to retort. Daxter's silence had finally reached his limit. "Yeah, you tell 'em, babe! I'm fallin' in love all over again!"

"Look," Jak finally said. "It doesn't matter what I feel. Torn is right, I have to worry about whatever is trying to destroy the world. And that means I have to go back into the Wasteland and find out how to save it." He clenched his fists. "I just haven't decided what I'm going to do after that."

"Jak…" Keira's frown turned into a small smile. "You're right. I trust you, okay? Just...make sure you remember that we care about you."

"Right. Don't forget…" Ashelin looked away from him. "We're still here, Jak."

Tess grabbed her jacket off the bar. "C'mon, boys, if you hurry, you can catch the last transit out of here tonight."

Jak hesitated, his eyes scanning over them all. "...I'll be back," he said finally. "Don't worry about me. You know I always get myself out of trouble."

"And into it!" Daxter leapt onto Jak's shoulder as he stood up. "As always! C'mon, Jak, we got some stuff to dig up."

Spargus' council met once a month to discuss issues concerning the city. There were only eight, plus Damas, in the council. In recent years, it had only been six: Sig was away in Haven City, and anything Ionna had to say was communicated through Seem.

Except tonight, Sig was here. Ionna, as usual, was not.

Damas, sitting on his throne, cleared his throat. "As we are all present, I'd like to begin this meeting. Sig?"

"Sure. Circle up, cherries, we got a meeting to attend!"

The council was a fairly straightforward bunch; Damas had chosen them carefully. His eyes swept over each one as they assembled into a circle around the throne room.

Sig, of course, was the second-in-command and generally in charge of defending the city. Seem, the leader of the monks, a valuable advisor in any capacity. Kleiver, in charge of vehicles and Wasteland missions. Rider, the old man in charge of agriculture and whatever farming they managed in the desert. Jess, the tough matriarch who ran the armory. Malik, an expert on infrastructure and engineering. Jamera, a young woman tasked with caring for and educating Spargus' children.

There was also Ionna, still a member, though she hadn't attended a council meeting in years. She'd been in charge of the medical treatment in the city since its beginnings. Back when the first patient had been Damas himself.

"We all ready? Good." Sig nodded at Damas. "Wanna start us off?"

"Very well." Damas brusquely continued, not wanting to get side-tracked. He had a headache and his thoughts were still stuck on his nightmares of Mar. "Routine business first. Anything for the good of the order?"

"I'd like to request another building to be used for the school." Jamera might be young, but she wasn't afraid to voice her needs. "There's not enough space where we're at now."

"There's an empty building in the south end of the city," Jess suggested. "I store some parts for the turret in there, but I can move 'em."

"Hmm." Damas rubbed his chin. He remembered the dilapidated schools of Haven, even during his own reign. With a war going on, the city hadn't had the funds to fix leaky roofs and buy books. Spargus, at least, could spare an empty space. "I don't see any issue with it. Seconded."

"Thirded," Jess said.

"Three out of nine," Sig stated. "The motion passes then. Jamera, get your stuff packed and we'll find some folks to help you move."

"Other business?" Damas questioned.

"Is it possible to upgrade the communications system?" Sig asked. "I've been gettin' some static when I go too far out into the wastes."

"'tch, I'll second that one." Kleiver folded his massive arms and nodded. "We've lost a few fellows out there because their beacons weren't workin' right."

"Thirded," Rider rasped out. "Don't want to lose any o' my gents out there."

"The motion passes." Damas rubbed his temples, the headache still lingering. "Anything else?"

"Yes." Seem stepped forward. "I have been observing the Day Star. I'm now aware of who is controlling it, and what their goal is."

"Let me guess," Sig said wryly. "We're not gonna like it."

Seem shook her head. "He wishes to destroy the planet, just as I thought."

"What sort of attack would we face?" Damas asked. "I'd like to be prepared."

"I do not know yet. However, there is evidence that the Precursors have a defense system for our planet. Supposedly, the way in is to go through the catacombs in Haven City." Seem furrowed her brow. "Ionna and I are working together to find this weapon. I only pray it isn't too late."

Damas was quiet as he thought. Finally, he said, "While concerning, I trust you two to work together. If you need anything—more warriors, vehicles, weapons—let me know. In the meantime...I'm going to suspend the arena battles."

That proclamation got them whispering. It was Sig who loudly said, "What?!"

"The arena has been used to determine the usefulness of warriors. However, I feel that we will need all the help we can get. Should anyone approach Spargus and wish to join our ranks, allow them to do so. Now is not the time to turn away assistance."

Malik nodded. "A wise decision. Seconded."

A formality, really. Damas was the king, and his word was law. No one needed to second his motion, as it wasn't a motion at all. Simply a statement of what would be. However, he was pleased when he heard
Jess say, "Thirded. We need to save the ammo, anyway."

"Motion passes. We'll suspend the arena battles until this is all sorted, let the folks who want in fight for us." Sig folded his arms. "Anything else?"

Silence reigned, so Damas nodded. "Meeting adjourned."

As the circle broke apart, he watched them all leave. He never really liked council meetings much, as necessary as they were. And today was compounded by the terrible morning he woke up to.

"Hey, Damas? You alright?"

Damas blinked and turned to Sig. "...Fine. Sleep is just...hard to come by these days."

Sig's eyes scanned over him, worried. "Anything I can do?"

"No, Sig," Damas assured him, clapping him on the back. "You're doing everything you can."

"I can get something from Ionna to help you sleep." Damas frowned at the suggestion and Sig gave a deep chuckle. "Right, I should have known. Well, if you change your mind, just let me know."

Damas watched Sig leave before tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He sighed and let himself fall into sleep, not even caring that he was still sitting on the throne.

The dreams started the day after Jak was found in the desert. They'd found him, along with his strange menagerie of talking animals, in the desert and brought them back to Spargus. The monks surrounded Jak, cooling his body with water and cleaning his dirt-crusted skin. One of them approached Damas, a thin knife in hand.

"Your Highness. His hair is long and matted. It would be easier to cool him down if we cut it…"

Damas nodded. "Do it."

He glanced over their shoulders as they cut the boy's hair. He was in and out of consciousness, his eyes opening and then closing again. Damas gasped when the boy opened his eyes briefly.

For all the eco in the world, Damas was looking at Mar again.

Yellow-green hair, bright blue eyes, a round nose. He looked so much like his son that Damas almost reached out for him. He thought better of it, turning away to remind himself of the truth. He grabbed one of the monks.

"Is he going to survive?" he asked.

She shrugged, callus as only a Wastelander could be. "He's not out of the woods yet. He's still severely dehydrated."

"...Call Ionna." The monk looked surprised. "Please. I'd like to take all measures we can to keep this one alive."

The monk bowed her head. "Yes, Your Highness."

Ionna came almost immediately; she always did. It was rare for Damas to call her to the palace. He only ever did it when it was a severe case.

As she walked through the pools of water, she gave Damas a nod. "Don't tell me. One of your warriors was injured in that absurd arena."

His lips quirked up. "Not quite. A foundling."

She sighed wearily and glanced down. He thought he saw her face twitch in recognition, but she didn't say anything. She simply sat down beside the boy and began to examine him. Finally, she said, "He'll be fine. His core temperature is going down. Keep giving him water in small doses so that he doesn't get sick."

She said nothing else, but there was no need. If she said the boy would survive, Damas trusted her judgement. She moved past Damas and went down the elevator, probably wondering why he had called her just for a case of dehydration. Or, perhaps she knew why he'd called her. 

He stared at the teenager's face, seeing even more similarities the longer he looked. A muscle in his face twitched just as Mar's had when he slept. The boy even had the same notch in the tips of his ears that Mar did. Finally, unable to look any longer, Damas turned away.

Perhaps he was just nostalgic. Surely other children looked like Mar.

Perhaps he was getting sick. Hallucinating, seeing things that weren't there.

Or perhaps, he mused as he sat on his throne, he was finally going insane with grief.

About time.

Chapter Text

It was drizzling when Tess led Jak and Daxter out into the streets. She tugged her coat around her and started walking, her shoes splashing in the puddles. Behind her, Jak sped up to reach her.

"Thanks," Jak said awkwardly. "For what you said back there."

"It's just annoying," she grumbled. "They shove all these problems onto you two the second you get back."

"I get it, though," Jak replied. "I mean...we are in the middle of a war. And I'm the Baron's weapon," he added bitterly.

Tess stopped in her tracks, causing Jak to practically run into her from behind. "You're not a weapon. You are you, Jak." She put her hands on her hips and gave him a bright smile. "A good friend. I just wish they treated you like one."

Jak felt himself smile back. "...Thanks, Tess."

"And, don't forget, you're also my sweet little Daxxie's sidekick!" She winked and rubbed said ottsel's head. "You protect my little precious when he has to go into danger."

"Aw, Tessie!" Daxter hopped over to Tess and nuzzled her neck. "You're such a sweetie!"

"Oh, I'll miss you, my hero!" Tess nuzzled him back and Jak made a face. "Going off to save the world again! We're too good for you here."

Much to Jak's relief, they'd reached the transport. The driver was reading a magazine with his feet on the dash. Tess released Daxter, who returned to Jak's shoulder.

"Now, listen, boys. Be safe out there. I don't want any harm to come to my sweet, handsome hero!" She batted her eyes at Daxter and then gave Jak a warm smile. "If you ever need anything, but don't feel like dealing with all of their crap, just send Sig with a message, okay?"

"Thanks, Tess." Jak hesitated. "Are you going to be okay with them? Won't they be mad?"

"Don't you worry about me," she assured him. "I can handle myself. I've already been dealing with their bitching for the past month or so."

Jak gave her a grin. "Well...I'll be back, I promise."

"And take care of him out there, okay?" She gave Daxter a wink. "We need to keep our boy safe."

"Don't I always?" Daxter's fur rustled as the door to the air train opened. Jak waved as the door closed and Tess watched them ride away. She tightened her jacket against the wind before turning back to go home.

The inside of the transport was empty, as usual. Jak settled in the seat and sighed, then gently slid his hands over his face.

"Uh-oh. Is this the part where you get all moody?" Daxter teased. Jak rolled his eyes. "Oh, no, it is!"

"I just...I thought my darkness was getting better." He didn't know a good way to explain it, but Daxter understood. "I thought with all these new dark powers and the light eco that...I could control it."

Daxter shrugged. "Seems like you control it pretty well to me."

"Daxter. I really...I felt like I was going to hit Samos. I didn't change, but it felt like I was going to." Jak took a deep breath. "Who knows what would've happened if Tess hadn't said anything."

"Eh, it'd have been fine." Daxter waved his paw breezily. "You've never hurt me when Dark and Ugly shows up."

"But you're different." That was all Jak said. That was all he needed to say.

"Well, maybe you should talk to Seem," Daxter suggested. "Wasn't she supposed to help you out?"

"...Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that." He wasn't exactly looking forward to hanging out with Seem, but if it helped him get ahold of his dark powers…

Seem it was.

Both Jak and Daxter fell asleep on the way to Spargus. It had been a tiring day; Jak still ached from his fight with Erol, and Daxter was always up for a nap.

Their nap quickly turned into a 7 hour sleep.

When Jak woke up, rubbing his eyes, he realized they were no longer moving. Glancing out the window, he saw a dim light that signaled sunrise.

"Dax! Wake up." He lifted his friend off his chest, where the ottsel had been curled up. "We're here."

He climbed out of the transport and knocked on the window of the driver's door. The driver lowered it and gave him a smile. "Feelin' better, warrior?"

The driver was one of the Wastelanders that Jak saw every once in a while, usually in the bar where he and Sig would relax. "How come you didn't wake us up?"

"Saw no reason. You were both knocked the hell out, and I wasn't goin' nowhere. Best to let you sleep it off." He tapped the wheel and gave Jak a salute with his fingers. "Good journey to ya."

"Yeah. Safe journey, too." Jak nodded as the driver rolled the window up. "C'mon, Dax, let's get inside. I think there's a storm coming."

"Yeah, yeah," Daxter mumbled sleepily, leaning against Jak's head and using his hair as a pillow. "There's always a storm comin'..."

Jak walked towards the gates of Spargus, his feet sinking into the sand. It felt familiar, comforting, almost...nostalgic. Like walking along Sentinel Beach. He pulled his scarf up against the harsh winds.

Going into Spargus, Jak marveled at how quiet it was. He'd grown used to the busy bustle of the desert city: hearing merchants call out their wares, the occasional scuffle of Wastelander fights, leaper lizards hopping and rolling around as their masters prodded them.

But in this early hour, he didn't see a single soul out. His footsteps didn't echo, but they were unusually loud without the other people to muffle them. As he got closer to the turret, he could hear the sound of the ocean crashing against the rocky shore.

Jak glanced around, expecting to see a few seagulls flying by or perhaps even Kleiver, trying to beat Jak's score on the turret. No; there was no one around.

His eyes caught a shadow off to the side of the shore. Almost no one.

Damas.

He was standing up on the rocks above the sea, watching the tide push and pull. Jak hesitated, then went to climb up after him. As he reached for the next level of rocks, he felt a pain run up his side and hissed.

Damas glanced behind him. "Ah. The prodigal son returns. I'm glad to see you're still among the living."

"So am I." Jak winced as he pulled himself onto the rocks. Damas, sharp-eyed as he was, noticed.

"You were injured." It was a statement, not a question, and Jak knew better than to deny it. Instead, he just lifted up his tunic to show Damas. There was a series of bruises all along the side of Jak's midriff. They'd begun to turn a blotchy purple-blue, almost like dark eco itself. Damas reached out a hand and pressed his palm against them. Jak grit his teeth in pain. "Hmm. It looks like you have a few broken ribs."

Jak rolled his shirt back down. "It could've been worse. At least it'll heal."

"True," Damas mused. "A warrior fights on, even when faced with pain."

Damas abruptly reached over and squeezed Jak's injured shoulder, hard. The teenager let out a yelp of pain, startling Daxter awake and making Damas smirk.

"But there are some injuries that need to be cared for, if you are to be of any use. Come." Damas leapt off the rocks with surprising grace and nodded towards the palace. "We'll get you bandaged up."

Damas likes having Jak around.

There's a part of him that rebels against it, a part of his mind that argues that Jak is not Mar, the boy is not his son, he cannot replace Mar.

But the more practical part of his mind tells him that it doesn't matter. Jak is not replacing Mar; he's just another warrior, a warrior that Damas happens to think could use a little guidance.

Especially after hearing that Jak didn't know his father. That struck Damas somewhere deep down inside him, a young boy left to fend for himself. A strong heart and a smart head, but rough around the edges.

How could Jak learn what was never shown? Integrity, loyalty, grit? All things a son learns from his father. Without that guidance, Jak was just a boy, lost in the tide.

There had been a time, not the first, when Jak and another Wastelander were brought to Damas. It happened often out here, where disputes were often settled with physical fights. But Damas couldn't have his warriors fighting each other.

Jak looked like he'd gotten the brunt of the beating; he had a nice goose egg on the back of his head and his knuckles were swollen. The other Wastelander, Eylin, had a few superficial scratches on his face, along with a prominent black eye. Damas was, quite frankly, glad he wasn't looking at bullet holes.

"What could you two have possibly been fighting about?" he demanded. Both Jak and Eylin looked chagrined. "Well?!"

"...The boy stole some food," Eylin replied bitterly. "Had his stupid rat steal it for him."

"Daxter found that fruit," Jak said hotly, while Daxter made a mocking face. "Look, I was willing to just pay for it. But then you started to insult me-!"

"Yeah! You called him worthless!" Daxter started to make rude hand gestures, but Eylin slapped his furry hand away. "Hey!"

"Don't touch him!" Jak snarled, but he could barely be heard over Daxter's shout of indignation.

"Enough!"

Damas' voice echoed through the throne room. They stopped speaking immediately, though Daxter was still making faces. "I said enough," Damas snapped at him, which made him stop. "Now, Eylin, did Jak offer to pay for the food?"

"...Yeah," Eylin said begrudgingly. "I woulda taken it, but then he got all huffy about it."

"You calling him worthless?"

Eylin nodded. "Yes, sir."

Damas sighed and rubbed his temples. "You know better, Eylin. Youth is foolish, but age is responsible for tempering youth."

"...Eh?"

"Don't egg people on, Eylin," Damas said dryly. "You could have just taken the money and let it be." He sighed again and gestured to the elevator. "Go, then. I will speak with Jak."

Eylin nodded, then left, still glaring at Jak and Daxter. Damas sat down in his throne and motioned for Jak to step closer. The boy did so.

"Youthful foolishness is a reason," Damas said, "not an excuse. Do you routinely go around starting fights because someone called you a bad name?"

"I don't take other people's shit," Jak said curtly. "I'm not a doormat."

"Nor is any Wastelander," the king reminded him. "I told you before, reckless actions can get you killed out here. Punching another warrior in the face because he called you a name is hardly productive."

Jak clenched his fists at his side. "Easy for you to say," he mumbled. "Nobody called you worthless."

Damas slammed his hands on the throne as he stood up. "Do you think no one ever has?" he asked. "Do you think I have never been called worthless, foolish, pathetic, and weak? Am I supposed to fight all of them?"

Jak's head snapped up. "Who called you weak?"

Damas shook his head. "We are not speaking of me. We are speaking of you, Jak, and the recklessness of your actions. Eylin was not in the right, but you threw the first punch. You chose to escalate the situation."

"Look, can you just punish me and let me go?" Jak spat. "I don't need the lecture."

"Clearly you do!" Damas stepped closer. "You are not foolish, Jak, so I do not understand why you are acting foolishly. Why do you allow your own hard-headedness to get the best of you?"

Jak folded his arms and looked away. "Maybe that's just who I am," he replied bitterly. "Just some punk kid who's only good for fighting."

"You know who and what you are, Jak." Damas folded his own arms, looking down at Jak imperiously. "If that's what you truly think of yourself, why should anyone see anything else? Why should Eylin treat you with respect, when you clearly have none for yourself?"

Jak seemed to shrink in front of him, hunching his shoulders. "...I...I respect myself."

"Then act like it. Choose your battles wisely. Show that you are worthy of being treated well, and others will treat you well." Damas nodded at the empty elevator. "If you act like you are worthless, then others will treat you like you are worthless. If you act like a warrior, others will treat you like one."

Jak swallowed and his face twisted in some indescribable expression. "I'm sorry."

Damas blinked. He hadn't expected Jak, usually so brusque and brash, to speak so quietly. As he watched, Jak put his face in his hands. Daxter patted the boy's back.

"I'm sorry. I know all that, I just...it hurts, you know?"

Damas nodded sympathetically. "Yes, I know, all too well. But hurt does not give you the right to lash out at others, no matter how they may have hurt you. It will only hinder yourself."

With that, Damas reached over and squeezed Jak's shoulder. "Look at me." Jak did so. "Now that you have learned your lesson, let me teach you another."

"What?" Jak seemed apprehensive, but intrigued.

"...Mistakes, Jak, can always be learned from. And if you learn from them, you will grow." Damas nodded at the elevator again. "Now, go give Eylin an apology and pay for the fruit. And mean it," he added.

Jak nodded and turned away. "Um...thanks."

Damas watched him go, his chest feeling tight. It took a few seconds after Jak and Daxter had left before he sighed heavily and went back to his throne.

"Take your shirt off and lean forward." Damas nodded approvingly as Jak did so, sitting down on a stone. The throne room was dim, but lit enough that you could see the water at your feet. "I'll be right back."

Jak glanced down at his reflection. Now that he could see it clearly, that bruise did look pretty bad. It looked like he'd been peppered with hits all along his side. It was probably from when Erol had kicked him, he thought to himself. Daxter glanced over at him.

"Geez! And I thought you couldn't get any uglier." He dove into the water and relaxed. "How come you don't heal yourself?"

Jak shrugged, then immediately regretted it. "Ah! That hurt." He saw Daxter raise an eyebrow. "Shoulder. Anyway, I didn't get the chance to get any light eco. I should probably grab some after this."

Daxter began to backstroke across the pool. Behind them, Damas reappeared, a roll of bandages in his hand. He settled down behind Jak and unwound the roll. "Hold still. I'll tape your ribs."

"Okay." Jak braced himself. Damas began to wrap the bandages around his torso.

"Where'd you learn to play doctor?" Daxter asked, spinning around so that he was watching the two of them.

Damas huffed air out of his nose. He was working quickly, wrapping the bandages sloppily, but it did the job. "Ask any warrior and they'll be able to tape a few cracked ribs. War makes you a quick learner." He cut the bandages and tucked it tightly. "There we are. Now onto the shoulder."

As Damas began to assemble some kind of a sling with the bandages, Jak exhaled softly. "At least you're quick about it," he commented. "Most of the medics I know take forever."

Damas gave a short bark of laughter. "A word of wartime advice, Jak?" He settled the sling snugly over Jak's neck. "A terrifying warrior can kill you with one strike. A terrifying medic can kill without one at all." He gently guided Jak's arm into the sling. "Trust me, a medic can be your best friend on the battlefield or your worst enemy after. Better to do as they say and stay on their good side."

Jak thought of Ionna and Samos, the quick and precise way they went about their work, sharp and snappy. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Relax your arm a bit." Jak did as Damas ordered and smiled. "The ribs will hurt for a while, but the sling should take some of the strain off your shoulder."

"Got it." Jak shifted, trying to get comfortable in the makeshift sling.

"Good, then." Damas gathered the materials and stood up. "When the monks wake up, they can provide you with some green eco."

He helped Jak awkwardly stand up and put his shirt back on. "Thanks. Really, I appreciate it."

Jak turned to him and gave him a grateful smile. Damas felt his heart ache, those eyes and that grin mirror images of Mar's. "Get moving, warrior. You're put back together, now get out there and fight the good fight."

Jak grinned even wider and saluted Damas with his free arm. "On it."

Chapter Text

Mornings in Spargus were when Ionna got the most work done. With no warriors seeking her help with medicine or injuries, it was her time to take care of the housekeeping issues. Sweep the floor, clean the sheets, bottle eco and medication.

And sometimes, it was just her time to sit without anyone bothering her while she drank her coffee.

The bell tinkled above the door and Ionna sighed. She set her coffee down, ready to deal with whatever ridiculous ailment was affecting her visitor.

"I'm tellin' you, Jak, all we need to do is bottle it! Then we'll be filthy rich!"

"Dax, no one in Haven City is going to buy sand."

"We could call it 'Taste of Wasteland!'"

Ionna smiled as the two boys walked in. Her smile fell when she saw Jak's sling. "What happened?"

"Why would you call it taste? People don't eat sand." Jak rolled his eyes and turned to Ionna. "I got into a fight."

"And lost, evidently." Ionna patted the stool near her and stood up. "Who wrapped you up?"

"Damas." Ionna looked surprised as Jak sat down. "What?"

"Nothing. I would have assumed...well, never mind." She walked over and began to examine his shoulder. "So what happened, child? I had hoped it wasn't that bad in Haven City…"

"It's not," Jak began, but Daxter rolled over him.

"Well, it ain't a holiday!" Daxter gestured to his tail. "I'm lucky I've got all my parts! Metal heads, KG robots, Torn! I never thought I'd say this, but…thank the Precursors it's peaceful out here."

"Ha. I'd hardly call it peaceful," Ionna said with a grin, "But I suppose, compared to all-out war, it is pretty calm here. Now, tell me what happened."

She clasped her hands placidly and waited. Finally, Jak launched into the story of the War Factory. He kept out most of the details, but made sure to hit the main idea: Erol was working with the Dark Makers, and they were getting closer and closer.

"We need to get into the catacombs," Jak finished. "Which...is why I'm here."

He watched Ionna carefully. She seemed like she already had an idea of what he was about to ask.

"Do you or Seem or any of the other monks know if there are any artifacts from the Precursors around? Onin says there are other artifacts that we need. Stuff besides the eco crystals."

Ionna frowned thoughtfully. "Hmm...Seem and I have been researching the planetary weapon. Through our work in the Wasteland, we found two artifacts that can power the defense system. However…" Ionna sighed and reached across the counter. She showed him an ancient book, scrawled with complicated Precursor writing on it. "Do you see? The last artifact…"

"Um…" Jak shot Daxter a look. His friend shrugged in response. "What does it say?"

Ionna blinked, then chuckled. "Forgive me, child. I forgot you wouldn't know the ancient scripture." She pointed with her finger. "This book is a journal from one of Mar's most loyal advisors. They say that this was a monk who helped Mar to build Haven City." She ran her finger along a line. "Supposedly, Mar traveled to the planet's core and found the defense system. However, to keep such a weapon out of the wrong hands, he dismantled part of it."

"So that's the part we need?" Jak questioned. Ionna nodded.

"This advisor, the person who wrote the journal, claimed that Mar took something called an Eco Sphere. It's used to combine the powers of eco and synthesize it into energy." Ionna flipped a few pages. "Here, the advisor recounts how Mar hid powerful artifacts."

She cleared her throat and picked up the book. "'A final resting place, hidden amongst the Trials that his sons and daughters would take on, was where Mar stowed his first secret."

"Mar's tomb!" Jak straightened. "But the only thing in there is the Precursor Stone. I think."

"While it's possible that Mar decided to hide the Eco Sphere in his tomb," Ionna replied, "I think we should look at all other options first. There's another place he might have hidden it."

She continued in the journal. "'His second treasure was hidden deep amongst the desert sand, where molten metal burns with fire. There, where we trained in the ways of eco, Mar placed the artifact, deep within, protected from evil."'

"Somewhere in the Wasteland," Jak said immediately. "But...where?"

"Exactly the problem," she said. "The desert is vast, too vast for Mar to have hidden it just anywhere. We've searched Spargus, the caves and volcanos...everywhere we could."

"..." Jak tapped his chin. "The Monk Temple?" he suggested. "They talk about training with eco...maybe he trained the monks up there."

Ionna hummed thoughtfully. "Interesting...the monks have searched the Temple, but there are secrets still to be found, I'm sure. There have always been doors that lead even further into it."

"Do you want me to go up and look around?" Jak asked. "The sooner we find this artifact, the sooner we can get rid of the Dark Makers."

Ionna shook her head. "No, Seem and I will find it. There are certain places, deep within the temple, that can only be opened by the two of us together. They're sealed now, but we can open them."

"Really?" Jak shifted to let his arm rest a bit. "Daxter and I went all through the temple. We didn't see any doors we couldn't open."

"Oh, there are tons of hidden passages," she told him. "Seem and I spent the first few years during our time in the Wasteland traipsing through and opening up doors. Let me tell you, there are plenty of traps around there. Be glad you didn't stumble upon them." She closed the worn book and set it aside. "I distinctly recall there being a room that filled with dark eco when you stepped inside. That was...unpleasant."

Jak's eyes sparkled with childlike delight. "Wow...I can't believe there's still so much more to it."

Daxter groaned. "Oh, no, now he wants to go exploring! You had to get him started!"

Ionna gave a fond smile. "Ah, the joys of youth. Do you fancy yourself an explorer?"

"Yeah." Jak hesitated, then mumbled, "...The man who raised me was an explorer. I guess I always wanted to be like him."

Ionna blinked. "Your father was an explorer?"

"No. I never knew my father." Jak shrugged uncomfortably. "Forget I said anything. So you and Seem can get the last artifact?"

Ionna nodded. "We'll get into the Temple and see if the Eco Sphere is inside." She rubbed her face. "Unfortunately, I can't enter the Monk Temple without Seem escorting me, so we'll have to wait for her. In the meantime, how about we continue our light eco lessons? I think I have the perfect idea what to show you next."

"Really?" Jak perked up, then hesitated. "I guess I need to heal myself first, though."

"Oh, don't worry," Ionna said cheerfully. "That won't be a problem."

No one taught Ionna how to heal.

After all, she was the first light eco acolyte in generations; no one knew how many powers she would have. It wasn't until Seem, only a toddler, cut her hand while playing with an artifact, that anyone even knew Ionna could heal.

She'd picked Seem up to comfort her, cradling her and softly humming. Suddenly, with a soft white glow, Seem's skin began to knit itself together. Her sniffles died down as the wound disappeared. It had fascinated and excited Ionna at first; several hours later, it only seemed to frustrate her. She sat with Onin on the worn rug and sighed, clenching her hands.

"I've been studying light eco for my entire life." She sighed and put her head in her hands. "And  I had no idea that I could heal things."

"Light eco is the manifestation of all eco," Onin encouraged. "It stands to reason that you would hold the powers of green eco."

"I just wish I could do it on command," Ionna said wistfully. "I tried to heal myself, but it just...won't come."

"Continue with your eco training," Onin replied. "Learn to control all eco, and your powers will flourish."

"..." Ionna nodded. "I just...I wish that there was someone to teach me. You're a wonderful mentor, and training with you has taught me so much. But…"

"But you wish to learn from a light eco sage." Onin sighed and clasped her hands together. "I understand your struggle, child. How I wish I could light your way."

Ionna gave her a small smile. "I guess I'll just have to light my own way."

"So," Ionna began, "let's hear it. What sort of light eco powers do you have?"

They had left the infirmary and started walking through Spargus. It was mid-morning now, so there were more people around. Young children running through the sand to school, merchants setting up their tents and stalls, Wastelanders getting ready to head out on their missions.

Jak used the fingers on his good hand to number each one. "Healing, flash freeze, and shield." Ionna blinked, confused. "What?"

"Flash freeze? What is that?"

"Huh? You should know." Jak glanced over at her. "You did it to me, the first day I met you. It's when you slow down time, you know?"

"Slow down...time?" Ionna's eyes widened in realization. "Interesting. I had never thought of it that way."

"That way? What'd you mean?" Daxter leaned forward from Jak's shoulder. "You did it!"

"Yes, but…" She chuckled fondly. "I suppose I took for granted my own studies in eco. The power we share isn't time slowing down. It's us speeding up."

"Speeding up?" Jak and Daxter shared a look. "Um...how is that…?"

"Light eco is the combination of all eco. It therefore holds the power of each and every other, save for dark eco," she explained. "Light eco can heal, just as green eco can. It can increase your speed and energy, to the point where everything around you appears slower. It makes you stronger and protects you. It can even improve your sight and accuracy."

"Really?" Jak looked at his hands, feeling the dull power of light inside of himself. "That does make sense, I guess."

He had never really thought about it before. The sages had flat out told him, what seemed like a lifetime ago. He had watched them make it, yet he never seemed to make the connection until just now.

"I had never considered it to be slowing down," she mused. "A different perspective, for certain."

"So, then when I heal, I'm using...green eco?"

"Exactly." Ionna smiled. "Now tell me how you use your healing power."

Jak described it: how he called on the light eco, channeled it, and let it flow through his body. Ionna listened intently and nodded.

"Then I think our next step," she said, "is to refine your healing powers. Tell me, have you ever tried healing another person?"

"Another person? No." Well, with one exception…

"You've healed me!" Daxter shouted indignantly. "Not like I needed it, though! See, there were fifteen, no, twenty nasty lookin' metal heads-!"

"Daxter, shut up." Jak flicked his friend's head. "I didn't do it intentionally. Like Daxter said, there was this one time... "

Jak paused. They'd reached the light eco vent in the middle of the city. He pulled some light eco into his body and let it settle in his chest. Ionna watched him for a moment, then folded her arms.

"Very well, then. While we head back...why don't you tell me about 'that one time'?"

"I'll put in a good word with Damas for you!" The Wastelander jumped out of the buggy and started for the metal bunker. He hesitated, then turned back around. "You better get in here, too, kid! I don't think you'll make it back to the city!"

"I'll be fine!" Jak shouted back. The Wastelander stared at him for a moment, then pointed to the mountains in the east.

"You see those? There's a bunch of old caves at the base there. If the storm gets bad enough you can't see Spargus' beacon, wait out the storm there. Might be a few nasties in there, but it's safer than this storm!"

Jak nodded. "Thanks for the tip, but I'll be okay!"

"Safe journey!" The man saluted them and then ran for the bunker. Jak spun the car around and started back towards the city.

The sand was swirling and whipping past them, to the point that Jak could feel it sting against the skin on his face. He felt the buggy veer with a gust of wind and turned the wheel hard to get back on track.

"Jaak!" Daxter shrunk back against the seat. "The storm's gettin' worse!"

"We'll be alright!" he replied stubbornly. They were the only vehicle left out here, Jak noticed. No Marauders, no Wastelanders. "We'll be fine…"

Daxter glared at his friend. "You moron, you're gonna get us killed!"

He hated to admit it, but Daxter was right. The orange light that signaled Spargus was dimming through the sand. Jak spun the car and started for the east.

"Fine, Dax, we'll head for the caves!"

With sand skidding up from the wheels, Jak spun the car into the caves. The weird transition from howling winds to compete silence was jarring. For a few minutes, Jak and Daxter just sat there, panting from the adrenaline. Then, from the darkness behind them, there was a loud growl.

"Shit." Jak grabbed his gun and began to shoot behind him. By the blasts of dark eco, he was hitting the metal heads, but he could hear more coming. He jumped out of the buggy and switched guns. As the blaster shots reflected off the walls, he could see bright eyes and skull gems.

Jak kept shooting, hoping that he hit all of them. No such luck; a large metal head dove for him and bowled him over. He shot it, but not until Daxter had been flung across the cave by the metal heads claws, letting out a loud shriek. He smacked against the wall and was abruptly silent.

Jak ran for Daxter, who was curled in on himself. As he picked the ottsel up, he felt the pull of light eco, without his input. He gasped as a light engulfed Daxter.

"Daxter!" Jak's eyes widened in panic. "Dax, are you okay?"

"No! I'm probably dying!" Daxter clutched his arm, which was bent at a strange angle. "Oh, Precursors, Jak, just shoot me! Put me outta my misery!"

"You're fine!" Jak shouted. "Dax, look!"

Indeed, Jak was right: as they watched, Daxter's arm was straightening and settling back into place. They watched in wonder before Daxter moved it and said "Huh. That's weird."

Jak stared at his hands as Daxter went back onto his shoulder. "Yeah. Weird."

As she opened the door to the infirmary, Ionna laughed hysterically. "Of all the things you could think of, you chose weird?"

Jak's face flushed. "Well, it was!"

She was still laughing as he entered. "It's just such a...teenage reaction." She shut the door and gestured to the bed. "Alright, then, sit here. I'm going to have you heal your injuries."

"I've done that before," Jak reminded her. "I thought you were teaching me how to improve."

"I said refine," she replied. "Which is exactly what we're going to do. But first, I have to see what I'm working with."

She rolled up her sleeves and removed her boots while Jak sat down on the edge of the bed. Daxter sat on the edge of the bedside table. "Take off your shirt and sling," she commanded. "I'm going to take a look. Damas may have patched you up, but he's a far cry from a seasoned medic."

Jak did as she told and then laid back on the pillows. It was oddly cool in the building; he wondered if that was intentional. Before he could voice the question, though, Ionna was cutting off the bandages that Damas had wrapped him in.

"Yikes," she said conversationally. "That must have been some fight."

She started poking at his bruise. He winced. "That hurts," he complained.

"Of course it does." Ionna pressed her palm, hard, against his ribs. "Hmm...you cracked three ribs. No internal lacerations, which is good. Plus the bruise, of course."

She wiped her hands on a rag. Jak glanced down at his own torso and frowned. "Okay, can I heal now?"

"Go on," she urged. "Heal yourself."

Jak did as he was told. He transitioned to Light Jak (everything seemed softer, less drastic when the light fell over him…) and pulled on his healing power. Like taking a drink, he felt the familiar eco flow through him, easing the pain in his wounds. He set out a sigh and let the light eco fade away.

"Very good," she said with a slight smile. "How are you feeling?"

Jak took a deep breath: no pain in his side. He moved his arm and felt a twinge in his shoulder, but nothing like before. "Better."

"Sit up." He did so, pulling his shirt back on. "Your healing powers work very similarly to mine, which makes our next steps easier. We're going to work on basic education."

Ionna rolled up her sleeves while Jak stood up. "What do you mean, education?" he asked.

"She means you're dumb," Daxter said helpfully.

"No, I mean you've never been formally trained in green eco." Ionna rubbed her forearm for Jak to see. "The easiest and quickest injuries to heal are superficial ones. Cuts, bruises, scratches and the like. They require little eco and even less thought to heal."

She slipped one of the knives from her belt and, before Jak or Daxter could speak, sliced it across her forearm. Blood oozed out of the wound as she held her arm out for him.

"Go on. Heal it."

"W-what?" Jak stared at her arm, slightly repulsed.

"You heard me. You've healed yourself, now apply the same principle to me." She nodded encouragingly. "You just have to guide the eco into my body instead of your own."

"Okay." Jak did as she asked, pulling the light eco forward. He quickly grasped her arm before it could rush over him, letting the eco heal her. Several seconds later, and he let the eco vanish. "Did it work?"

Ionna examined her arm. "Take a look."

She pointed to a faint scar on her skin. Jak smirked. "No blood. I guess that's good."

"Yeah, but you didn't finish the job," Daxter replied. "Now she's marked forever, Jak, you jerk."

"You stopped me from bleeding to death. A fair trade, I'd say." Ionna smiled. "Good job, but that was also the easiest injury we've got. Let's take a step up."'

She reached into a drawer under the counter and pulled out a small, dried bone. It looked to Jak like it belonged to an animal, like a kangarat. As he watched, Ionna held it up.

"Bones are the next hardest to heal. They take more time and are internal, so they can't be seen. But there is an entirely different problem that presents itself."

"Which is...?" Jak prompted.

With a sharp snap!, Ionna broke the bone in half. It was jagged and sharp, but the break was clean. "Clean breaks are easy, but compound fractures are more difficult." To accent this, she slammed one of the pieces of bone against the counter. It splintered into several parts, shattering onto the counter. "And you have no way of knowing, since it's not your body you're healing, which type you are dealing with."

She swept the pieces into her hand and threw them into the compost. "Now, then," she said briskly. "I need you to do something for me. You will probably find it...disagreeable, but it must be done. Do I have your word that you will do as I ask?"

"Sure." Jak agreed. "What'd you need me to do?"

Ionna slowly extended her hand, as if she were going to shake his hand. "I need you to break my fingers."

Chapter Text

For a minute, Jak really, honestly thought that Ionna had gone insane. He blinked at her and swallowed. “Could you...repeat that?”

“You need to practice on someone,” Ionna explained, her hand still outstretched. “It’s either me now, or you’ll have to wait until someone comes in with a suitable injury to heal.”

Jak stared at Ionna’s slim fingers for a few minutes. “Um…”

“Go on,” Ionna urged. “You’re strong enough to break a few measly bones. Break my fingers. Simultaneously, if you would,” she added. “No need to make it take longer than it needs to be.”

Jak blinked, still astonished, while Daxter leapt up and started to shout.

“AAAAAHHH! These freakin’ Wastelanders! They’re cracked in the head, damn it! Jak, we need to get outta here before they start breakin’ our bones!”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jak told her darkly. “I’m stronger than I look.”

Ionna laughed. “Trust me, so am I. I am, above all, a Wastelander.”

Jak hesitated, then grasped her hand. “Fine. Just...don’t complain.”

He clenched his fist around her fingers as hard as possible, then sharply bent them back towards her wrist. She gave a hiss of pain just as there was a series of loud snaps! ; next thing Jak knew, Ionna had pulled her hand back. Her fingers were crooked and swollen now, but she didn’t seem to even notice. Instead, she said, “Very good. Now, just as you did before, I want you to find the eco inside of you and pull it to the forefront of your mind.”

Jak did as she told, concentrating on bringing the light eco up. He grabbed her hand and let it flow into her fingers, watching as the bones righted themselves. Ionna watched, interested, then flexed her fingers.

“Good job. Mostly.” She wiggled her fingers to show him that two of them were still crooked. “It’s difficult to know when another’s body is fully healed.”

She closed her eyes and let a sparkle of light eco flow over her fingers. They cracked back into place as the light dissipated. She flexed them again, completely straight now. Jak marveled in their perfection, while Daxter whistled.

“Man, how come you get all the fun powers?” he complained. “You two get to heal, I get to be pantsless and fuzzy!”

Jak and Ionna both ignored him. “The hardest injuries to heal,” she continued calmly, “are internal lacerations and trauma. In fact, I highly advise against healing internal injuries. Organ systems and tissue are too complex for a person to blindly heal.”

“What about bullet wounds?” Jak asked. Ionna gave him an almost proud smile.

“Very good thinking,” she complimented. “As a Wastelander, you’re most likely to deal with weapons, such as bullet wounds. The key here is to remember basic first aid.” She gestured to the morph gun. “Never attempt to remove a bullet from someone’s body. To do so risks both infection and hemorrhaging.”

Jak vaguely remembered the same thing being told to him before. He frowned as he tried to remember it…

“Hold still, Torn, I’ll heal you.” The Shadow quickly brought green eco to Torn’s shoulder, the wound healing over. Jak and Daxter watched with sympathy as Torn winced.

“The bullet’s still in my arm!” Torn argued. The Shadow clicked his tongue.

“Never take a bullet out,” he said firmly. “It could get infected or you could bleed to death. It’s better to just leave it in.”

Ionna tore him back to the present. “I’ve seen many a man die because they tried to dig metal out of their arms. Don’t do it.”

Jak nodded. “Got it.”

Ionna nodded, satisfied. “Well, since I am not about to let you shoot me, I suppose we should end our lesson here. It’s almost time for the day to begin.”

Jak stood up while Daxter jumped onto his shoulder. Ionna picked up a rag and pumped some water over it. Jak glanced at the door, then said, “One more thing.”

“Certainly.” Ionna began to wipe down the counter, but she kept her eyes on Jak and Daxter.

“...I had something...happen to me while in Haven.” Jak hesitated, then continued anyway. “I got angry and lost control. Of the dark eco.”

Ionna blinked at him. “...You wish to learn to control it.”

“Yeah. I guess.” He folded his arms. “Do you think that Seem could help me?”

“Come to the entrance of Spargus at sundown,” Ionna said, tossing the rag into the laundry basket. “She’ll help you.”

Mornings in Spargus were always when Damas was most busy, oddly enough. He dished out orders and missions for his Wastelanders, set out announcements and plans, and just generally familiarized himself with the day’s troubles.

Sometimes, though, he just wanted to roll himself back into bed and forget that he had a city to run.

This morning, after having already patched up one of his warriors, Sig came to the throne room with a, quite frankly, unusually serious demeanor.

“Sig,” Damas greeted wearily. He could see his friend’s eyes narrow a bit and cut him off before he could say anything. “I am perfectly fine. I do not wish to speak about my health or any other nonsense. What are you here for?”

“...” Sig bit his tongue, which Damas knew had to be killing him. “I got some bad news. Some of our scouts found another one of those nasty satellites in the Wasteland. This one was still kicking.”

Damas stilled. “Any casualties?” he demanded.

Sig shook his head. “Karisma got a nasty burn, and I’m pretty sure Helio isn’t going to be walking around for a while, but...everyone’s alive.”

“And is it still operational?”

“Nope. Currently in pieces.” Sig grinned at him. “Not that we’d expect any less from any Wastelanders!”

Damas didn’t smile back, instead just sighing heavily. “I’ll tell Seem. I’m sure that she and Ionna will want to gather some information on the satellite.” He reached to the side of his throne, where he kept several rolled up maps. “Show me. Where was it in the Wasteland exactly?”

Sig indicated the point where the satellite had been. “Just past the river here.”

Damas exhaled softly. “They’re getting more frequent. I don’t like this.”

“What should we do?” Sig asked.

Damas’ mind quickly spun through his options. “...We’ll start by informing the citizens of the danger,” he said finally. “I’d advise them to limit their movements in the wastes as much as possible. And they should certainly not go alone or unarmed.”

Sig nodded. “What about the city itself?”

Damas frowned, thoughtful. “First things first,” he said finally. “We’ll start a rotation on the turret. It should always be manned by someone. And we should have a few scouts around the perimeter of the city, keeping an eye out for suspicious activity.”

Sig nodded. “I’ll start gettin’ some folks together.”

“Good.” Damas nodded. “I’ll send out a message to citizens. I don’t want to cause panic, but we need to be prepared.”

He stood up abruptly to take the communicator. As he did so, his vision spun and he stumbled a bit, dizzy and lightheaded. He swayed on his feet, trying to regain his balance.

“Damas!” Sig grabbed hold of his elbow, steadying the king. As the world righted itself again, Damas swallowed. “What the hell was that?!”

“N-nothing,” Damas said quickly. “I’m fine.”

“You are not fine,” Sig spat as he pressed Damas into his seat. “You almost passed out!”

Damas shot the man a glare. “Don’t exaggerate. I just need some water.”

“Geez.” Sig reached to his belt and pulled his canteen off. “What’s going on with you?”

Sig pressed his canteen to Damas’ lips, but the king sneered and grabbed it himself. He quickly took a sip. “I am fine. I am not a feeble old man. I am simply dehydrated.”

“Damas.” Sig met his eyes. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

For a moment, Damas wanted to tell him off; after all, Sig had no right to butt into the king’s business, and calling him a liar to boot! Not how a man should behave to his king. 

However, the moment passed and Damas sighed heavily. He took another drink, letting the cold water clear his thoughts. Finally, he admitted, “I haven’t slept very well these past several nights. It’s starting to catch up to me.”

“...” Sig frowned as Damas stood up, slower this time. “Why haven’t you been gettin’ sleep?” When the man didn’t answer, Sig continued. “It’s Mar, isn’t it?”

“Ugh...” Damas put a hand on his chest, over his heart, absent-mindedly soothing a long-dulled ache. “I...every time I close my eyes, I hear him crying.”

A heavy silence fell between them, before Damas walked towards the window that showed the desert. In the morning light, he could see for miles. Against the sand, he spotted two lone figures: a short, stocky young man and a small animal beside him.

Of course Jak would have been impatient. He hadn’t waited long before finding someone to heal his wounds. As Damas watched, the boy seemed to glide along the sand, spinning along the dunes, as if he were surfing them.

How Mar would have loved Jak. His mind painted a picture of his carefree son racing through the city with Jak, pulling on Daxter’s fur, laughing as the trio played in the water together. With how similar they looked, they could almost be brothers.

“Damas?” Sig’s voice snapped Damas out of his thoughts. He turned to his subordinate. “Are you okay?”

He wanted to ask if Sig saw what Damas saw: if he saw the similarities between Jak and Mar. But he knew that if Sig had noticed, it would have come up already. Surely Damas was imagining it.

“I’m fine,” he lied, turning back to the throne. “What were you saying?”

“I was sayin’,” Sig said, in a tone that said he clearly didn’t believe Damas, “that you need to go rest.” He hesitated, then continued recklessly. “Maybe you oughta try sleeping in Mar’s room. That always seemed to—. ”

Damas’ head snapped up. “I am not sleeping in Mar’s room,” he hissed. Sig flinched. “That’s where it all happened. Where I...no. All that will do is make it worse.”

“...Then I’m gonna get something from Ionna to help you.”

Damas’ glare intensified. “I do not need you parading my problems around for all to see.”

Sig glared right back. “I’ll tell her it’s for me. Even though I think you’re being stubborn for the sake of it, I won’t tell anyone. But you can’t keep going like this, Damas. Something’s gotta give.”

Damas felt his anger drain away. “...I can’t let my past affect my present,” he said softly. “I am Spargus’ leader, and I am needed in a time of crisis. I have—”

“A city to run,” Sig interrupted curtly. “So I’ve heard.”

As evening fell, Seem made her way down from the Monk Temple to Spargus. She’d received two messages that day: one from Damas about a new Dark Maker in the desert, and one from Ionna about training Jak.

She was worried. New Dark Makers meant they were getting closer. Troubling times, danger ahead.

However, it turned out to be nothing new. The satellite was similar to the ones they’d already seen. They were just scouts, sent to investigate and map out the land.

“Scouts?!” Damas slammed his palm on the arm of his throne. “What sort of scouts attack like that? It could’ve killed one of my men!”

“I warned you before,” Seem said, a bit taken aback by his anger. “The Dark Makers are powerful enemies. They seek destruction, in all pursuits. I advise against fighting them.”

“That ain’t gonna happen,” Sig said. “Us Wastelanders never turn down a chance to take out an enemy.”

“Then people will die.” Seem’s tact had never been good. Ionna always told her she was too blunt, too brusque. “I hope you are prepared for that.”

“...Gah!” Damas stood up and strode off into the corridor, muttered to himself. Seem eyed him with annoyance.

“You’ll have to excuse Damas,” Sig said conversationally. “He didn’t get his afternoon nap.” The large man sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What do you think we should do?”

Seem blinked at him, thoughtful. Finally, she admitted, “I don’t know. I have never faced any threat like this. I think the most we can do is...try to find what the Precursors left for us. And accept our fate, no matter what it is.”

“...Great. Just great.” Sig shrugged. “Well...I guess we’ll just do what we can to survive, then.”

She watched him leave after the king and straightened her armor. It was none of her concern, she thought, if Damas did not like the news. She was only the messenger.

“...I know it’s a big favor,” Ionna pleaded. “But I think it’s our only chance.”

From across the hood of the buggy, Seem folded her arms and frowned. It was one thing for Ionna to ask her to train Jak; it was another entirely to ask something like this.

“I cannot allow you into the monk temple,” Seem said firmly. “The decrees of the monks state—”

“I know what the decrees state,” Ionna interrupted. “But only the two of us can open the doors in the deepest part of the temple. You can escort me the entire way, surely that would be fine.”

Seem sighed. “...You will have to disguise yourself,” she finally said. “If any of the other monks see you, I would face my own punishment.”

“Of course.” Ionna agreed quickly. “If we can find this last artifact, we can power up the planetary defense system. This could turn the tide, Seem.”

Seem looked down at her hands, tattooed with the markings of the Precursors. “I hope you’re right,” she said quietly. “I truly...hope we can protect our home.”

For a moment, Ionna paused. Her eyes, always sharp and focused, lingered on Seem. 

“...Why are you so pessimistic?” Ionna asked. “You almost seem resigned to the planet’s destruction.”

Seem avoided her gaze. “That is my curse,” she said wistfully. “I am the one who looks into the darkness and sees what it brings. I see death and despair where others see hope.”

“Only because that is what you choose to see,” Ionna said gently. “I’d think that, given the circumstances, you’d be a little more positive about the outcome.”

Seem was quiet, watching dust blow by at her feet, swirling over her shoes. Ionna ducked her head to make eye contact.

“Seem, my friend. What aren’t you telling me?”

Seem despised Veger.

His smugness, his callous disregard for human life, his undeserving superiority complex...everything about him made bile rise to her throat.

But she had no choice.

The visions came to all the sages, the gift of knowledge brought to them by their own eco. Up until recently, the visions Seem had were fleeting: flashes of the future here, veering into another’s consciousness there. But nothing so clear as the ones where she gave Veger help.

It was jarring, especially considering she hadn’t even known who Veger was at the time.

Then he’d appeared in the Temple, having come through the subrails. He demanded to speak to the leader of the monks. At first, they all ignored him, rebuffing him and ignoring when he threatened them with his gun.

They were monks, yes, but they had been through war and death. No one feared Veger and his threats.

However, when Seem saw him, recognized him from the visions she’d seen, she agreed to help him. She told him how to navigate the catacombs, where the weapon was, what was needed to power it. She offered him her guidance and resources.

She might hate Veger with every fiber of her being, but it didn’t change what she had to do.

It was a test of faith, she knew, from the Precursors. And she had a duty to pass it.

But she feared she had failed. The visions, ones that had been so clear with Veger, had changed. She kept seeing the Dark Makers in Spargus, the people fighting those monsters she knew were coming. She heard screams and saw destruction wrought. And then…

Nothing. A flash of white, and nothing.

Her visions had ended with there being nothing but a peaceful light.

She was foreseeing the end of the world.

Spargus was a different world at night; with the torches lit and the temperature cooling, it seemed more and more like the nights that Jak and Daxter enjoyed back on the shores of Sentinel Beach.

The two boys headed for the entrance, where both Seem and Ionna were waiting. As Jak got closer, he heard the two of them talking. He shot Daxter a look, then slowed his steps and listened closely.

“...didn’t you tell me?” Ionna sounded almost...shaken. Alarmed. “I could have offered you my guidance.”

“I didn’t need your guidance,” Seem replied, sounding uncomfortable. “I understood what was being shown. I knew what I needed to do.”

Ionna made a humming noise. “I’ll be honest, I fear for your safety, Seem. I don’t think it wise to play games with men obsessed with power.”

“And is it wise to trust someone whose soul has been twisted by darkness?” Seem retorted sharply. “Jak has been forever changed by dark eco.”

Jak felt a fierce sting to his pride; and here he’d thought Seem had started to like him.

“You always had a flare for the dramatic,” Ionna mused. “Twisted? Changed forever? Quite the exaggeration.”

“You know what I mean,” Seem hissed. “Dark eco warps the psyche. If he cannot control it, he is dangerous.”

“And so we come full circle. Seem, your duty, as an acolyte of dark eco and a monk yourself, is to follow the will of the Precursors.” Ionna folded her arms. “That means to teach children how to wield their powers. It is what other monks did for you, and what you must do for others.”

Seem was quiet for a moment, so Jak took advantage of the break in their conversation. He and Daxter wandered into the garage, trying to look like they hadn’t just been eavesdropping.

“Hey, there, Face Paint,” the ottsel said cheerfully. “Did’ya miss us?”

“...” Seem glared at him. “You are here to train, not talk.”

“Thank you,” Jak said quickly. “For helping me. I…”

Seem cut him off and began to head for the Dune Hopper. “We will go to the monk temple for our training.”

“Ugh, that place again?” Daxter hung his head over Jak’s hair. “Can’t we go somewhere nice? I hear there’s a pretty little oasis not too far from here!”

Seem stopped halfway to the buggy. “Orange Lightning. You cannot come with us.”

“What?!” Jak clenched his fists. “I’m not going anywhere without—”

“What we are going to be practicing,” Seem interrupted, “requires peace and quiet. Do you see why he must stay back?”

Jak almost argued, but hesitated. If he was honest? Daxter probably couldn’t be quiet. Peace was a foreign word to his friend. 

Before Jak could come up with a convincing argument, Daxter said loudly, “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll be just fi-ine right here. Gee, how will I ever get over the disappointment of not having to trek through the desert to Mystic Monk Mountain?” He put his hand on his forehead and pretended to faint on Jak’s shoulder.

Jak couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “…You’re sure, Dax?”

“Of course. I’ll just hang out here and relax for a bit.” Daxter hopped off his shoulder into the sand. “I can, uh…”

He spotted Ionna, leaning forward on the buggy. He skidded over to her. “Me and the old lady here will play some games or something. Got any good ones?”

“Hmm...gin rummy?” she suggested lightly. 

Daxter grinned and leaned against her leg. “Sounds good to me.”

Jak nodded. “Alright, then. I’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time,” Daxter told him. “I’m going to go kick this old broad’s butt. Now, how exactly do you play gin rummy?”

Jak left with Seem, jumping into the Dune Hopper as Ionna explained the game to Daxter. The last glimpse he got of his friend, the ottsel was leaping onto Ionna’s shoulder, holding her braid for balance.

“Are you ready?” Seem asked. He took one last look behind him before pulling his goggles down.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

The ride to the Monk Temple was completely silent, considering Seem didn't say a word to Jak. She drove them up the mountain, the moon lighting the way, nothing but the sound of the buggy's engine.

"...Can I ask you something?" Jak finally said. Seem grunted in response. "Why do you hate me so much?"

For a minute, he didn't think Seem would reply. Finally, she said, "I do not hold hatred for you. But I do not think you understand. Dark eco is dangerous. It is...unpredictable. You treat it as an ally, as just another tool to use. You do not take it seriously."

"I do take it seriously. Probably more seriously than you do," he added hotly. "I'm the one who had that crap pumped into me. I know what it can do."

"And that is why I am baffled by your attitude!" Seem snapped back. "You may think that you are above the corruption of dark eco, hero, but I know better."

Jak fell back into his seat with a thump. "Do you think I like having this stuff happen to me? That I wanted it?"

"I think you have no idea of the danger dark eco holds." Seem turned the wheel hard and brought them to the entrance of the Monk Temple. "Out."

Jak did as she told him, though he glared the whole way. Seem didn't appear bothered by his attitude as she led him into the temple.

"Come. We'll head for the Atrium."

"The Atrium?" Jak's bitterness towards her was overshadowed by his curiosity. "What's that?"

Seem led him through the main entrance. "The Atrium is a sacred place, full of history and prayer. I must ask that you behave like an adult in it."

Jak bristled at her tone again. "You act like I'm some kid goofing around."

"You are," Seem retorted. "Now hurry up."

Jak glared at her, but followed her across the room. She glanced behind at him over her shoulder.

"I must make myself clear," she said. "You are not to tell anyone of the secrets of the Monk Temple. Not even Lord Damas is permitted to know."

"I thought Damas was your king," Jak challenged. Seem was heading towards the back wall. "Shouldn't he know all the secrets?"

"Hmph. Lord Damas is your king. We monks may serve him, but we obey our makers. They are our kings."

She reached a blank, smooth space on the wall and gently pressed her hand to it. The wall opened up, the stone parting for the pair to go through. Jak blinked.

"Whoa. I didn't even know this was here."

"Of course you didn't." Seem led him down a set of stone stairs, torches flickering on the wall. "This is where the monks go for privacy and peace. We keep our secrets close."

They went down the stone staircase, their footsteps echoing through the dim corridor. Jak found himself transfixed by the huge murals along the wall, the yellow-orange paint mixing with the cool sparkle of water as it trickled down the bricks. It seemed like it was depicting history, with people carved into the pictures, vibrant figures that seemed to glow with eco-colored paint.

He felt that childish thrill he sometimes got, the excitement of a new place, ripe for exploration. He'd felt it at Misty Island, staring at the reddish glow of the Precursors; he'd felt it while traversing the Tomb of Mar, ducking and dodging spikes and traps like he was born for it.

Now, he felt it as he followed Seem into the depths of the Monk Temple. "How far down does this go?" he asked in wonder, all annoyances forgotten.

"Deep." Her eyes flashed at Jak. "Miles underground, to where the eco pipelines run. The corridors spread out, like a web underground."

The stairs ended in a large, open room. The room was a circle, with at least a dozen doors on the outer edge. Some were simple stone archways, some were adorned with the Seal of Mar. Still others had strange patterns on them, ones that Jak had never seen before.

"Welcome to the Atrium," Seem said.

It was adorned with Precursor idols and imagery, with even more murals painted all around the doors. The fire pits glowed around them, casting elongated shadows on the walls. As they stepped towards the center of the room, Jak glanced down at his feet. There were pipes in the floor, overlapping each other, with drain covers glowing with the power of eco.

"Whoa," he said softly. He hadn't seen the individual colors of eco in years. When was the last time, he thought, that he had seen red eco outside of ammo boxes, or blue eco not fueling machines?

"The eco pipes cycle eco through the Temple," Seem explained, her eyes following Jak's. "We use what we need, then return it to the pipes."

She gestured to the center of the room, where vents were spewing out eco: one for each color, for a total of six.

"The Atrium is said to be where Sages earned their powers. It is concentrated with the powers of eco, and is blessed by the Precursors themselves. It is here that the monks train and pray. Be respectful."

"When have I ever not been?" Jak said. She glared at him. "Alright, fine."

He took some of the dark eco himself, gritting his teeth as pain swirled inside his chest, making his muscles tighten and his hair stand on end. Seem's eyes widened.

"What?" he snapped. "You've never seen someone channel before?"

Seem gave him an almost pitying look. "...You have never been taught how to properly channel dark eco, have you?"

"Praxis didn't exactly have lessons on it," he replied bitterly. "I've just been doing the same thing I always do."

Seem sighed. "Then I'll show you."

She reached her hand out, but kept it several inches away from the plume of dark gas. She held her palm facing it and then exhaled softly. "Direct contact with dark eco is always painful," she explained carefully. "It is better to...call the eco to you." She curled her fingers over her palm, and the eco swirled around her hand and into her body. Her muscles tightened a bit. "Do you see?"

"Really?" He mimicked her movements and coaxed the eco towards him. To his surprise, the normal sparks of pain that usually accompanied it were dulled. "Whoa...I never knew that."

"Dark eco is not studied like most ecos," Seem continued. "Very few people are capable of channeling it. I am not surprised you are uneducated in the ways of darkness."

"Gee, thanks." Jak watched as Seem went a few feet away and sat down on the stone ground, cross-legged. "What are we doing next?"

"I am going to show you how to meditate."

"Meditate?" Jak stared at Seem. "Listen, I've tried the whole 'breathe deep and count to ten' thing. It doesn't help."

"This will." Seem gestured to the spot across from her. "Sit. I will show you the techniques I use."

"Fine." Jak didn't seem convinced, but he sat down across from her. "So why are we meditating?"

Seem clasped her hands together in front of her. "Meditation allows you to focus your mind and channel your energies to productive pursuits."

"Productive. Got it." Jak watched as she straightened her back. "So...what do I do?"

"Start by finding your breath." Seem inhaled, her chest rising. "Let your body rest and your heart slow. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth."

"Okay." Jak did as Seem told him, trying to keep his breathing even. She watched him for a few moments, then nodded.

"Very good. Now that you have your breathing steady, you must relax your body." Seem held her hands up. "You take a breath in, tense your muscles, breath out, and relax them. We'll start with your hands."

"My hands?" Jak glanced down at his fingers, bony with rough calluses. "Okay. Let's go."

Seem nodded. "Close your eyes. Inhale."

Jak closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Seem continued, "Clench your hands into fists. Keep them clenched."

A few seconds passed, to the point that Jak's muscles twinged with pain. Finally, she said, "Good. Relax and exhale."

She watched as he did so, then asked, "How do you feel?"

"...Huh." He opened his eyes and shrugged. "Weird."

Seem gave him a wry smile. "You are unwinding your body's tension. It should feel strange."

"This is dark eco training?" he asked skeptically.

Seem gave him a blank look. Then, she said slowly, "Have you ever felt irrationally angry? Not just...normal anger, but a fierce desire to destroy something?"

Jak looked taken aback. "Um...yeah."

"That is not an idea unique to dark eco," she explained. "All people face anger. However, dark eco warps that anger, that impulse to destroy, into a monsterous bloodlust. It is dangerous."

"Yeah, I know." He wanted to remind her that he didn't need a lecture on dark eco, but she shook her head. "What?"

"You do not," she said simply. "Your body will always be...unstable because of the dark eco. But if you can control your mind, you can control your body. And if you can control your body, you can control the eco."

Jak was quiet. He shrugged and said, "Well, you're the expert."

"...Hmm. I suppose." She sighed, then said, "We will continue. Inhale and tense your biceps."

Jak did as she told, feeling the muscles tense and relax. She led him through all his muscle groups, even having him tense the muscles in his face by wrinkling his nose. Finally, she said, "Very good. Now, stand up."

Jak did as she told, watching as the monk got to her own feet. He felt oddly...calm, he thought. Relaxed. Almost fluid. Maybe that was the point.

"You have said that you lose control when you channel dark eco," Seem continued. "Tell me more about that experience."

Jak shrugged. "I've gotten pretty good at keeping in control with it. But...sometimes, if I'm angry or there's too much dark eco, I...I can't control myself. I kind of just…" He struggled to put the experience into words. "...I guess I just get stuck inside my own head, is the best way to put it. I know what I'm doing, but I can't stop myself from doing it."

He expected Seem to ask him to explain more, but she nodded, as if she fully understood his strange analogy. "We are going to replicate these situations. You are going to try to suppress your dark side."

"I don't want to...transform here. It's dangerous." Jak folded his arms. "Maybe we can do it somwhere else, later—"

"No," Seem said, shaking her head. "Right now."

Abruptly, she flicked both of her wrists towards Jak. Before he could say anything, the dark eco that was pouring out of the vent went straight for him, guided by Seem herself.

The dark eco slammed into his chest, overloading his senses. He could practically taste it, bitter and acrid on his tongue. A growl ripped through his throat, the crackle of darkness taking over. He pushed it back, fighting against the wave of bloodlust.

"Focus on your breathing!" Seems' voice came through the haze, muffled with blood pounding in his ears. "Control yourself and you can control the eco!"

"Agh...I...can't!" He could feel his claws breaking from his fingernails, his lips pulling back to bare his teeth. "Gah!"

"Yes, you can!" Seem argued. She was steadily feeding eco into him, overpowering him more and more. "Do exactly as we did before, breathe deep and steady!"

"Ngh...agh..!" The dam broke, waves of darkness flooding Jak's consciousness. He wanted to fight her, to kill her, to rip her limb from bloody—!

And suddenly it stopped.

Jak fell, like a puppet with its strings cut. He collapsed on the stone ground, unsure of what had happened. It was as if all the dark eco had been burned away. He groaned in pain and exhaustion.

"You did fairly well for the first time." Jak glanced up from the floor to see Seem, funneling the dark eco into a drainpipe. "I'm impressed. Though I suppose you have had practice."

"W-what the hell were you thinking?" Jak gasped out. "I could have killed you!"

Seem looked up as the last of the eco drained away. "Yes," she said evenly. "You could have."

The stark comment hung in the air as Jak shakily stood back up, his body aching. "Did you...pull the eco out of me?" he asked finally.

Seem nodded. "Do not forget," she said, picking up one of the jars nearby, "that I am still a sage. You may have raw strength on your side, but I have my own powers."

She poured water from the jar into its cap, then slid the cap over to Jak. He took it, grateful. "Thanks."

As Jak drank, she continued, "Using these meditation techniques will help you to keep your channeling under control. I've seen you in the arena, and I've seen you now. You are trying to...force your darkness back. Such a thing will not work."

"Yeah, well," Jak grumbled, "what am I supposed to do, ask it nicely?"

Seem sighed. "You cannot resist anger with anger. That is fighting fire with fire, which only burns the world down."

"So what do I do?" Jak asked. "How do I...resist it?"

"...Hmm." Seem folded her arms. "You must be calm and steady. Consistent and strong. If you keep your own emotions in check, you will be able to resist the ones that come with dark eco. Don't try to push it back, that only wastes your energy."

"If I don't push it back, it won't go back," Jak argued.

Seem scoffed. "A wall does not have to push back. It simply doesn't move."

Jak blinked at her. She continued, "It will take practice. Temperance is not learned overnight."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, while Jak recovered his energy. He opened his mouth to ask if they were going to try again, but Seem already appeared to know what he was going to ask.

"Dark eco takes a toll on the body and mind. We will try again tomorrow night, to give your body and mind a chance to recover."

Jak wanted to protest, but he found his body agreed with her. He already felt weak and drained, tired from only one attempt. Instead, he said, "Fine. Same time tomorrow night?"

Seem nodded and began to close the jar of water, her eyes following Jak as he left. "I will see you then...hero."

Gin rummy, it seemed, was not Daxter's kind of game.

By the time Jak got back to Spargus, it was nearly midnight. He went to the infirmary to find that his friend curled up on the table next to the deck of cards, snoring loudly. Ionna was nowhere to be found.

"Daxter?" Jak shook him awake, snorting and jerking up. "Hey, you ready to go?"

"Ugh…" Daxter yawned and stretched, his back cracking into place. "Mmm...yeah, 'm ready."

Jak picked up his friend and settled him in his arms. "Ionna? You here?" He went to the room in the back of the infirmary. As he opened the door, he glanced around.

The medic's bedroom was sparse, not that he expected anything different. A bed, a dresser, a nightstand; there was a small bookshelf hanging above the nightstand, affixed to the wall and filled with books. It appeared Ionna kept in lockstep with the rest of the Wastelanders, only keeping what was valuable.

"Ionna isn't here?" he asked, nudging Daxter awake.

"Mrph...she had a 'mergency," Daxter mumbled. "Ran off to go...take...care of...dumbass…broke his...leg..."

Daxter went back to snoring in Jak's arms. The teenager rolled his eyes and headed for the door. He paused as he passed by the nightstand, distracted by the glint of metal. Hesitant and curious, he went over.

There was a shallow dish, made of Precursor metal, on the nightstand. There were a few trinkets in the dish: tiny silver hoop earrings; golden bangles with ornate designs; a flint and steel set; several colorful bullet shells. But Jak's eyes were drawn to a round metal pin, steel and chipped paint in a pattern like a face. He recognized the symbol, one as familiar to him as his own face. He'd seen it every day for two years.

I'll see you later, eco freak...

The Krimzon Guard.

He turned the badge around in his hand, brushing his fingers along the edge of the cold metal. It was old and worn, rusted on the back, the pin of the medal crooked.

"If you're going to go snooping around in someone's room, you should at least have the decency to try and hide it."

Jak jumped at the voice behind him. He dropped the badge into the dish, startling Daxter awake. "Geez!"

"Ionna!" Jak spun around, guilt plain on his face. "I was just...I thought you might be…"

Ionna gave a low chuckle and stood beside him. "I'm not upset, though you should know better. However, I understand that curiosity is a powerful force."

Her hands went to the dish and she picked up the badge he had been looking at. "So, what had you so fascinated?"

"...This." He showed her the Krimzon Guard pin. "Were you in the Krimzon Guard?"

"Ha!" Ionna took the pin from him. "A long time ago. The Krimzon Guard wasn't always the Baron's muscle, you know. Once upon a time, we were the King's personal guards."

"Really?"

Ionna nodded. "Oh, yes. There were only five of us back then." She began to tick them off on her fingers. "Myself, obviously. Two brothers, Yasir and Ali. They were killed in the war," she added darkly. "Antwon, who was banished out here, too. And Praxis, of course."

Jak wasn't surprised to hear the man's name, but the anger still burned in his chest. "Was Praxis always…?" He fumbled for the words, which Daxter willingly supplied.

"Crazier than a bag full of kangarats?" Daxter finished, swinging his way up to Jak's shoulder.

Ionna hesitated. "Praxis was always a very...zealous man. He was a war hawk, the kind of man who makes one hell of an ally, and one bitch of an enemy." She sighed. "Unfortunately, war hawks also like to make their allies into enemies. I think Praxis wanted so desperately to defeat the metal heads, he would have sacrificed anything to do it."

"Yeah," Jak growled. "That sounds like him."

Ionna ran her thumb over the pin. "It's just like him to use the symbol of noble warriors to present his own heroics. He always liked being the most powerful man in the room. Pity it didn't happen often."

"Not a Praxis fan, huh?" Daxter was grinning at her from Jak's shoulder. "Us either."

"I knew Praxis for a long time," she said, setting the pin down. "He wasn't always the tyrant he became. Believe me, child, war can change a person. In fact, it almost always does."

Ionna sighed heavily and then gave him a smile. "I suppose you didn't come here to talk about the intricacies and trauma of war. How did it go with Seem?"

Jak shrugged. "Fine, I guess. I don't think she likes me much."

"Ugh, just tell her the feeling's mutual." Daxter made a face. "Who'd even want to be friends with that weirdo?"

"Seem is a bit...stand-offish, I'll admit," Ionna said lightly. "But I wouldn't blame her. Seem has had a rough life."

"What's her story?" Jak asked.

Ionna led him out into the main room, shutting her bedroom door behind her. "People have not always treated Seem kindly."

"...You wanna elaborate?"

She sat down at one of the chairs and gestured for him to sit beside him. "Long ago, when the monks resided in Haven City, children who showed affinity for eco were taken to live in the Mountain Temple at a young age." She folded her arms and tilted her head back, remembering. "Back then, many of the monks were ardent believers in the myths of the Precursors. They believed that all dark eco sages were doomed to become fallen heroes, destroying everything in their path."

"Ahh, they're a buncha scaredy cats," Daxter said breezily. "Probably afraid of their own shadows! I mean, yeah, Jak here destroys everything in his path, but he's been doin' that for years." The ottsel gestured to his own body. "It's why I'm covered in fur!"

Jak glared at him. "Would you shut up? Sorry, Ionna," he added. "You can keep going."

She smiled at them both. "Daxter hit the nail on the head. It all came down to fear." Daxter gave Jak a gloating look as she pressed on. "Seem was shunned by most of the monks. They treated her as if she were something...less than human. A time bomb, waiting to explode. A nuisance at best, a cursed omen at worst."

Jak frowned. His mind flashed back to his time in Haven City, to the mothers who held their children a little tighter when he passed by, to the Underground members who skirted around him in the hideout. He tried to imagine himself as a child, faced with disdain from the ones who raised him.

"There were no monks who studied dark eco back then," Ionna continued. "It was a taboo subject. So Onin and I were the ones who trained Seem in the ways of eco. All the other monks were...let's just say, unkind. They would refuse to use her name, perform purification rituals after being in the same room...there were even some who denied that she was a sage. They routinely tried to banish her."

"What a bunch of jerks!" Daxter, incredibly, was indignant at Seem's treatment. "No wonder she hates everybody, they hated her first!"

"When we made our journey into the desert, most of the older monks stayed behind with Onin." Ionna gathered up the cards from the table and started to bind them together. "The younger monks were less traditional and accepted Seem when we made our home here. But...she never did quite learn to trust people."

Jak frowned and glanced at his hands. Yes, he understood perfectly what that was like. Before he could say anything else, Ionna suddenly straightened.

"My stars, is it already after midnight? You two better get some rest." She stood up and started to usher them out the door. "Go on, child, bedtime."

"Ah, we're grown men," Daxter protested, ignoring the fact that he had been asleep not fifteen minutes ago. "We go to bed when we want to!"

"Yes, well, when you're tired in the morning, remember that." She smiled as they left the infirmary. "Be careful, you two."

The door shut behind Jak's back. He started walking, his friend's presence heavy on his shoulder. His boots scuffed along the sand, the only sound besides the scratching of animals on the stone walls.

"Geez," Daxter said. "Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on Rubber Room, huh? Sounds like she's already gotten the short end of the stick."

Jak didn't respond, but he didn't have to. Both of them knew what it felt like to be "the other", to have to second-guess the motives of everyone you meet. When the rest of the world hated you, it was much easier to hate it first.

It was strange, he thought, how much his perspective could change in a single night.

Onin often wondered if it was fate, some great Precursor experiment, that brought both Ionna and Seem to her care. The powers of dark and light, powers her predecessors had only dreamed of, the very powers of creation and destruction.

Embodied by a ten year old and a three year old, playing beside a lake of darkness.

The monks trained out here sometimes, going through forms and meditation techniques together. It was an open spot near a dark eco lake, near where the Precursor shard was kept. The monks tended to avoid the dangerous lake, but it was the most convenient place to access the eco vents. While Onin watched a group of monks go through poses and stances, she also kept an eye on the two youngest in their ranks.

Youngest, and most powerful.

"Look, look, Seem!" Ionna let a stream of light eco flutter above the toddler's head. Seem giggled and reached for it playfully. "One day, I'll show you how to do this, too."

"Yeah, yeah, I wanna!" Seem squirmed as Ionna re-absorbed the light eco. "Show me now!"

"You must wait, child," Onin said softly, brushing one of her thin, knotted hands over Seem's soft hair. "Patience."

As if sensing the girl's annoyance, the pool of dark eco they were sitting by began to form waves, splashing against the rocks beside them. While neither Ionna nor Seem were bothered by this, the group of monks quickly moved away from the edge. Onin sighed, knowing exactly what was coming next.

"Ionna," she said quietly, "please go back to the Temple. Continue your training inside. I will be there in a moment."

As Ionna and Seem bounced back to the Temple, the other monks converged on her.

"That child cannot stay here," one of the monks hissed. He glared at her imperiously, eyes narrowed in anger. "She cannot control her powers. She could kill us!"

Onin set her staff on the ground, firmly planting it between herself and the monk. "You know it is common for children to have unrefined powers, Aster."

"But it is not common for children to have dark powers!" he argued. "We never should have taken her in. Dark eco is the antithesis of our Precursor duties!"

"She is cursed." This from another monk, Gracia. "You know what the stories say."

"I know that those are stories," Onin replied. "Written by men with fear in their hearts. Our duty as monks of the Precursors is to train and empower those who embody our makers." Onin clasped her hands in a sign of respect. "Dark eco was still made by the Precursors and still carries their power."

"And if the child is cursed?" Aster demanded. "If our fears are correct? If she brings about our destruction? What then?"

Onin stared at him and tilted her chin up. "Then it will be as the Precursors willed it."

Chapter Text

The next week passed with Jak spending his days learning light eco and his evenings learning dark. He was finding it easier to keep his darkness at bay with Seem's training, though he saw it less as 'training' and more as 'anger management.'

"I expected more of what we've been doing," he admitted to Ionna once. "With eco. Not...meditation stuff."

The pair were in the infirmary, where Ionna had set him practicing his healing abilities on various patients. Oddly enough, none of them seemed leery at all when she would suggest that Jak heal them. They did seem to want to avoid Daxter, however.

Jak stepped up to one of the beds, where a Wasteland child was sitting, her ankle twisted at a strange angle. He settled his hand on it; it shimmered with light eco and righted itself. Ionna stepped in to examine his work.

"Hmm...Diara, can you move your ankle for me? That's it, like you're dancing…" Satisfied that the bone was healed, she helped the child off the bed and pointed her towards the door. "Good girl, tell your mother you're fine." Turning back to Jak, she continued, "Well, you must understand. Dark eco primarily affects your emotions. The best way to counteract or control it is to use your mind against it."

"Sorry, Jak," Daxter said with a grin. "Sounds like you've got a handicap."

Ionna smiled at his joke while Jak rolled his eyes. "All the monks that have worked with dark eco have had drastic changes to their behavior. While exposed to dark eco, it tends to make people angry and paranoid. Even delusional, if exposed long enough." She shrugged as she started to change the sheets on a bed. "The best defense, as I understand it, is to remain as calm as possible."

Jak frowned. "I just wish I was better at it," he replied wistfully. "I haven't been able to stop myself from going dark."

Indeed, in the past week, he hadn't been able to fully push back his dark self. He was getting better at holding off, but ultimately, the darkness still took hold. Seem never commented on his progress, unlike Ionna, instead just leading him through meditation. The training was so similar on a day-to-day basis that he sometimes wondered if he was making any progress at all.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Ionna said, shaking out the bed sheet and repositioning it. "The intricacies of eco are not easy to learn."

Daxter jumped off of Jak's shoulder and onto the floor. "Eh, seems pretty simple to me. It's dark, it oozes, it makes you furry…"

Ionna handed Jak the wadded up sheets and he put them in the laundry basket. "It's complicated. As I said, all the monks who've studied dark eco became unstable when they spent too much time around it. The information we have is...limited, to say the least."

The two boys fell silence, digesting this information as Ionna tucked the sheets around the mattress. Daxter suddenly jolted up. "Hey! What about Seem?!"

Ionna glanced at him. "What about her?"

"Well, you said all the monks who messed around with goopy dark eco crap got all pissed off." Daxter's paraphrasing of her words made Ionna furrow her brow. "So, has that happened to Seem?"

A stillness fell over Ionna. Finally, she said, almost reluctantly, "Once. And only once."

"Really?" Jak tried to imagine Seem getting as angry as he did when he tapped into his darkness. "What happened?"

"I'm afraid it's not my story to tell," Ionna said firmly. "Seem will, I'm sure, have the opportunity and desire to share it with you at some point. But only she can decide when to tell it."

Jak and Daxter exchanged a look, but let it drop.

After all, they had their own secrets to keep.

Besides Daxter, there was only one person who knew the details of Jak's time in prison.

His friends knew, vaguely, what he'd been through. They knew Praxis had done something to him, and that something had given him dark eco powers. But they didn't know the gritty, gruesome details.

On bad days, days when Jak could feel the anger and pain bubbling just below the surface, he would go somewhere safe to cool down. In Spargus, the safest place was the palace.

"Ugh…" As Jak splashed water on his face, Daxter hovered anxiously by his knee. "Don't worry, Dax, I'm fine."

Because he was. Bad days were bad days; he'd had them before. But, boy, did they suck while he was having them.

Daxter waved his hand dismissively at Jak, though he could still read the concern on his friend's face. "Of course you are. You think I'm worried?"

Jak ran his wet fingers through his hair. He needed something, anything to distract him from the spinning thoughts in his head. "I like it better short. How about you?"

"Eh, it's not bad." Daxter dove into the water. "'Course, there's no helping a face like yours."

"Thanks, Daxter. You're always so supportive." Jak wiped his face off, letting the water trickle down his neck. It brought him back, years ago, to his childhood. Cool salt water and a sandy beach, the sun warm on his neck and the waves splashing against his feet. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

He stripped off his shirt, enjoying the way the flecks of water in the air cooled his skin. Time for an old Sandover trick, he thought, as he dipped his shirt in the water. He started to wring it out, letting the water splash back into the pool. Daxter gave him a curious look.

"What? It's hot out there," Jak said. From behind him, he heard a bark of laughter and turned to see Damas, walking back to his throne.

"It's a desert," was all he said, his voice filled with amusement.

Jak's lips twisted into a smirk just as Daxter shrieked in mock indignation.

"What?! Why didn't anyone tell me? Is that what all the sand is about?" He turned to Jak, pointing an accusing finger in his face. "And you! How long have you known?!"

Jak laughed as Damas took his seat on the throne. "I will admit, we are in the midst of the hottest part of the year," the king told them. He frowned as Jak continued to wring out the water from his shirt. His eyes were on the boy's torso, where he could see scar tissue, spreading out along his chest like spiders' webs.

"Quite a lot of scars for such a young man."

"..." Jak turned his head away. "Yeah. I know."

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Damas added lightly. "You should be proud of battle scars. They show bravery and determination."

Jak frowned. "They're not battle scars. They're…" He hesitated. Damas held his hand up.

"You do not need to explain anything to me," he said firmly. "Your past belongs to you."

"No, it's okay." He shifted on his feet, still holding the wet shirt. Daxter had leapt into the water and was lounging there. "I don't mind."

Jak usually didn't like sharing his particular brand of trauma. But for some reason, Damas felt...safe.

Jak didn't feel the strange mixture of pity and disappointment that he got from his friends, or the repulsion that most Havenites had for him. Damas never showed judgement towards Jak; in fact, outside of that first arena battle, Damas never even mentioned Jak's dark powers.

So he told Damas about his imprisonment, about being strapped down to the chair and experimented on. He showed Damas the scars from the torturous instruments and the tattoo on his forearm that denoted his ID number. He told him about the burning sensation that came from being forced to channel dark eco, the sickness and wrongness that coursed through his body.

How Praxis had called Jak a weapon. How he'd spent two years being broken down and molded into that weapon. How Daxter had been the one to save him. How it had warped his body and mind, how he'd been a totally different person on the other side.

All the while, Damas listened intently. Finally, he said slowly, "You have been through quite a lot for someone your age. I must say, I'm very pr...impressed by how far you've come."

Jak frowned. "I haven't come very far at all."

"When you arrived in Spargus," Damas explained, "you were a bitter, angry young man. Like so many others, you have been betrayed and abandoned, toyed with and thrown away." He peered down at them. "But you have grown in the few short months you've been here. You've learned to set your hurt aside for the sake of survival. That's commendable."

Jak seemed to glow under the praise. Damas continued, "For all that you have been through, you have managed to maintain integrity and a sense of morality. Not many can say that."

For a moment, it seemed like Damas was going to say more, but they were interrupted by his communicator. He answered it and started to talk with Sig about something, so Jak put on his now-damp shirt and sighed contentedly.

"That is so much better. You ready to go, Dax?"

Daxter grinned from where he'd been basking in the shallow water. "Let's go, buddy!"

As Jak and Daxter headed for the elevator, Damas nodded at them. Jak gave him a quick Wastelander's salute before they started down. Daxter leaned against his head.

"Ya know," he said conversationally, "I'm proud of you, Jak."

"For what?" Jak asked curiously.

"You told somebody else about Praxis. Look at you, opening up!" Daxter leaned over his face and pinched his cheeks playfully. Jak swatted him away. "Oh, my little baby's growin' up so fast!"

"Shut up, Daxter." But Jak was smiling as he said it. "Just because I don't have a big mouth and tell everyone my entire life story in one sitting…"

"Excuse you! It takes at least three sittings!"

They kept walking through Spargus, bickering playfully. From above, Damas watched them walk away, a fond smile on his face.

Besides his eco training, there wasn't much else for Jak to fill his time with. Since Damas had stopped most of the missions in the Wasteland, the only job he had was manning the turret for four hours.

Every.

Single.

Day.

"You are our best gunner," Damas had told him. "In this time of peril, the best men for the job must step up! I'm counting on you."

Bolstered by the compliment, Jak had taken up the job with enthusiasm, working in a rotation with Kleiver and four other Wastelanders to keep the gun manned at all times.

He kind of wished he'd been less excited. Spending hour after hour standing at the gun and staring off at the horizon wasn't as interesting as he'd thought it would be.

"I spy with my little eye...something grainy and..." Daxter yawned loudly from Jak's shoulder. "...and tan."

"Is it sand?" Jak asked flatly.

"Genius you are, you got it." Daxter leaned against Jak's head. "Your turn."

Jak gazed out over the sea. "I spy with my little eye...something green."

"Is it your hair?" Daxter mumbled sleepily.

"Nope." Jak swatted at Daxter to startle him awake. "C'mon, Dax, if I have to stay awake, so do you."

"Fine, fine." Daxter blinked over the sea and yawned again. "Uh...seaweed."

"Guess again."

"The sea monster?"

Jak rolled his eyes. "That thing's not green."

"Ugh, fine." Daxter sighed dramatically. "I give up! What is it?"

Jak scanned the horizon over the city, swinging the gun around. "...My beard. Your turn."

"Wait a minute!" Daxter shouted. "First of all, calling that thing a beard is like callin' Krew slim: it ain't true, and everyone who sees it knows it." He hopped onto the turret to face Jak. "Second, hee-eello! Your goatee is hair!"

"Yeah, but you didn't mean it like that," Jak argued. Something sparked high above them, in the sky. It was far off, but Jak still recognized the swirling purple of dark eco. "Dax...do you see that?"

"The rotten, filthy lies you tell? Yeah, I see 'em!" Daxter glanced over to where Jak was looking and then whistled. "Well, uh, that doesn't look good…"

"It's moving." Jak trained the turret on the target, which was getting bigger in the sky. "I think it's one of those Dark Makers!"

"Ahh!" Daxter cowered on the turret, covering his head. "It's coming right towards us!"

"No, it's not!" Jak watched as the blob of darkness veered off into the desert, towards the volcanos. "It's...it's heading away. Towards the mountains."

Too far away to shoot down, but close enough that he could see it. He turned on his communicator.

"Damas, can you hear me? It's Jak."

The crackle of static filled his ears, followed by Damas' rough voice. "Yes, what is it?"

"I'm manning the turret and there was another one of those Dark Makers in the sky. It didn't go near the city, but it looked like it was headed towards the Monk Temple."

Silence on the other end. Then…

"Are you sure? It was a Dark Maker scout?"

"Yeah. No doubt." Jak squinted into the distance, where the Dark Maker was now receding. "I think it's going lower…I don't think it'll make it to the temple. It'll crash before it reaches it."

"...Very well." Damas sounded almost...disappointed. "Jak, once you are done with your time on the turret, come to see me in the palace."

Jak nodded, then realized Damas couldn't see him. "Got it. See you then."

As he clicked the communicator off, Daxter frowned. "Hey, does he sound kinda weird to you?"

Jak nodded. "It's almost like he's mad that they aren't headed for the city."

"You don't think…?" Daxter didn't finish his question, but he didn't have to. Jak shook his head defiantly.

"No. Damas wouldn't be working with the Dark Makers or Erol. That's crazy."

"Nah. I can't see ol' Sandy Britches gettin' in bed with Erol." Daxter made a face. "Urgh. Bad choice of words."

Jak retrained the gun on the sea. "I bet he's just worried."

"Yeah," Daxter said breezily. "Worried. Now, I spy with my little eye…"

When they arrived at the palace, Damas was waiting for them. It was just past noon; the wind was kicking up in the very beginning of a sandstorm. Standing before the throne, Jak watched as Damas paced anxiously on the stairs.

"Tell me again what you saw," Damas commanded him. "Be specific: where did it come from, which direction did it disappear to?"

Jak did his best to describe it, while Damas watched him steadily. Finally, the king confirmed, "And you're certain it was headed towards the Monk Temple? Nowhere else?"

"Positive," Jak said firmly. "There's nothing else out that way."

Damas sighed heavily. "Very well. Thank you."

He sat on the throne, his eyes faraway as he thought. The two boys glanced at each other. Daxter said cautiously, "Um, excuse me, King of Spikes? Not to be rude, but, uh...you seem kind of pissed off that this thing didn't attack the city."

Damas stared blankly at him. "Let's do a thought experiment, shall we? Pretend you're a Dark Maker for a moment."

"Ooh, method acting." Daxter put his hands on his hips and grinned. "My calling."

Damas continued, gripping his staff tighter. "You are scouting the desert and spot Spargus, the only city for miles, a considerable threat. However, you ignore it. Why?"

"..." Jak folded his arms. "Well, I'd guess because it's not what I'm looking for."

"Correct. So that means…?" Damas prompted.

"...That whatever they're looking for is in the Monk Temple." Jak blinked in dawning realization. "They're looking for the artifact we need!"

Damas nodded, pleased. "That's right. That's concerning, because if our enemy gets ahold of that artifact before we do, this war will already be over."

"I'm not about to let that happen." Jak tilted his chin up in proud defiance. "If Erol thinks he can get away with it, he better think again."

"Yeah!" Daxter cheered. "We'll kick his metal ass from here to the scrap heap!"

"Seem informed me that she and Ionna have had no luck finding the artifact so far," Damas continued. "But there are miles of corridors in the Monk Temple. Dozens of locked doors. One way or the other, it is only a matter of time before someone finds it."

"What should we do?" Jak asked. "I can go help Ionna and Seem try to find it in the temple."

"No," Damas mused. "Ionna and Seem are familiar with the temple. Only the sages can truly see the depths of it."

Damas stood up again and frowned thoughtfully down at Jak. He slowly descended the steps.

"My concern right now," he said slowly, "is if these beings do attack the city. I have no idea what sort of power we're up against."

Damas seemed to be conflicted about something. He stared out the window for a long moment before turning back to Jak and Daxter.

"I have a mission for you." Damas was giving him a stern look and a grim smile. "You'd best gear up for the wastes."

"I thought you'd stopped all the missions in the Wasteland," Jak said, folding his arms. Daxter hung off his shoulder plate, gripping his hair for balance. "Because of all the Dark Makers."

"True," Damas admitted. "But I don't take you for the sort of man to let fear stop you."

Jak smirked while Daxter groaned. "Heh. I guess I'm not."

"I want to find that Dark Maker you saw." The king turned back to the window, clasping his hands behind his back. "There's a storm on the horizon, and I'm afraid if we don't get to it in time, it will disappear into the sands."

Damas turned back around and walked slowly back to Jak. "Do we need to find it?" the teenager asked. "I mean...it wasn't headed for the city."

"Be that as it may," Damas replied, "I find that a little knowledge can go far. If the next one does head for the city, we should be prepared to defend against it."

"So you want us to go trekking around the desert looking for it?" Daxter made a face. "No thanks. If you want to find it, go out and look for it yourself!"

Damas snorted. "I see great minds think alike." He brushed past them, headed for the elevator. He turned back around and gestured for the two to join him. "I didn't intend to send you alone."

Chapter Text

Keira hated being in the Freedom HQ.

It seemed like everyone was on edge these days. Torn was almost eternally glaring at the console as he coordinated various attacks around the city, his tattooed face twitching with stress. He would mutter to himself and bit his lip a lot as he marched around, slamming doors and shoving chairs.

Ashelin wasn't around often anymore, stuck leading ever-increasingly dangerous missions in the newly formed Metal Head nest. When she was in the building, she could usually be found leaning against the wall, exhausted; on one memorable occasion, Keira had found her in the back stairwell, her head in her hands.

Samos was being stretched thin, which worried Keira. Her father wasn't a young man; this much stress couldn't be good for him. But with more and more casualties, his power was needed to keep both civilians and soldiers alive.

But the worst part was the silence.

There was a suffocating tension, so thick she could cut it with a knife and serve it on a plate. They all shuffled around, going about their daily business, fighting battles that would never end the war.

But no one dared say what they were all thinking.

Because they were all thinking it.

If Jak were here…

Keira wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead and set her screwdriver down. She didn't have much to offer in the way of fighting, but she could do her part to keep everything running. Torn was especially appreciative of her efforts, thanking her profusely whenever she managed to replace a shattered computer screen or reattach wires that had come loose. Of course, he also had a tendency to slam his fist on the consoles, which caused most of the problems to begin with; but Keira appreciated the gratitude all the same.

And that had got her thinking.

Never, not once, had Keira ever thanked Jak.

Not in Sandover, after he'd saved her father. Not in Haven, after he'd saved the entire city.

Had he felt like she did sometimes, when she did a whole day's worth of work in two hours and got no words in return? Unappreciated, overworked, annoyed? No wonder he preferred it out in the Wasteland! They probably thanked him up, down, and sideways for all his help.

Keira roughly yanked a piece of metal sideboard off the computer. From where he was sitting, Samos looked over at her. "Keira, dear, are you alright? You seem upset."

"I'm fine, Daddy," she responded automatically. "Just...annoyed with this stupid computer."

Samos gave her a fond smile. "Ah, Keira, you've been working on it all day. Take a break for a few minutes."

She smiled back, but faltered as her feelings spilled into her thoughts. "...Daddy, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, my dear," he replied. "What's on your mind?"

She tucked her knees up to her chin and sighed. "Do you think that Jak and Daxter are going to come back to the city?"

Samos' face fell. "I don't know," he admitted. "I'd like to think that they will, once this war is finally over. But Jak's anger is...still strong. I hope that one day, he will return."

Keira frowned thoughtfully. "I don't think I would be mad at him if he didn't," she said slowly. Samos raised an eyebrow. "I mean, Jak...he's done so much for us. He should be happy, even if that means he stays in the Wasteland."

"..." Samos closed his eyes. "I always tried so hard," he whispered solemnly, "to give Jak good experiences. To give him a happy childhood, to give him some semblance of a normal life. But I had to preserve our future, whatever the cost, even if the cost was…"

"Jak," Keira finished for him.

"Yes." Samos sighed heavily. "I wonder, sometimes, if I didn't go too far. If I expected too much of him. Almost all his childhood, Jak was always running around and saving everyone else. It never even occurred to me that he might want or need anyone else to save him."

Keira buried her head in her knees. "I wish I'd defended him," she said, her voice muffled. "It might not have made any difference at all, but...he at least deserved to have someone defend him."

Samos rubbed her back comfortingly. "Well, what's done is done. The most we can do is try to fix what we can in the here and now. No changing the past."

"...The past…" Keira abruptly stood up, a grim sort of determination on her face. "You're right, Daddy. I can't go back in time, but I can show Jak that I still care now."

As she started to head for the door, her face set in determination, Samos blinked at her. "Where are you going, Keira?"

"To find Sig." The door opened and the elevator appeared. Keira stepped onto it. "I need to make sure Jak knows that we're still here for him."

Jak wasn't quite used to sitting in the passenger seat.

He was so used to it just being him and Daxter, or close to it. If Sig came along, he always preferred to man the gun instead of drive, which left Jak to be the wheelman.

Damas, however, shut that down immediately.

"We're taking the Slam Dozer," he said as they entered the garage. He was shouldering a thin, blaster-type rifle on his back; he was also sporting a few pieces of armor he didn't normally wear. "Jak, you're going to be the navigator, since you saw where the Dark Maker was headed. Daxter, man the gun."

The Slam Dozer was a hulking, metal behemoth of a vehicle with enough spikes to rival the king's own armor. It cut through the sand and wind easily, knocking down and smashing through cacti and over rocks. Jak grinned fiercely as the storm picked up around them, rustling his hair.

"There it is!"

Jak gestured to the horizon. There, half buried in the sand, with dark mechanical parts sticking up towards the sky, was the Dark Maker. Damas drove them up to it, the Slam Dozer skidding in the dirt.

Jak had been right: it had landed just past the river that ran through the Wasteland. It was another Dark Maker satellite, its grotesque tentacles spread out like oozing dark eco. Damas narrowed his eyes at the machine as they got out of the buggy.

"It looks inactive," he remarked, circling it like a vulture. He reached out to touch it and a spark of dark eco arced out towards him. He pulled away with a hiss, his fingers burned. "Ah. But it's not."

"You okay?" Jak stepped forward, yanking down his scarf. "Those things are filled with dark eco."

"Nothing I haven't had before," Damas said, shaking the pain out of his hand. "If a little dark eco was enough to scare me away, I wouldn't last very long out here."

He continued examining the machine, though he was careful not to touch it. Jak glanced at the console and furrowed his brow.

"Dax, this is just like the one that Seem showed us." He slid his fingers across the smooth panel, where coordinates were flashing. "I'll bet there's a dark eco crystal in it!"

"Ugh, like we need anymore of those lyin' around."

To Jak's surprise, the consol didn't require anything to open up and reveal the crystal. He snatched it up with a grin. "I guess we didn't have to play any games this time around."

Damas reappeared next to him, hands on his hips. "It seems like it uses the tentacles as whips to disable its enemies. And, if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say the center is its weak point. There's dark eco bleeding from it, do you see?"

Indeed, when Jak looked, he saw dark eco leaking out into the sand. Damas continued, "And that is useful information. Weak points mean we can defend ourselves."

"Yeah, we've learned a lot here today," Daxter said with a roll of his eyes. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, can we get somewhere safe before we end up buried alive by the stupid sandstorm?"

Damas and Jak glanced around. The wind was picking up, the sand harsh against their skin. The king made an amused noise in his throat.

"A fair point. As much as I'd like to investigate more about this enemy, I'd also like to make it back to Spargus with all of my skin intact. Let's head back."

Jak pulled his scarf up, but felt it slip slightly down from his nose. Annoyed, he yanked it back up, only to have it fall back down again. Damas gave a bark of laughter.

"Here. Let me show you an old Wastelander trick." He moved behind Jak and hitched his scarf up. Instead of winding it around Jak's neck, as the boy had it, he tied it into a knot at the nape of his neck. "There. It should stay up now."

Jak tugged it gently and it didn't move. "Thanks."

Damas gave him a smile and something tugged in Jak's chest. Something pleasant, comforting, almost...nostalgic. Before he could comment on it, however, he heard Daxter's shout.

"Ahh! Jak!" Daxter ducked down behind his friend's boots. "That thing's still kickin'!"

Jak flipped the morph gun to his blaster. The Dark Maker was shifting, rising out of the sand, its long tentacles slithering to life. "Shit!"

Damas slid the rifle off his back. "I suppose we'll get a chance to test out our theory. Aim for the center mass!"

Jak trained his gun on the Dark Maker. It was hovering tiltedly above the sand, with dark eco dripping out of it. Jak took a few shots, watching the bullets ping harmlessly off the dark metal.

"Damn it," he muttered. "I can't get a good shot."

"...The armor is made of plates," Damas commented. He hopped over the tentacles as they whipped out towards them. "There's some kind of connective tissue between them. Do you see the purple glow?"

Jak's eyes searched the enemy. Along the center mass, there were purple cracks separating the plates of armor. It looked more flexible and softer than the armor itself. "If we can hit the connective tissue, I'll bet we can destroy the armor!"

"Exactly." They both ducked to avoid another swinging tentacle. "Try to take it down from here." Damas turned away and started running, headed for the cliffside nearby. "I'm going to get a better angle!"

"Yeah, okay!" Daxter shrieked at his back. "We'll just be over here, dying!"

The Dark Maker was quicker than Jak expected: he had to duck and dodge away from the tentacles as they spun out towards him. He shot at it, but his bullets just ricocheted off the hard armor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Damas climbing up the cliffside, to a ledge that jutted out.

A tentacle snapped out, just barely swiping against his shoulder with a sharp sting. Jak hissed in pain, while Daxter yelped and leapt to the other shoulder.

"This thing is gonna tear us apart!" Daxter shouted in Jak's ear. "Jak, what do we do?"

"...We need to figure out how to get a clear shot," Jak said, panting. He gave two quick jumps over the tentacles. "But it won't let me stand still for long enough!"

He gave a few more shots as he ran, the yellow eco streaking through the air. They all missed by a mile and he growled in frustration.

"Maybe Damas can get a shot!" Daxter shouted. Jak glanced back to see where the king was, but he paid for his distraction. A tentacle slammed into his midriff and sent him sprawling along the ground. The back of his head hit the cliffside with a loud crack!, sending pain shooting down through his spine.

He vaguely heard Daxter shrieking as he was flung in the opposite direction. Jak struggled to his feet, his vision doubling in front of him. He started to stumble towards his friend, gun drawn. "Daxter?!"

"Ahhh! I hate all this Precursor crap!"

Jak felt a hand grab the back of his shirt and abruptly haul him upwards. He tumbled back onto the rocky ledge that Damas was standing on. "Gah! Hey!"

"Stay up here." Damas' voice was firm and commanding, leaving no room for an argument. "You're injured and I have a good shot lined up."

"But Dax is down there!" Jak winced as he went to stand up, fully intent on going after his friend. He almost toppled over, dizzy from the strike to his head. Damas seized the front of his shirt and gave him a rough shove, making him land on his butt in the dirt. "He's going to get killed down there!"

"No, he's not," Damas said calmly, his gaze focused on the fray below. "He'll be fine."

Damas exhaled slowly, his eyes focused on the Dark Maker. His movements were precise, methodical, practiced. He had settled his rifle on a rock and was staring down the sight, a steady finger on the trigger. Calm and measured, he gently turned the rifle ever-so-slightly to the left, then adjusted it again.

Watching him, Jak was reminded of his childhood playing with yellow eco. He used to channel it into his hands, the power coursing through his blood, so he'd snap on his goggles, take careful aim, and…

Fwoosh.

By the time Jak realized Damas had even fired a shot, three more rang out. Each one hit the connective tissue, tearing it apart and shattering the Dark Maker's armor. With a screech and a spray of dark eco, the creature fell to the ground, its body crashing back into the sand. Damas gave a bark of satisfied laughter.

"Well, that was certainly something." He hopped down from the ledge and stooped down to retrieve Daxter. "Still in one piece?"

"Of course I am!" Daxter was fine, though his fur did have some sand stuck in it. "That thing was lucky you got to it first! If it had gotten too close to me, POW! ZING! Orange Lightning, a Dark Maker's worst enemy!"

Damas returned to the rocks and knelt down to examine Jak. "And you?" he asked gently. "Still with us?"

"Fine," Jak said. He stood up, but swayed on his feet and felt a harsh pain run down his side. "Ugh...okay, maybe not fine."

"Hmph." Damas reached behind Jak's head and pressed on the spot where he'd hit his head. Jak winced. "Quite a goose egg. I'd say you have a concussion, but then, I'm not a medic. Come on, stand up. We need to get out of this storm."

Damas hauled Jak to his feet and slid the boy's arm over his shoulder. Daxter was waiting in the Slam Dozer, watching anxiously as Damas guided him towards the buggy and helped him into the passenger's seat.

"Ya okay, buddy?" Daxter asked.

Jak flashed him a weak grin. "Fine. Just had my bell rung, is all."

Damas slid into the driver's side. "This storm is growing fast," he told them. "We're going to have to take shelter."

"Where?!" Daxter shouted. "In the sand?! Under the Dark Maker?! On the—!"

"In the caves." Damas turned the ignition and the Slam Dozer awoke with a roar. "The desert is my home. I know all its dangers, and all its sanctuaries. There's a place nearby we can wait out the storm."

Daxter glanced at Jak, who winced as he buckled his seatbelt. "Uh...shouldn't we get something to heal Jak…?"

"Once we get to shelter," Damas said firmly. "Until we get there, Jak, just try not to move your head too much."

With that, he slammed his foot onto the gas, sending Jak's head snapping backwards and causing Daxter to topple over onto the backboard of the vehicle.

"Easier said than done, I should warn you," Damas added with a wry smile. "Just hold on, Jak. We'll be safe soon."

Chapter Text

By the time Jak, Daxter, and Damas made it to the caves, the sandstorm was so bad, Damas could hardly see to drive. The Slam Dozer skidded to a stop in the shelter of the cave and he looked over at the passenger seat.

“Feeling alright?” he asked. Jak gave him a groggy grin. 

“Just a headache.” Jak rubbed his temples as he slid out of the buggy. “I’ve had worse.”

“Ha. Famous last words.” Damas pulled a flint out of his pocket and began to light the torches along the cave wall. “I’ll check the cave and make sure there’s nothing else living in here. There should be a med kit in the buggy. Use the green eco and heal yourself, that’ll help with the headache.”

Jak did as he was told, taking the med pack that Daxter scrounged up and applying the green eco. It settled under his skin, soothing the bruises and aches. He stretched a bit to let his muscles unwind and sighed, his headache easing a bit.

“The cave is clear,” the king called to him. “No metalheads. We can wait the storm out here safely.”

“How long do these things usually last?” Daxter asked. “‘Cause I don’t wanna be stuck here with you two wackos for too long.”

“I can’t really answer that with any kind of certainty,” Damas admitted. “Sometimes hours. Sometimes several days. Judging the storms is far more difficult than you’d think.”

“Wait, so we could be stuck here for days ?!” Daxter flopped onto the ground dramatically. “ Days?! With you two?! King Let’s Check Out The Evil Sky Being and Captain Adventures On Misty Island?!” He put a paw over his eyes. “I’m doomed.”

“The two of you should get some rest,” Damas said, largely ignoring Daxter’s dramatics. “It’s been a long day. I don’t doubt you’re both tired.”

Jak glanced at Daxter, who clearly didn’t need to be told twice. The ottsel was already making a makeshift pillow with Jak’s pack, leaning back against a rock and closing his eyes. 

And, if he was honest, Damas was right. Jak was tired, but he wasn’t about to let it show. He opened his mouth to argue with the king, but he was cut off.

“This storm isn’t going to let up anytime soon,” Damas told him. “And I’m perfectly capable of defending us if need be. Get some sleep.”

“...Alright,” Jak finally agreed. “But you have to swear you’ll wake me up the minute you need a break.”

 “Don’t worry.” Damas folded his arms as Jak settled on the ground. “I will make sure of it.”

“I would like to take this opportunity,” Ionna said calmly, “to remind you that I hate Precursor puzzles.”

Seem glanced over at her. “You should be used to them by now.”

“Out of practice, I suppose,” Ionna mused. She shifted her cloak up, hiding her face with the hood. “That is what happens when one is no longer a monk.”

The pair were in the Monk Temple, deep within one of the many hidden corridors. It was one they had never entered before, had no need to. Now, their search for the artifact led them here.

They had reached a door, one with a puzzle: stones based on the six colors of eco. It was a fairly basic mechanism, much like the many puzzles they’d been trained to do as children.

Which didn’t make it any more enjoyable for Ionna.

“Read me the clue again,” she told Seem. The monk held up her torch and read the script that was carved into the wall.

“Creation itself brings birth to life. Destruction is wrought by power. Energy gifts us strength.

“...” Ionna sighed heavily. “Light eco paired with green...” She moved the stones along the door. “Hmm...dark with yellow, and...red is with blue.”

As the last stone clicked into place, the door opened with the sound of Precursor metal dragging across the ground. Seem held the torch out for them to see and they entered.

The chamber was large and plain, with nothing but a circular pit in the center. Ionna approached it, hesitant. “...It’s just water,” she said finally. “Thank goodness. The worst part of Precursor puzzles is that the prize is usually either a bottomless pit or spikes.”

Seem frowned at the pool. “It’s deep,” she said finally. “And I have no idea what’s at the bottom.”

The two women looked at each other for a moment, as if mentally battling about something. Finally, Ionna gave an exasperated sigh and started to take off her cloak. “Fine. But you’re handling the next chamber. And Precursors help you if there’s a sea monster or something down there.”

With that, she took a deep breath and dove in.

For all his resistance, it didn’t take long for Jak to fall asleep. He had curled up next to Daxter, using his own arm as a pillow, his mouth open and snoring slightly. He jerked in his sleep occasionally, kicking his feet out, but other than that, he slept soundly for the next several hours.

Meanwhile, Damas positioned himself at the entrance of the cave. He laid his gun across his knees and looked out, watching the howling sands go by. As the storm reached its peak, cracks of lightning appeared in the sky, illuminating the dust.

Sandstorms were fascinating creatures, Damas mused to himself. Dangerous, fierce beasts that could tear a person apart, with no regard for their courage, loyalty, or lack thereof. Yet after the storm, when the sands calmed themselves, there was a peace to the desert, as if it were resting.

Mar had always loved to watch the sandstorms. He’d been so young, just a babe, too young to go out into the Wastes when a storm was near. But he’d sit in the throne room, behind the water wheel, and stare out the window. 

He’d fall asleep back there sometimes, lulled into slumber by the raging sands he’d been born in. Damas would scoop him up and carry him to his bed, tuck him in and kiss his forehead. Sometimes, Mar would wake up and demand that Damas stay in his room, telling a story or singing a lullaby until the boy fell back asleep.

The memories didn’t hurt, not like they used to. It used to be that Damas shoved the memories away, refused to get caught up in the past and its pain. But now…

Damas glanced behind him. He wasn’t foolish enough to pretend that Jak had nothing to do with that. Perhaps, if he couldn’t give his son the pride and affection of a father, he could at least give it to someone else who needed it.

The king stood up and walked over absent-mindedly to the two boys. Jak looked so young when he was asleep, he thought. Relaxed and calm, he had none of the anger that seemed to age him. Damas settled his hand on the side of the boy’s head, his fingers just barely touching Jak’s hair. 

The boy stirred, groaning as he stretched a bit. Damas moved his hand away as Jak opened his eyes, blinking his vision into focus. “D-Damas, what’s up?”

He yawned and stretched as he sat up; Damas felt a smile tug on his lips. “Nothing, I was just checking on your injury. Go back to sleep.”

But Jak was already waking, rubbing his eyes and running his hands through his hair. “Nah, I’m okay. I feel a lot better now.” He tapped the back of his head to prove it. “Doesn’t even hurt.”

Damas turned back and walked to the entrance of the cave. “Why am I unsurprised that you have a hard head?”

“Ugh, you’ve been spending too much time with Daxter.” Jak followed behind him, strapping his morph gun to his back as he did so. “Anything happening?”

“Nothing. The storm’s not letting up anytime soon.” Damas gestured into the sandstorm. “We’ve probably got at least another four or five hours before it’s drivable. Perhaps longer.”

“Will any Wastelanders come for us?” Jak asked. He sat down on the ground, watching out the mouth of the cave. 

Damas shook his head. “Not right now. Wastelanders don’t bother with dead men. Either we found shelter, or it was too late for us.” He gave a grim smile as he sat down himself. “Luckily, this time, we are safe.”

The conversation lapsed, letting silence reign over them as Jak stared out into the sandstorm. Damas felt his heart lurch when he saw those blue eyes, childish and curious in a way that was oh-so-familiar. There was another flash of bright electricity in the storm.

“Wow,” Jak said softly. “That’s some pretty crazy lightning.”

Damas turned his gaze outward. “You’ve never seen desert lightning?” 

“No. I guess I’ve never really paid too much attention.” Jak folded his arms. “I’m usually trying to run away from the storms.”

Damas gave him a crooked smile. “Sandstorm lightning is an interesting phenomenon. It’s powerful and silent, but relatively harmless. The winds and sands themselves cause more damage.”

“...” Jak tilted his head as he watched another bolt of lightning streak across the sky. “The sandstorms are kind of beautiful,” he commented. “In a weird, terrifying sort of way.”

Damas let his eyes wander over Jak again, but let the conversation falter again. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the storm whizzing by as night fell. Eventually, Damas had to stifle a yawn behind his hand.

Jak, as observant as he was, noticed immediately. “You can go get some rest, if you want.”

“...Are you certain?” Damas asked. He was tired, and considering his less than stellar sleep schedule recently, he needed all he could get. Besides, he trusted Jak. “I don’t mind continuing to keep watch.”

“No, it’s okay. Dax’ll be up soon, anyway.” He nodded back towards the ottsel, who had now curled up into a fuzzy ball. “Go ahead and sleep.”

Damas nodded, but said nothing. He remained where he was, simply leaning his head against the wall. “Make sure to wake me if the storm stops,” he said, closing his eyes. “Or if you see anything suspicious.”

“Sure,” Jak assured him. “Wouldn’t want you to sleep through any of the action.”

“Fifteen feet,” Ionna gasped, spitting water, “fifteen feet deep, and all I get is a damned light crystal.”

She tossed said light crystal across the room, where it lit up the area around it. As she climbed out of the pool of water, Seem sighed. 

“Dozens of useless artifacts and eco crystals, but nothing that looks like the Eco Sphere.” Seem folded her arms. “Are you certain the artifact is here?”

“I’m not really certain of anything, if I’m honest,” Ionna admitted, shaking water from her ears. “But it’s not as if we have any better ideas.”

“True.” Seem handed Ionna her cloak and watched as she pulled it on. “How many more do we have left to check?”

“Let me see…” Ionna reached into her bag and removed a rolled up scroll of paper. As she unfolded it, Seem looked over her shoulder.

It was an old, faded map of the Monk Temple, drawn generations ago. Ionna’s finger traced along the worn paths and markings. “Three doors in the upper floors, by the skyway.” She pursed her lips and hummed. “Another near the Idols of tribute, it looks like. Though that corridor may be caved in.” 

Ionna rolled the maps up and started packing them away. Seem sighed slowly, clenching her fists.

“We are running out of places this artifact could be,” she said quietly. “What do we do if we don’t find it?”

“We search other places,” Ionna replied. “The catacombs, Spargus, places Mar might have visited.”

“...” Seem said nothing else, but Ionna caught her gaze.

“I understand you’re afraid. So am I, but we don’t have time for doubt and worry.” Ionna slung her pack over her shoulder. “If Damas has taught me anything, it’s the power of tenacity. We will survive, or die trying.”

Seem didn’t say anything. Ionna pulled the hood of her cloak up, hiding her face once again. “Let’s move onto the next chamber, shall we?”

Freedom HQ always emptied out around sundown.

The bright blue lights of the monitors abruptly turned off as Torn hit the button. He was always the last one to leave, the first one to arrive. Keira had disappeared around noon; no idea where she went. Samos usually left midday, and Onin just sort of disappeared and reappeared at her will.

Torn rubbed his eyes and sighed, trying to imagine how in the world he was going to sleep tonight with his mind on overdrive. Here, he’d thought overthrowing the Baron would be the end of the war. Turns out that was the easy part.

He sat down at the desk in the middle of the room and began to put away the files he’d been working on. As he started to haphazardly throw them into the file cabinet—because, really, who cared about paperwork during a war?—he heard the door open with a mechanical swish.

Ashelin sat down across from Torn and set her head on the desk, sighing tiredly. He gave a snort of laughter and reached down into one of the cabinets. 

“Need a drink?” he asked. He pulled out a glass bottle with a faded red label and opened it. “Afraid I don’t have any glasses, though.”

“Hidden booze? Not a good look for the Freedom League commander.” Ashelin smiled, though, sliding the bottle over and taking a sip. She choked and cleared her throat. “Ahh. I forgot, you don’t buy the good stuff.”

“I can’t afford the good stuff. You’ll have to deal with the cheap stuff.”

Torn took a swig from the bottle and made a rasping noise in his throat. Ashelin wrinkled her nose.

“Precursors, that’s vile. That’s probably why you’re always in such a bad mood, you know,” she said. “Start drinking smoother alcohol and maybe you’d be less angry.”

“Not likely.” Torn folded his arms on the desk and leaned forward. “I heard we made some progress in the metalhead part of the city.”

Ashelin snorted. “Progress, my whole ass. We cleared a space about two hundred feet into the agricultural section, but it’ll be overrun again in a day or two.”

“Damn.” Torn took another drink and passed the bottle back to Ashelin. She wiped the lip of it off and took another quick sip herself. “We’re losing ground in the slums, too. Lot of civilian casualties, not that I didn’t expect it. There are still hundreds of KG bots roaming around the city.”

“This is ridiculous. I thought once we knocked out the War Factory, they’d be gone. Plus, without Kor, the metalheads should be easy to take care of, but…” Ashelin let her head slump back. “Ugh, this war sucks.”

Torn smirked. “Not so easy when you can’t just use your secret weapon, is it?”

“Don’t start with me,” she warned. “I know I screwed up. I just...we need his help, Torn.”

“I told you way back when this whole thing started with the council,” Torn reminded her. “People don’t like being betrayed. You had the power to help Jak stay in Haven, you just didn’t use it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Hey, I was just trying to play nice with Veger and his cronies. I didn’t see anyone else trying to take care of politics!”

“And you did your best,” Torn told her. “But you don’t know what it’s like to be on the other side of the wall when someone you trusted slams it shut. You don’t know what it’s like to be shut out and left for dead.”

Ashelin balked at his words. “I am not my father,” she spat. “And this is not Deadtown. I’m Jak’s friend, you know.”

“I know you are.” Torn leaned forward on his elbows. “But you’d be amazed how quickly your friends change once you’re left high and dry. Why do you think I joined up with Samos?”

Ashelin glared at Torn, who kept his gaze steady on her. Before she could say anything, however, they were interrupted by the door swishing open once again.

“Um...excuse me, Commander Torn?” The woman who came in was clad in blue armor, but without her helmet, Torn could still see the tattoos. She saluted him and then quickly did the same to Ashelin. “Oh, Governor. I’m glad you’re both here.”

“What is it?” Torn asked wearily. “Please tell me there hasn’t been another breach.”

The woman shifted uncomfortably. “Nothing like that, sir. Just...I don’t want to start trouble where there is none. But there’s been some talk in the Guard.”

“Freedom League,” both Torn and Ashelin corrected. The woman nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, that. There are a lot of folks—not everyone, sir, just a good bunch—who are talking about...well, you, ma’am.”

“Me?” Ashelin blinked and her face twisted into a smirk. “I’ll bet they’re saying all sorts of wonderful things about me, huh?”

The woman rubbed her wrists. “Well, um, no, actually.”

“I can handle a few bad words said about me,” Ashelin said seriously. “Let them gossip like old women all they want.”

“It’s not just gossip, ma’am.” The woman bit her lip. “See, there’s a lot of talk about...not me, mind you, but about how you’re going to lose us the city. They’re saying maybe we should put someone else in charge.”

This proclamation was met with silence. Torn exhaled a growl.

“Let me guess,” he said, “that someone else is our friend, Count Veger.”

The woman nodded. “They keep saying that he knows how to save us from everything going on. Nothing concrete, just...talk, but…” 

“Thank you,” Ashelin said. “We’ll look into it. In the meantime, please don’t worry about this.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” The woman started to head out the door again, but stopped. “Um, ma’am?” she said hesitantly. “You do have a plan for this war, right?”

“Of course we do,” Torn said quickly. “And you can spread that fact around to everyone you know.”

The woman smiled, reassured, and left. Ashelin blew a huff of breath out and reached for the bottle again. This time, she took a much longer drink, not paying any attention to the burn in her throat.

“So,” Torn said, eyes flickering to her face as she slammed the bottle down, “playing nice with Veger. How’s that working out for you again?”

Chapter Text

Sig wanted out of Haven City.

Sure, he'd agreed to come to the city to find Mar; hell, he'd volunteered for the job! But it took its toll on him. Dank, dirty, closed in. It made his skin itch. He was a born-and-bred Wastelander, and Haven was a little slice of hell for him.

He lived in the industrial section, in a tiny apartment above a radio repair shop. Or, at least, that's what it used to be. He hadn't seen his landlord since the metalheads invaded, and the guy hadn't come around to collect rent since then either.

Of course, the Krimzon Guard had evacuated the entire industrial sector not too long ago. Something about metalheads and Krimzon Death Bots moving in. Sig hadn't really paid much attention, instead just crumpling up the evacuation notice nailed to his door and going about his business.

Sig collapsed onto his couch, a rather uncomfortable modern piece of furniture. It had come with the apartment, along with a basic metal lamp, two flimsy card tables, and some cockroaches he'd had to exterminate himself. He stretched out and sighed.

The city always made him lethargic. Probably from the lack of sun. Not to mention, with Jak gone, Ashelin kept roping Sig into every mission under the sun. He'd already helped her clear out some of the metalheads in the sewers, and now she kept bugging him to go take out a group in the slums.

He groaned heavily and started to pull off his armor. He always took meticulous care of it; after all, without good armor, he might as well be metal meat. He ran his finger along the edges, checking for buckling and cracks.

"Lifetime guarantee," he mumbled to himself. Not that anything was guaranteed in this life.

Darkness had fallen by the time he finished up his usual routine. Once it was cleaned and inspected, Sig set the armor aside and started to stretch his arms, feeling the muscles tense and relax. He made a noise in his throat as he stood up, intending to go to bed. A warm glass of yakow milk, that would do the trick. Never failed!

He was halfway to his fridge when a sound called him back. Three quick knocks on his door, ringing through the apartment. He ignored it, grabbing the bottle of milk and pouring some into a mug.

The person kept knocking and Sig groaned. "Go away!" he snarled through the door. "It's late, go home!"

"Sig, it's Tess! Open up!"

Sig frowned. No use trying to hide, he supposed. He shoved the mug into the microwave and went to the door while it was heating up.

"Tess? What are you doin' here so late?" Sig had barely gotten the door cracked open when Tess barrelled through, followed by Keira. "What the hell?!"

"Okay, okay, so it's not just me." Tess folded her arms and flashed a smile at him. "Keira said she needed to find you, but we didn't know where you were at!"

"So you decided to practically knock down my damn door? At night?" Sig grumbled as he shut the door behind them. "You two are gonna get killed running around out there."

Tess ignored him. She looked around and wrinkled her nose. "Geez, Sig," she commented, "I can't believe you still live in this dump! Ashelin had the whole sector cleared months ago!"

"Yeah, well, she should've tried harder to clear me out," he grumbled. "What are you two doin' here?"

"Keira had something she wanted to ask you." Tess gestured towards the other girl. "A teensy, weensy favor. Barely even a favor at all, really, because—"

"I want to talk to Jak," Keira interrupted.

Sig turned his good eye to look at her. He didn't know Keira too well: he'd met her a few times as Krew's client, when he'd been asked to find some weird artifacts for her. After Krew's timely demise, she'd spent a lot of her time draping her arms around Jak's neck and batting her eyelashes at him.

Yet here she stood, staring at him, shoulders straight. Wasn't about to take no for an answer, that was for sure.

"Great." Sig jabbed his thumb at the door and frowned at her. "I'll let him know. See you later."

"I meant," Keira said, rolling her eyes, "that I want you to take me to him. I want to visit him."

Sig's frown deepened. "Yeah, I know what you meant. But the answer's no."

Keira pursed her lips. "Look, you can't stop me. I'll just go out into the Wasteland myself. So you should probably just stop arguing and accept it."

She had him there. "Look," he said, "I don't know what Jak's told you, but Spargus isn't a place you can just walk in and out of whenever you want. Coming to visit might not end well for you."

Her determination faltered for a moment at the threatening tone of his voice, but she quickly picked back up. "I don't care! Look, if it's really that dangerous, then...I want to be there for Jak, anyway."

Great. Just what he needed: another stubborn kid, ready to dive headfirst into danger. "Can you even shoot?" he asked her. She frowned and moved her hip, revealing a small pistol attached to her belt. Sig gave a snort of derisive laughter at it. "Kid, you'd do more damage throwin' that thing than shootin' it."

"Okay, so I don't have an arsenal of cannons like you and Jak," she snapped. "But I can take care of myself."

Privately, Sig doubted it; but he'd been surprised before. He'd learned a long time ago not to judge people by their looks. In fact, Tess was living proof of that.

"Don't worry about her, Sig," Tess said. "I've taught her how to shoot in the gun range. She's a natural!"

Sig frowned down at her. "...I'm stuck here 'til next week," he said finally. "Ashelin and Torn have me doin' some jobs for them. Think you can wait that long?"

"I'll wait as long as I need to, don't you worry," Keira said tartly. "I'm not some little girl, you know. I'll get to Jak one way or another."

Sig snorted. "Fine, cherry, I'll help you out. But if you end up on the wrong side of the wrong king, don't come cryin' to me."

Keira put a hand on her hip. "Please. Some weird king doesn't scare me."

"Yeah, well," Sig told her, opening the door and gesturing for them both to leave, "that's your mistake, isn't it?"

Mar didn't have a lot of toys.

Out in the Wasteland, parents made due with what they had: a rough-carved slingshot, a patched and frayed stuffed animal, or an old ball made of cloth tied together.

But Mar was often content to find his own playthings. He liked to explore and create, building sandcastles in the throne room and tossing stones into the water to watch the ripples expand.

But his favorite thing to play with was ammunition.

When Damas would clean his rifle, he let Mar sit at his feet and fuss with the bullets, tapping them together and giggling. It never bothered Damas, until the rather memorable time when Mar suddenly glowed an orange-yellow and shot out a fireball the size of his tiny fists at the wall.

After that, Damas only let him play with the empty shells.

Mar had a set, kindly donated by various Wastelanders, of multi-colored ammo shells. A bright yellow blaster shell, a red scatter disk, a sky blue vulcan casing, and an empty purple peacemaker bulb. It was an everyday occurrence for him to sit on the floor and laugh as he clacked them together, playing a game only he knew the rules to.

It was how Damas was so easily able to find him during games of hide and seek. Mar would run down the corridors, stifling giggles, the ammo shells in his pockets clinking together as he moved. Damas would spend a few seconds pretending to search for his son, then pull the boy from beneath a table or behind a pillar to declare his victory.

"Aha! I have found you, little warrior!" Damas would draw his squirming child up to his chest and squeeze him. "Your giggling gave you away!"

It was also how Mar had been taken from him.

Because Damas wasn't the only one who heard those shells jingling that day.

When they took Mar—leaving Damas gasping in a puddle of his own blood, reaching for his son, vision fading fast—the last thing he remembered hearing was the clattering of the shells on the stone floor.

That, and Mar's terrified screams.

Damas jolted awake, his chest tight. He gasped and choked, struggling to catch his breath. It was dark; he could barely see, and he automatically reached out beside him.

"I—!" His hand grabbed nothing but air, leaving him gasping for breath as he tried to orient himself. Distantly, through the fog in his head, he heard someone move towards him. Instinctively, he fumbled for his rifle, but too late; they were already near.

"W-where am I?" he managed to choke out. "Where is—?"

"You're in the cave of wonders," a voice said smoothly. "Here, looky, see? Nothing but prime cave right here!"

Yes. The cave. Jak and Daxter, the Dark Maker. Damas placed his fingers on his pulse point and started to count, while Daxter chattered, leaning casually against his knee.

"You, uh...you okay there, Mr. The King?" Daxter's face betrayed his genuine concern, despite his usually mocking demeanor. "You don't look so great. Little peaky."

Damas inhaled slowly, trying to focus on his breathing. "Just...a nightmare. Nothing to concern yourself with."

With the phantom sound of bullet shells echoing in his ears, Damas stood up, leaning heavily against the wall. "Where is Jak?" he asked, glancing around. The cave was lit by orange morning light, but he saw no one besides himself and Daxter.

"Oh, Jak went out to go screw around in the desert. He, uh, doesn't like being cooped up very much." Daxter waved his paw out towards the mouth of the cave. "I prefer to stay inside, where it's nice and sand-free, thank you very much."

Damas glanced towards the entrance of the cave. The sandstorm had stopped; its erratic winds had given way to a heavy calm. As he headed outside, his heartbeat slowed, comforted by the desert that was his home.

It was early morning, with the sky bathed in the half-light of the sunrise. The air was cool and calm, clear of the typical dust and sand that hung around them. It always got this way after storms, when everything seemed to settle.

Damas glanced around. He could see some animals skittering around in the sand, foraging for food and shelter. A kangarat sniffed a tuft of dried grass and whined a bit, its tail whipping back and forth in the air.

Damas' eyes scanned the area. He half expected to see Jak come careening out of nowhere, probably on that JetBoard of his, spinning in circles and grinning that ferocious grin.

But he didn't see the young man anywhere. At least, not at first.

A beam of red light appeared near the kangarat. Damas almost ducked, his warrior instinct kicking in, but he followed the light up to a rocky ledge. There, peeking out from behind the rocks, he caught a flash of yellow-green hair.

Ah. What a terrible sniper.

For starters, Damas thought as he began to scale the cliffside, Jak was too high up to be aiming at such a close target. That angle put him on the offensive, forcing him to lean forward to get a good shot. A deadly place for a sniper to be.

Of course, he didn't have the sort of range he needed, either. That blaster was almost an insult to Damas, with a measly range of 500 meters. His own rifle could make 1500 meters with a clear shot.

The king hauled himself up onto the ledge. Jak wasn't cut out to be a sniper, Damas thought with a smile. The boy was trying his damndest to stay still, but he was practically vibrating with easy-to-see energy.

Still, he certainly had the heart for it. With his jaw clenched and his face set with determination, he aimed the red laser sight on the red flower blooming on top of a cactus nearby. Slowly, Jak squeezed the trigger on his blaster.

The yellow bullet whizzed through the air, following the red laser sight. It hit the cactus, exploding the plant to green bits in the sand. Jak gave a feral growl of frustration.

"Not as easy as it seems, is it?"

Jak whipped his head around. Damas walked towards him, hands clasped behind his back. Jak rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "...I used to always think I was a good shot. Now I'm not so sure. You didn't miss a single shot back there with the Dark Maker."

"My skills do not diminish your own." Damas sat down beside him, eyeing the boy's position. "I'm quite a bit older than you, Jak, and I have the experience to go with it. You are a good shot, and with practice, you could be a great one."

"Then why can't I hit what I want to?" Jak spat out, frustrated. "I keep missing the damn target."

"Hmm." Damas reached up to the scope. "A sight is a useful tool for any warrior," he explained. With a click, he turned it off, letting the red laser fade away. "But your eyes are more useful. Aim for the kangarat over there."

Jak licked his lips and settled the gun on the rocks. It was weird to not have the laser pointer guiding him. He squinted one eye closed, letting the kangarat come into focus. Beside him, Damas clicked his tongue, but said nothing.

The shot rang out, a yellow bullet streaking through the air. It hit the sand several inches from the kangarat, spraying sand into the air and startling it. Jak bared his teeth as it ran off.

"Keep both eyes open," Damas instructed. "Your aim is based on both eyes. If you close one, you lose a significant amount of your field of vision."

Jak took a deep breath and aimed another shot. This time, he kept his eyes wide open, aiming for a half-buried animal skeleton in the sand. The shot missed again, though it was closer this time.

"Better," Damas commented. "Try again, but aim for a larger target. Something easy to see, easy to hit."

He turned his blaster to a bare, sparse tree that stuck out of the sand. Jak was not the best marksman, Damas would admit, but he was a fast learner. The pair practiced for a while, long enough for the sun to completely rise over the horizon and the air to start becoming hot.

"Okay, why can't I hit it?" Jak was glaring down at the spot he'd just shot. He'd missed the tree completely and hit a rock in the distance. Damas settled his hands on Jak's shoulders. "It's too far left now!"

"You're leaning," Damas said patiently. "If your shoulders are tilted, it throws off your entire line of sight."

He adjusted Jak's shoulders, then gripped his hair to straighten his head. Jak winced. "Ow!"

"Keep both eyes focused on the object," Damas instructed. "But don't shoot yet. Consider your target."

"...Fine." Jak aimed for another flower atop a cactus. "What am I considering?"

"Its size, its distance." Damas folded his arms. "Your blaster packs quite a punch; it has more firepower than a typical rifle. However, that comes at a cost. It's impact is much larger than a rifle's. So, if you are aiming for the flower, but not the cactus, what should you do?"

Jak swallowed and twisted his lips into a thoughtful grin. "...Aim higher?" he guessed. "That way, the blast won't take out the cactus with it."

"Precisely. Now, get to it."

Damas leaned back and watched Jak aim carefully. Thin fingers squeezed the trigger slowly, as if hesitant to actually shoot. "...I think I'm aiming too high."

"You're overcompensating." Damas folded his arms and leaned back. "Remember, your head is higher than your gun. The shot itself will be lower than you think."

Finally, the bullet shot out and streaked across the desert. It blew the flower off with ease; it did leave a scorch mark on the very top of the cactus, but the plant remained intact.

"Yes!" Jak pumped his fist in celebration, eyes bright with pride at his achievement. "I got it!"

"Excellent job." Damas stood up and the teenager followed suit. "I'm impressed by your determination, Jak. Quite the Wastelander spirit."

Jak's smile twisted, became a bitter half-smile, as he said, "Yeah, well...maybe it's lucky I ended up out here after all."

"Ha!" Damas' bark of laughter echoed along the rocks. "You know, my monks believe in fate, a predetermined destiny. I, however, don't care much for it. Fate or luck, it matters not. You are here now, Jak, and I am glad to have you."

Jak's smile widened into a real one. "Really?"

Damas clapped Jak on the back. "Of course. Do not forget that, Jak." He squeezed Jak's shoulder just as another voice echoed around them.

"Hey!" Both of them glanced down, where Daxter was waving a furry paw. "Not to break up this manly little bro-sesh, but, uh, I gotta eat sometime. And let me tell you, I'm not going after one of those kangarats! Yuck!"

Jak leapt off the ledge and landed beside Daxter. "I told you not to eat all the trail mix," he told his friend.

"What are you, my mom?!" Daxter climbed up onto Jak's shoulder. "Besides, trail mix for breakfast? Yeesh, if I wanted to eat garbage, I'd just go back to the city."

Jak and Daxter continued bickering as they walked away, back towards the cave. Damas climbed down from the ledge, landing softly in the sand.

It was strange, he thought, slowly running his hands along the rocky cliff. How many times had he imagined Mar standing exactly where Jak stood? Beside his father, rifle in his hand, eyes sharp on the horizon.

Would Mar have the same struggles that Jak did? Would he need the same guidance, or would he have a natural talent with a gun, like Damas himself had?

He shook his head to clear away his thoughts. There was no use getting lost in dreams of the past or hopes of the future, he thought sternly. He needed to keep his mind in the present, to focus on the crisis at hand.

Damas straightened and started to follow Jak and Daxter. After all, if he had any hope for a future worth living, it rested on their shoulders.

"Well," Seem said with a smile, "it's not spikes or a bottomless pit."

Ionna shot the monk a glare. "...I hate Precursor puzzles."

It had to be morning, or near it; the pair had been searching through corridors in the temple all night. This was the last one; there were no other mapped hallways, no secret passages or tests to open a new door. Just one last corridor, a last hope for them all.

That led directly to a huge room, filled with liquid dark eco.

There was only a small ledge made of Precursor metal that hung over the pool of darkness. Ionna had almost tumbled into the dark eco; it had been Seem's quick hands that grabbed her by the back of her shirt and yanked her back.

"Great," Ionna grumbled, keeping her back against the wall. She didn't like being perched so precariously near death. "Unless Mar's greatest artifact is the deadliest swimming pool of all time..."

"Wait." Seem held her hands up in a symbolic gesture. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. "I can sense something...something in the eco."

"Are you sure?" Ionna asked. "Do you know what it is?"

Seem frowned and shook her head. "I am unsure. But I will find out."

She inhaled deeply and raised her hands. Ionna gripped one of her wrists.

"Be careful," she warned. "If you absorb too much of it…"

"I do not plan to absorb it." Seem set her shoulders and sighed. "I have long since learned my lesson."

Ionna slowly let go, but said nothing. Seem closed her eyes again and slowed her breathing, hands outstretched over the pool.

The eco suddenly exploded into a huge splash, startling Ionna back against the ledge. She could feel flecks of dark eco spitting on her face, giving it a tingly, burning sensation. The wave of dark eco crashed against the walls, as if it were a sea parting. It solidified into deep purple crystals, revealing the floor ten feet below.

The eco snaked up the side of the wall, like grotesque tendrils. There was room to walk towards a statue in the center, an idol of the Precursors. Its eyes were shining with a bright golden color.

The pair dropped down, winding their way through the crystalized dark eco. "Be careful," Seem warned. "If you touch it, the eco is likely to explode."

"Noted." Ionna frowned as they got closer to the idol. Now that they could see it up close, it looked almost like one of the oracles of old. The sort that Mar had written about, long ago, before Haven City was a city at all. "Hmm...Curious. I've never seen one like this before."

"Are those...power cells in its eyes?" Seem asked. She reached out a hand to touch them, but was cut off by the statue suddenly glowing a bright blue. "...?!"

"Warriors of darkness and light...I greet you as old friends."

Seem and Ionna looked at each other. "I don't think we've ever met," Ionna said slowly.

"Meeting is irrelevant for old friends," the oracle boomed, its voice echoing in the chamber. "We are the creators of eco, and you are eco incarnate. Your lives are entwined in our being as surely as the sun is entwined with the moon."

Ionna gave Seem a sideways look. She'd never been much for the flowery language of the Precursors; it was always Seem who understood them best. And by the look of rapt attention on her face, Seem understood them very well.

"You have done well to teach our chosen hero," the oracle continued. Ionna made a mental note to tell Seem "I told you so" later. "You must continue your duty, for he is the key to saving your planet."

"But we need to find the Eco Sphere," Ionna said. "That will power the defense system in the planet's core, correct?"

"All will become clear in time." The oracle's voice left no room for argument. "If you truly wish to save your world, you will continue to teach the young hero, to mold him into the greatest hero time has seen."

Seem clasped her hands in reverent acknowledgement. "I understand, and will do as you command."

Ionna nodded. "And I will do the same."

"Then take these gifts," the oracle commanded. "They will aid you on your journey."

From his strange mouth-like appendage, the power cells dropped down. As Seem and Ionna each took one, curious, the oracle continued.

"We bestow blessings upon your future. May your fight end quickly."

With that, the oracle's glow dimmed, leaving the two of them with only the power cells for light.

Seem stared at the artifact in her hands. "What does this mean?" she asked finally. "Is this...some sort of test?"

"If it is, it's a lousy one." Ionna set the power cell in her pack. "I don't like how close that Day Star is getting. If we're supposed to train Jak, we'd better do it fast."

Seem nodded. "Yes. And let's hope the Precursors...haven't steered us wrong."

Chapter Text

The days following Jak, Daxter, and Damas’ excursion into the desert were strange ones. It seemed that Ionna and Seem were both eager to advance Jak's training in eco, taking up any spare time he had. Not that he minded, since there wasn’t much else to do.

With the arena battles and Wasteland missions suspended, Jak found he was kind of bored. Not to mention, there was something...off about the desert city recently.

While the Spargus citizens themselves seemed as normal as they always were, there was a tension in the air. They were more suspicious, on edge. They kept their guns closer than normal; any loud sound or flash of light, and everyone nearby would jolt, ready to fight. It was almost like the people were gearing up for a war.

“The Day Star is getting closer,” Seem explained as she drove. “It looms over the city, a sign of destruction growing ever so near.”

She and Jak were headed to the Monk Temple for yet another dark eco lesson. He was sitting in the passenger side of the Dune Hopper, looking up at the purple splotch in the sky. “Everybody’s scared, is that what you’re saying?”

“I don’t know about being scared,” she said dryly. “I’ve never known a Wastelander to be afraid of anything, despite all evidence that they should be. However...they have good instincts for danger. And survival. ”

She drove up the winding trail to the mountain, wet sand and rock kicking up from the wheels. Jak glanced over at her. “No luck finding that artifact, huh?”

Seem shook her head, eyes still focused on her driving. “If the Precursors are to be trusted, then it will be found precisely when it needs to be.”

Jak made a noise in his throat. The unspoken question hung in the air: could they be trusted? But Seem ignored it.

“Until it is found,” she continued, “our most prudent plan is to prepare you for whatever it is you might face.” She skidded the buggy to a stop outside the Monk Temple. “Come. We have much to do.”

Jak followed her, as usual, to the Atrium. It was becoming so familiar to him, he could probably find his way alone by now. A spot on the wall, seemingly blank, where her hand opened the way. Down a corridor of stairs and into the huge, open room.

That was, at this moment, completely dark.

The torches that usually lit the room were out. The only source of light came from the eco vents and pipes, shimmering colors that glowed eerily in the darkness.

“Ah. I forgot.” Seem glanced over at Jak. “Do you have a flint?”

“Yeah.” He watched her pull her own out of her pocket. As she went to light one of the torches on the left, he went right to light the ones there. “How come everything is dark?”

“The monks usually have training down here,” Seem explained. “However, they are in seclusion for the next four days. I forgot they would not have been here today.”

“Why do they have to be in seclusion?” He struck the flint and lit a torch on the wall. “What do they do?”

Seem sighed wearily, as if he were a tiring toddler asking too many questions. “The monks perform meditations and reflect on their service to the Precursors. During this time, they remain alone in their chambers and fast.”

“How come you aren’t doing it?”

The click of the flint echoed across the chamber. “I have to train you. My makers will understand if I cannot engage in the rituals I normally do. They will forgive me.”

Jak continued lighting the torches around the Atrium. It was bigger than it seemed, he thought, as he paced around the room. And it seemed almost inhumanely complicated, too. He wondered where all the doors led.

He lit two torches on the wall and started to move to the next one; the carving between them, however, caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks and examined it, head tilted in wonder.

Seem lit the fire pits nearby and looked up at him. “Hurry up,” she commanded. “We do not want to be too late.”

Jak still stared up at the image carved into the stone. It was huge, taking up the entire height of the wall. It looked vaguely familiar to Jak, though he couldn’t place from where. It looked sort of like a sunrise, with lightning bolts splitting from the sun. There were rings around the image, with strange divots lining them. He blinked, trying to recall where he’d seen it before.

Seem was still watching him. “...Are you alright?” she asked hesitantly. Jak snapped back to reality and continued going towards her, lighting the last few torches as he went. 

“Yeah. Just peachy.” He nodded to the carving. “What is that?”

“I’d assume it’s one of the historical symbols.” Seem had finished lighting the torches near her and stood in the center of the room. “Mar and his monks carved many symbols in the walls. Their meanings have long since been lost to time.”

“No idea what it means?” he pressed.

She frowned at him. “None. Why so curious?”

“Nothing. Just looks familiar.” He finished lighting the last torch and headed to meet her in the middle of the Atrium. “Forget I said anything.”

Seem nodded, though she didn’t look convinced, and sat down on the floor. “Very well. Let’s begin.”

He sat down across from her, cross-legged, and started the usual meditations. Deep breathing, focusing his energy, muscle relaxation. He’d done it so much recently, it was becoming second nature. Which, he realized, was probably the whole point.

After a few minutes, Seem said, “If you are prepared, we will take the next step of our training.”

Jak’s eyes flew open. “R-really?” 

“It will be taxing,” she warned. “However...I believe you will prevail.”

Jak gave her a fierce grin. “Okay, let’s go. I want to be able to control this, once and for all!”

Seem shot him a look. “It is nothing more than arrogance to believe that you can control dark eco,” she said flatly. “Not even our Makers were capable of controlling such power.”

Jak’s mind took him back, what seemed like a lifetime ago. An ashen face, with sunken eyes and red pupils. A voice that rasped through the Red Sage’s hut, darker and more inhuman than any he’d heard before.

“We can control it!”

Had Samos been right? Jak had always avoided comparing himself to Gol Acheron by remembering that he’d been forced to channel dark eco. That it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t control it.

Had the same thing happened to the Acherons? Had they simply lost control of something that had become a part of them, and decided to embrace it, just as he did now?

“You are conflicted,” Seem continued, breaking his thoughts. “Dark eco is powerful, but to tap into that power, you must give in to it and accept it.”

Jak stared at her. “You get mind reading powers with your dark eco?” he asked.

“...Dark eco is the eco of raw emotion,” Seem explained. “I may not be able to read minds, but I am familiar with the emotions that come with it.”

“Alright, then,” Jak said. “What do I do? Because I want to use my powers, but…”

“But you are afraid you will lose control,” Seem finished for him. “The first step is, to always base your powers on yourself.”

“What,” he asked flatly, “does that mean?”

“You are merely a vessel for the eco,” she replied. “You cannot control the eco itself, but you can control yourself. Remember your meditative techniques, and ground yourself in them.”

Jak nodded in understanding. Seem continued, “The second step is to determine the key emotion that dark eco brings.”

“What do you mean?”

Seem inhaled softly. “When you are in the arena, your dark power manifests itself as anger and hatred. Rage and violence consume you and you lose control of yourself.”

She abruptly stood up and picked a bronze bowl up from the corner. Jak watched as she siphoned some of the gaseous dark eco into the bowl and liquified it, her hands moving quickly through the air.

“But anger can stem from many other emotions.” She set the bowl down on the floor and sat cross-legged beside it. She gestured for Jak to do the same. “It is rarely what you are truly feeling.”

She pointed to the bowl. “I want you to focus on the eco,” she commanded. “Sense it, feel it, but do not channel it.”

Jak reached out his hand and focused his energy on the eco in the bowl in front of him. He could feel it, like a shadow, hovering over him. His body wanted to absorb the eco, but he kept himself from doing so.

“I can sense it,” he said quietly. “Now what?”

“Describe it for me,” Seem said. “How does it make you feel, what comes to your mind?”

To his mind? A part of him wanted to answer rage, bloodlust, anger, and death. But instead, another emotion seized him. One he’d tamped down, deep inside himself, boxed away. 

Keira’s face when they’d reunited in Haven City. Samos’ voice when he asked what had happened to Jak. Ashelin’s half-hearted objections to Veger when he’d been banished. 

“Hurt.” His voice seemed to echo in the Atrium, reminding him how alone the two of them really were. “I feel...hurt.”

It went deeper than that. It was betrayal and rejection and loss. A childish feeling of abandonment, that he had been thrown away and dismissed so easily by those he cared about. 

“Jak. Take a deep breath.” Seem put a hand over his fist, and he realized he’d been shaking. “Focus on that feeling. What negates it?”

What negated it? Nothing, he thought bitterly. They’d all abandoned him, left him to rot in prison and die in the desert. No one ever tried to save him, no one ever tried to help him. They were all just a bunch of—!

“You are letting your pain get the better of you!” Seem said suddenly, her voice harsh enough to yank him out of his turmoil. “Dark eco latches onto our most negative emotions and amplifies them. You must prove to yourself that there are other emotions! That feeling of hurt you have, it is not the only one you feel.”

He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the meditation he’d done before. Something that negated his feelings…

Well, there was Daxter, of course. He’d always come through for Jak, even if it was with complaints and sarcastic remarks. To Misty Island, to the Baron’s prison, to the Wasteland itself. 

And...and Tess. Tess, who’d spoken up for him when he’d been unable to speak for himself.

Sig, who had refused to fight against Jak, even if it risked his own life.

Damas, who’d given him so many chances at redemption, and praised him all the way.

Ionna, who’d saved his life, then taught him more than he could ever learn on his own.

Even Seem, who was here now, teaching him to keep his darkness at bay.

“Good,” Seem murmured. “Do you see? The eco will try to trick you, to convince you that the worst emotion is the most important. But you must be ready to tell yourself the truth, and to believe it.”

She stood up and he did the same. “You’re going to transform again,” she said. “I will overload you with eco. This time, focus on your emotions. Recognize the negative emotion attached to the dark eco, and block it out with the positive emotions.”

It sounded a bit strange, if Jak was being honest. A little too much like some new-age Havenite nonsense. But he was willing to give it a shot.

“Are you prepared?” Seem asked, her hands outstretched, ready to move the dark eco towards him.

Jak tensed, bracing himself. “Ready.”

With a flick of her wrist, Seem sent dark eco streaming into him. He felt the rough, harsh bitterness slam into him, coursing through him. It sent him into the usual transformation, but he was prepared this time.

For the first time, he was aware of the sudden rush of emotion. The eco crackled over his skin, sinking in and seizing his whole being. He felt that sinking feeling, a bad memory, and felt his fangs push into his lips. 

Jak growled as the hurt and shame washed over him. He pictured his friends, memories of Daxter’s loud mouth and Tess’ bright smile, of Damas’ teachings and Sig’s nicknames. 

And he began to change back. 

His claws receded, his eyes lightened to their usual blue. Panting, he did as Seem taught him: he focused on his breathing. Eventually, he felt the last bit of darkness recede, curl itself inside of him, dormant and calm. 

“Excellent.” Seem pulled the eco out of him and Jak let out a sigh. “I saw you start to change, but you managed to block it before it complete took over. Nicely done.”

He gave a shaky laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. He felt exposed and almost...raw, he supposed; as if he’d had a layer of himself stripped away. “Thanks.”

“Do not be fooled, however,” she warned. She began to siphon the eco back into the vents. “It will not always be so easy. We had time to prepare, to walk through the steps required. In the heat of the moment, it is much easier to get lost in negative emotions.”

Jak nodded. “Yeah...I get it. I’ll be careful.”

“That’s enough for tonight.” She brought a cistern of water and he gratefully took a drink. “Breathe deeply and rest. You did well.”

“Thanks.” He drank a good bit, his exertion making him thirsty. Seem waited while he relaxed for a few moments. “...So I’m doing better?”

“Of course.” Seem looked surprised. “You managed to avoid transforming. We call that progress, hero.”

Jak grinned as he stood up. “I guess it’s thanks to you.”

Seem gave him a wry smile back. “Consider it a down payment for saving the world.”

He took one last drink and then capped off the cistern. He started to head for the door, but hesitated and turned back. “Hey, Seem, can I ask you a question?”

“You may.” She had set the cistern back where it belonged and turned to him, arms folded. 

“You said that dark eco amplifies negative emotions, and that makes you angry enough to lose control.”

“Correct.”

Jak rubbed the back of his head. “So...what emotion do you feel when you get near dark eco?”

Seem stilled, her eyes widening slightly. Finally, she said, “I don’t remember. I’ve spent so many years tamping down on those negative feelings, it’s become automatic to me. I haven’t had to go through these steps since I was a child.”

Jak tilted his head, but Seem ignored him. “Safe journey back to the city,” she said told him. Before he knew it, she had left through one of the Atrium doors, the Precursor metal shutting behind her.

As he started to leave the Monk Temple, Jak wondered if Seem had been totally truthful with him.

It was insensitive, Ionna said, to hold a coronation an hour after the funeral.

“It is tradition,” Onin said, her voice soft and calm. “The new king must be crowned as soon as possible, to prevent any gaps in the chain of command. Such is our burden, to ensure it is done.”

“I’m sure that’s a comfort to the grieving prince,” Ionna replied dryly. She was applying the paint to her face in quick, easy motions. Seem was fascinated; she would never be able to do it as fast as Ionna did!

“And I don’t like that they requested Seem be present, either,” Ionna added. She touched the paint up a bit around the corner of her eyes. “I know I wasn’t ready to jump into the world of politics when I was ten. She’s too young.”

“Be that as it may,” Onin said, “Seem is an acolyte of dark eco. She will have her own duties in court. She may as well see what it’s like now.”

Onin gave Seem an affectionate pat on the back. Ionna capped the white paint off and set it aside, turning towards her young charge.

“Alright, then. Seem, hood up.”

“Right!” Seem yanked the rubber hood up over her head. It was a traditional covering that all the monks wore once they were of age. Ionna smiled as she pulled her own hood up.

“Be mindful of your words.” Onin nodded at them both. “You are the new king’s advisor. Be respectful and make a good first impression.”

Ionna frowned. “I still think you should be the one who goes. I’m not the leader yet.”

Onin gently took Ionna’s hand and squeezed. “This is a new king, so it is time for a new monk. Consider it a rebirth of sorts, a chance for the new generation to make their start.”

With Onin making a gesture of farewell, Ionna led Seem out of the Mountain Temple, into the city. Seem had never been outside Haven Forest before; it was a lot more gray than she was used to.

She knew that Ionna and Onin went into the city sometimes, to meet with what Ionna called “important people.” Today, she supposed, was her day to meet some important people.

“Back straight, Seem, just like we practiced.” 

Seem did as she was told, shifting her shoulders. “Like this?” she asked.

Ionna glanced down at her and smiled. “Yeah. Like that.”

They went to a huge building and into an elevator. It wasn’t like the one Seem was used to: instead of gleaming orange Precursor metal, it was a dark silver. It made a grinding noise as they went up. They went through a few winding halls and ended up in a huge room, with glass panes that looked down over the city.

Seem looked around in wonder. There was a throne in the center of the room, with a boy on it. He was staring at a crown in his hands; Seem thought he looked rather sad and kind of small. Beside him was a huge, hulking man with metal armor strapped onto him.

“We welcome you, young eco sages.” The big man’s voice boomed through the throne room as he bowed to them. “Your presence is appreciated.”

Ionna bowed respectfully, so Seem did the same. “Thank you, General Praxis,” she said evenly. “It is my pleasure to advise you and the king in any way that may be needed.”

She turned to Damas and bowed again. “First of all, Your Highness, my condolences on the loss of your father. He was a good man, and will be sorely missed.”

The boy on the throne—Damas, she called him—shifted in his seat, finally looking up from the crown he held. “...Thank you.”

“I am Ionna, the acolyte of light eco.” She settled a hand on Seem’s thin shoulder. “And this is Seem, the acolyte of dark eco.”

“Fascinating.” Praxis stepped forward, his eyes on Seem. His face—almost maniacal, obsessed—made her feel weird. Ionna must’ve felt the same way, because she stiffened beside Seem.

“This young child holds the power of ultimate destruction.” He stood before them, towering over Seem as he looked down. “I’ve seen some of the things dark eco can do...terrifying and dangerous, but powerful. I have no doubt your powers will be of use to us in this war.”

This man made Seem feel...uneasy. She couldn’t quite place the emotion that struck her. She resisted the urge to step back, away from him, remembering Onin’s words about a good impression. 

“I’m sure you would like to defeat the metal heads, wouldn’t you?” Praxis rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes faraway. “Think of what we can do...I’m imagining bombs and missiles, weapons beyond all comprehension. We could tear through our enemies, go right to the metal head leader if we wanted to!”

He was getting louder now, his voice filled with zealous excitement. Seem hunched her shoulders and felt something flood through her, something fierce, like she wanted to wail her fists against this man until he left. As he moved a bit closer, Ionna made a movement to step in front of Seem, as if to shield her, but—

“Praxis!”

Damas’ voice was sharper than Seem expected; he’d been so quiet before, that he seemed like a different person now. He stepped down from the throne, the steel of his boots clicking on the floor. Ionna gripped Seem’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” she whispered to the girl. Seem nodded, but she still felt...off. When she looked down at her hands, she realized there was dark eco coursing along her palms. She was shaking, so she tried to force herself to calm down.

“You’re frightening her.” Damas stood toe-to-toe with Praxis. He looked even smaller now, next to the behemoth of a man. However, there was something about the way he stood, his chin tilted up defiantly and his back straight, that made Seem think he was also kind of scary.

In a good way.

“I understand you want to win the war,” Damas continued. “But now is not the time to discuss such things. Perhaps it would be best if you returned to the Council and gave them an update.”

At first, Praxis wrinkled his nose. However, he quickly smoothed his face out and said, “Yes, Your Highness. Of course.”

They waited until Praxis had exited, heading for another room, before Damas turned back to the pair. “My apologies,” he said. “General Praxis is...let’s just say, he’s very passionate about defeating the metal heads.”

Ionna let go of Seem’s shoulder, relaxing a bit. “Apology accepted, Your Highness.” She watched as he went back to the throne and picked up the crown he’d set aside. “But I feel I should make myself clear: Seem is still too young to be involved in the war effort. She came to meet you as a formality, not as an invitation.”

“Of course. I will speak with Praxis about it.” He returned to them, the crown in his hands. “Seem, please do not worry about any of what he was saying.”

She nodded up at him and he smiled kindly. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Damas turned to Ionna. “You will have to forgive my rudeness,” he told her, holding out the crown. “My father had a great respect for the monks, as do I. However, I’m not one for pageantry, and I’ve had a long day. Would you mind?”

“Of course.” She took the crown from him and he bowed his head. She cleared her throat and recited the oath Seem had heard her practice with Onin.

“Damas of the House of Mar, we the Precursor Monks bestow upon you the birthright of your ancestors. We crown you King Damas, ruler of Haven City.”

She repeated the words in the old Precursor language, then set the crown on his head. “Congratulations, Your Highness,” she finished. “May the Precursors bless your reign.”

Chapter Text

Havenites. Sig didn't know what was wrong with 'em.

"You're gonna wear that out into the desert?"

Keira frowned and cocked her hip. "What, is there a dress code in the Wasteland?" she drawled.

She was wearing the same outfit she usually wore: purple pants, basic leather boots, and (by Sig's approximation) half a shirt. As he watched, she straightened the goggles around her neck and adjusted the bag across her back.

"Just don't complain to me if you get a nasty sunburn," Sig commented. "Desert sun ain't no Sunday afternoon picnic."

"I'll be fine," Keira said dismissively. "If Jak and Daxter can handle it, so can I."

Sig shrugged. "Fine by me. Get in here so we can get movin'."

Keira climbed into the transport and took a seat across from Sig. As she set her bag down by her feet, the hatch shut behind them. She settled comfortably in her seat and looked out the window as they took off.

The transport rose over the port, higher and higher until it was over the wall of Haven City. They could see for miles in the hazy morning light: the dunes of the Wasteland, the peaks of far-off mountains. Spargus was too far into the desert to see from Haven, but that didn't stop Keira from squinting at the horizon.

"Get comfortable, chili pepper." Sig took his peacemaker off his back and set it beside him. "It'll probably be an hour, hour and a half before we reach Spargus."

Keira nodded and reached for her bag. "Good thing I brought my blueprints," she said brightly. She yanked out a blue notebook and a pen. "I can get some work done on my next project."

Most of the ride was spent like this: complete silence, except for the scratching of Keira's frantic scribbles. Eventually, Sig let his curiosity get the better of him. He craned his neck over to see what she was sketching.

It looked like Jak's JetBoard, but it was longer and thinner. Below, in another sketch, the same board had what looked like a sail sticking up. Keira saw him looking.

"It's a new version of the JetBoard," she explained. "It's more maneuverable and uses less energy than the one Jak has. I was hoping to build a prototype soon, but...well, let's just say my garage isn't in working order anymore."

Right. The Stadium had been crushed, buried under the rubble of the Palace. He folded his arms. "Well, maybe if he's in a good mood, Kleiver'll let you use his garage. 'Course, he'll probably want payment for the privilege."

Keira shrugged and gave him a wistful look. "It's not quite the same. Someone else's garage isn't mine, you know? I spent two years clawing my way up to that garage. Now...it's just gone."

She was quiet then, looking out the window over the desert. Sig didn't push it; clearly, she was still feeling the loss. Keira shifted a bit and said, "It's a lot prettier out here than you'd expect."

Sig glanced out the window himself. They were getting closer, flying lower to the ground. They'd just passed the river and Keira was staring at the waterfall cascading down. "Not like Haven, I'll tell you. Spend some time outside the city walls and you'll never want to go back."

Keira gave him a strange look. "Jak didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

She looked back out the window. "Jak, Daxter, and I didn't grow up around here," she explained. "We only came to Haven City a few years ago."

That was a surprise. One that made a lot of sense, now that Sig thought about it. Jak was definitely not a typical Havenite. He'd always chalked the teenager's strange bitterness and biting anger up to spending his formative years in prison. But, he mused, if Jak had grown up somewhere else and ended up in Haven City…

Well, free birds didn't like being caged.

"We don't belong here," Keira said suddenly. Sig raised an eyebrow at her. "We should've gone back home, but Daddy said we needed to stay here…"

She exhaled slowly and pushed her bangs out of her face. Sig noticed her face, a mixture of sadness and anger. "You okay, cherry?"

She shook her head. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Just...getting lost in my thoughts, you know? It's not like you can relate. Haven City's your home, it's where you come from. We...don't."

Sig folded his arms and smirked. "...Who said I was from Haven?" he remarked.

Keira stared at him. "No one, I guess. I just figured…"

"Nah, cherry." He looked out over the sands. On the horizon, you could make out the ruins of an ancient settlement, centuries old, the worn and crumbling stone standing against the morning sun. "I was born right here in the Wasteland."

Back before Spargus was a city in the desert, back when all that existed there was a bubbling volcano and old ruins, there were only two types of people in the Wasteland: Marauders and Nomads.

Marauders were strong, fighters to the very end, killing and taking what they needed. They were violent, but they never wanted for anything.

Nomads were the peaceful ones, the ones who grew and scavenged, who tried to continue a normal life when banished. They struggled and fought and, like plants that sprouted among the rocks, survived against all odds.

The Nomads lived in the ruins and oases that dotted the desert, hiding amongst the crumbling stone buildings. More than anything, their poverty kept them safe from other people: Marauders wouldn't kill them for their possessions, since they had none.

Nothing kept them safe from metal heads.

Sig was an in-between child: his father was a Marauder and his mother was a Nomad. His father hadn't stuck around; Marauders never did. So Sig lived as a Nomad, in a tiny, long-destroyed village with his mother. She made armor and traded it to the Marauders for whatever they needed. She was famous amongst them, because his mama could make armor out of anything. He remembered sitting on a broken stone, watching as she pounded molten metal into a form.

"Remember, chili pepper," she said in that soft, lyrical voice of hers. "Gotta take care of your armor. Take care of it, it'll take care of you."

As a child, she told him stories of the great hero, Mar, and the eco sages, and whatever else was etched in the walls of the ruins. At night, holding a stuffed bear she'd sewn him from their old clothes, he'd go to sleep to the tales of Mar. She would tuck the blankets around him and get a mug to drink yakow milk out of. 

Sig always had trouble falling asleep. The yakow milk helped him ease into slumber, so his mama always made sure they had some. Even if she had to trade twice what it was actually worth.

He asked her if she'd ever been in the city they talked about. Mar's Haven. She'd shake her head, beads on the end of her braids chiming together, and remind him that she'd been born in the Wasteland, too.

"My papa's papa had lived in Haven City," she said. "I don't know why he was banished."

Not that Sig really cared. He didn't really want to live anywhere but the desert. His mama sometimes talked wistfully of the safety and security of walls, but Sig preferred the freedom he was born with.

When he was around ten or eleven, rumors sprouted up of a city in the desert, built in the ruins up north. At first, his mother hadn't really paid any attention; there were always people trying to build safety out here, but it always failed.

That is, until she heard that the city had been built by the Precursor monks and the banished heir of Mar. Then her eyes lit up and she started making plans. They left the ruins when he was fifteen, in search of a practically mythical city.

They found a lot of metal heads. Barely escaped sometimes, got scars and broken bones that never quite healed right. His mother would collapse sometimes, coughing from the dry sand and limited water. They found the caves that protected them from the sandstorms, found streams and hidden springs to get water. Found cacti and plants to eat.

But no city.

And then, just when he was about to give up and just accept that his mama had been too foolishly trustful of Mar, he found it.

Shining in the distance, burning a bright beacon, he saw it.

Halfway there, his mama collapsed again, weakly telling him to continue. That he deserved safety, even if she died for it.

But he didn't want safety for him. He wanted safety for his mother.

So Sig picked her up and carried her to the city she had so dreamed of.

When he arrived at Spargus, the monks whisked them away to the palace, pools of water swirling around, decadent in a way that resonated with desert folks. When he saw his mother open her eyes, smile and cry at the strong city around them, he almost cried himself.

Then Sig was brought in front of a king. This king didn't look like much; maybe because Sig had expected the heir of Mar to be someone with power and strength, he'd expected an old, wise, warrior of a man.

Instead he got a man who was only maybe twenty-five or so. He wasn't particularly intimidating, physically speaking. He was certain if he stood shoulder to shoulder with this king, Sig would definitely tower over him.

But, as he would learn, Damas' strength was subtle. He gave commands easily and confidently, expecting his word to be law and getting it in return. He had the kind of power that was earned, fought for and bled for. He was a mountain against a fierce, screaming wind.

Sig could respect that sort of strength.

He met the monks, with their peaceable ways and stern morality. His mama was a big fan of them, always reminding Sig to treat them with civility and respect. After all, she explained, they were the servants of the Precursors.

In Spargus, his mama set up a smith shop and sold her armor. Wastelanders always needed armor, Damas told him once. Out in the desert, armor got cracked and caked in sand, destroyed so easily. To find a good smith? Priceless.

Sig, though, was a fighter. He earned his battle amulet in the arena, became a citizen, fought his way into Damas' favor. Day after day, mission after mission, fight after fight. And before he knew it, he was the king's right-hand man, the one he confided in and relied on.

His mama was so proud of him. She was retired now, but she still had her dedicated customers, Damas being among them. She liked to poke fun at him whenever he came in to get his cracked or chipped armor repaired.

"The spikes might look intimidating," she teased, "but remember, chili pepper: a bullet doesn't care what your armor looks like, just what it's made of."

But she'd made it, just to his specifications, flawless and strong. "Comes with a lifetime guarantee," she told all her customers. Then, she'd give a fierce grin at them.

"Not that anything is guaranteed in this life."

Sig and Keira reached the city just before noon. "Alright, cherry, we're here," he said, gesturing for her to get out. "Welcome to Spargus, the forgotten city itself."

As they walked along the wall of the city, Keira seemed fascinated by the tall, bright torch that lit the sky from Spargus. She squinted up towards it, shading her eyes with her hand.

"It's a lot...more than I expected," she commented. "I can't believe a city like this has survived out here for so long!"

The doors of Spargus opened and Sig led her into the garage. He saw her look at the buggies before them, eyes shining with barely repressed longing. He cleared his throat and nodded his head forwards.

He'd been hoping to have Keira come in and get out before Damas noticed she was in the city. Any hope of that, however, was gone when he spotted the king himself, talking to Kleiver.

"...nasty sandstorm," Kleiver was saying. "Beacons didn't reach the comm tower. Not gonna lie, your lordship, I thought you and the youngling were done for."

Damas had his hands clasped behind his back. "We nearly were. These Dark Makers are formidable foes."

Kleiver scoffed. "We've been up against some rough fellows before. Get enough Wastelanders together and we can take 'em."

"Never underestimate an enemy," Damas reminded him. "Especially considering how little we know about these particular ones. If the old tales hold true, the Dark Makers have been the downfall of many others before us."

Kleiver looked like he was about to say something back, but it was then that Damas noticed the newcomers. He turned to Sig and tilted his chin up imperiously.

"Sig." His eyes slid to Keira, who put her hands on her hips. "Who is this?"

"Keira. She's a friend of Jak and Daxter." For a minute, Sig was sure Damas would blow a gasket, but he simply watched the newcomer carefully. "Mechanic from the big smoke."

Kleiver snorted derisively, but Damas shot him a look that silenced him.

"Why have you come to Spargus?" The king's gaze turned steady on her, but she didn't seem to be bothered by it. "This city is the home of the exiled...yet here you stand, a visitor in a strange land."

"It's not that strange," Keira said dryly. "Weirdest thing I've seen out here is whatever's sticking out of your head."

Damas frowned, affronted, and gently touched the spikes on his head. "It's a crown, and you would do well to remember who wears it." He folded his arms. "You still have not answered my question. Why are you here?"

Keira's courage seemed to falter a bit, but Sig had to give her credit: she still stared Damas down with all she had. "Just checking up on Jak."

Damas looked her up and down, as if he were appraising her. "...We in the Wasteland value survival above all else," he said finally. "Under normal circumstances, all those who set foot in Spargus must go through a combat trial. However…"

The king glanced up at the sky, at the purple spark that signaled the Dark Maker ship. "We...are not under normal circumstances. Spargus requires that all those inside it contribute to the good of the city. So long as you are valuable to my people, I will allow you to stay. Be thankful that our situation allows you leeway."

"Wow, how generous." Keira turned to Sig while Damas narrowed his eyes. "Can we go find Jak now?"

"Jak should be in the infirmary with Ionna," Damas said suddenly. He hardly seemed bothered by Keira's sardonic attitude. "I believe she's having him do his training there."

"Alright, cherry." Sig nodded towards the entrance of the city. "Let's get moving."

Keira hadn't expected the desert city to actually be...well, a city.

Jak had a tendency to sugarcoat things; he didn't like people to worry about him. When she'd ask him what he had for dinner, it was like pulling teeth to get him to admit that, okay, it was just sunflower seeds and water from the port, but it was food, right?

Or the time he'd dragged himself into her garage, arm bleeding profusely and leg bent at a strange angle. She'd helped patch him up, gotten him some green eco. When she asked what happened, he'd just grunted, "Trouble with some KGs. I'm fine, it doesn't even hurt."

So when he'd told them he found a city in the desert, she'd expected...well, some small little village, at most. More like a collection of tents with a few other banished criminals hanging around.

But this place was an actual city, with actual infrastructure. As Sig led her through, she spotted a thriving bazaar, bustling with early risers, haggling over prices and trades. There were irrigation pipes haphazardly attached to the walls, clearly makeshift, but working all the same.

No Zoomers, she noticed, but the fact was hardly surprising. After all, in this kind of heat? A Zoomer would need at least a moderate heat shield in order to function properly. Plus, some kind of protection from the sand, too. Ugh, if only she could get her hands on those vehicles she'd seen, maybe she could construct some kind of desert-suitable Zoomer and then—

"We're here, cherry." Sig's voice interrupted her thoughts. They were in front of a door, identical to those around it. If he hadn't stopped, Keira never would've thought it was anything special.

A bell above the door jingled as they stepped inside. It was definitely an infirmary, with beds and curtains lining one wall. On the other side, washing something in the basin in a counter, a woman looked over at them.

She wasn't young; her face was creased with laugh lines and worry wrinkles. But, as Keira looked closer, she didn't seem old, either. Sure, her hair was a shocking, almost-white color. But she didn't move like Onin or Samos did, with aching bones and a hunched back. In fact, as she moved towards them, she had a certain vitality to her that seemed almost youthful.

"Morning, Ionna," Sig greeted. "Good to see you again."

"The same to you." Ionna raised an eyebrow at them both. "Isn't she a bit young for you?"

"Ha ha." Sig folded his arms, while Ionna wiped her hands on a rag. "Keira here belongs to Jak and Daxter. You seen 'em around anywhere?"

Ionna jerked her head towards the clock that hung on the wall. "They're due in about ten minutes."

Due here? Keira glanced around the building.

It looked remarkably sterile, considering the environment. The stone floor didn't have a single spec of sand lying on it, and the walls were whitewashed with what she assumed was lye. All the countertops and tables had an immaculate sheen to them, as if they were frequently cleaned.

It certainly didn't seem like the type of place Jak would hang around in his spare time, but Jak had always surprised her.

"...can't believe Damas let her in without an arena battle," Ionna was saying. Keira refocused on what she was saying. "That's certainly a change in demeanor for him."

"He'd got bigger things to worry about." Sig leaned against the counter. "Speaking of which, how's it going out here?"

Keira listened intently. Ionna leaned against the counter next to Sig and sighed. "The Day Star is getting closer," she told him. "Not that anyone is any closer to finding that damned artifact. Not to mention, more of those satellites keep falling from the sky."

"Any more in the city?"

Ionna shook her head, her braid swinging behind her back. "No, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time. They won't ignore Spargus forever. When the time comes to defend our city, I hope we're up to the task."

"Don't you guys have a shield wall?" Keira blurted out. Ionna and Sig both gave her amused looks. "What's with that face?"

Sig shook his head, grinning. "Listen, cherry, Haven has a lot of resources available. Mines, eco wells, factories…"

"Out here, we're a bit behind the times, technologically speaking," Ionna explained patiently. "We don't have an eco grid or anything like that. Nothing but ourselves and our weapons to protect us."

Keira must've looked shocked, because Sig laughed. "Havenites. Softer than bread."

"Well, we can't all be crazy desert people," Keira huffed. Ionna laughed. "I'm just saying, it's really surprising that a city can survive out in the Wasteland without even a shield wall."

"Surprising, perhaps," Ionna admitted. "But we have little choice. And besides, for all his faults, Damas knows how to survive in war."

Their conversation was cut off by the sound of the bell jingling and a loud voice carrying through the room.

"If you don't wanna support my dream, that's fiiiine by me," Daxter was saying. "I'll run the Taste of Wasteland all by myself. Tessie'll help me."

"I just can't figure out why you're calling it Taste of Wasteland, if it's a souvenir shop." Jak's voice was a lot lower, but she recognized it all the same. Strange, since she'd only really heard him speak this past year. "What are they supposed to be tasting?"

"It's metaphorical taste, genius!"

"What does that even mean?!"

Jak and Daxter appeared, stopping short when they saw her. For just a second, Jak blinked in surprise, looking so much like the boy she'd grown up with. "K-Kiera?"

"Jak! Daxter!" She almost ran up and hugged him, but remembered how much he disliked being hugged nowadays. She hung back instead, clapping her hands together. "I'm so glad to see you!"

"Yeah, me, too…" He stepped forward hesitantly. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I just wanted...to see you…" Now that she was out here, actually face to face with Jak, it seemed kind of stupid. "To make sure you were okay."

"We're fine," Daxter said. "So good, we're even makin' business plans. Real quick, Keira, would you buy a bottle of exotic sand, carefully cultivated in a premium bottle made with the finest glass?"

"Would I pay for a jar of dirt? No." Keira folded her arms, but couldn't help but smile. "It's great to see you, too, Daxter."

"You came all the way out here just to visit?" Jak asked. "And...Damas was okay with that?"

"Sure. Don't you know no one can resist my charming demeanor?" she teased. Sig snorted loudly, but didn't say anything. "Anyway, I can only stay for a few days. Daddy...um, well, he doesn't know I came all the way out here."

And she certainly didn't want to be around when he found out. Her father had an overprotective streak, despite all she'd accomplished in the years without him. Then again, maybe that was why he had an overprotective streak.

"You shouldn't have done that." Ionna's voice came from behind them. Keira blinked at her as she stepped towards them, a sad sort of look on her face. "A parent should never have to worry about whether their child will make it home."

The room grew awkward in its silence; clearly, there was something Keira was missing. Jak looked down at his shoes, obviously uncomfortable. Daxter winced and muttered something about spikes, and Sig placed a hand on Ionna's shoulder.

"Don't you and Jak have something to do?" he asked gently. "Maybe you oughta get to it."

"Of course." All melancholy forgotten, Ionna moved briskly to a shelf, where jars were neatly lined up. She pulled one off and went to Jak. "Your friend may be here, but there is no time to slack off. Let's begin."

"Right." Jak took the jar from her and shot Keira a mischievous grin. "Wanna see something cool?"

Chapter Text

“Okay, it’s pretty cool,” Keira admitted. “But I’ve seen cooler.”

The light eco burst off Jak’s skin, revealing her friend underneath. “What? What have you ever seen that was cooler than that?”

She cocked her hip. Admittedly, it was cool to watch Jak use light eco, especially since he was doing things she’d never even imagined with it. Her researcher mind went wild with the possibilities: an impenetrable shield? Moving so fast, he was invisible? Healing powers?

It was strange, she thought. Keira had spent most of her life around eco. She’d grown up watching Samos use green eco to heal the villagers in Sandover. Her childhood had been spent next to Daxter, the two of them marvelling as Jak channeled blue eco like he was born to do it. 

And yet, seeing Jak use light eco so easily just reminded her that he had always been special. He had always been different, gifted with powers no one else seemed to have.

“Don’t you remember the last time you channeled light eco?” she asked dryly. “You blew up a Precursor robot!”

“Oh, right.” Jak scratched the back of his head. “I guess I forgot about that.”

Sig snorted. “This ain’t one of Daxter’s tall tales, is it?”

“So there I was!” Daxter began, but Jak swatted at him. “Whaat?! I’m just tellin’ the story of my heroic victory.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jak rolled his eyes.

“It’s true,” Keira confirmed. “Trust me, I saw it! Jak channeled light eco and just...bam!” She made a shooting motion. “He blew the whole robot away!”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Daxter straightened on Jak’s shoulder. “That’s not...it can’t be!”

“What is it, Daxter?” Keira had almost forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of Daxter’s sudden, ear-splitting shrieks. She didn’t miss it.

“Shootin’ fireballs outta your hands!” He narrowed his eyes at Ionna. “Is that one of these eco powers you keep sayin’ you’re gonna teach us?”

Ionna gave him a cryptic smile. “...You tell me. Does it sound like one of the powers of light eco?”

Jak pursed his lips thoughtfully. Finally, he snapped his fingers. “Yellow eco! It’s...the power of yellow eco.”

Ionna nodded approvingly. “Correct. Yellow eco lets you shoot projectiles, and so light eco allows you to do the same.”

She went to the bookshelf that was against one of the walls. She carefully slid one of the thick tomes out and opened it up. “Since you have a friend here, perhaps today would be a good day to focus on theory, rather than practical skills.”

“Ha!” Sig grinned and shoved himself off the counter he was leaning on. “And that’s my cue to leave. Sorry, cherries, but I already passed this class.”

“Straight A’s, I’ll bet,” Daxter snarked. Sig just laughed as he strode out into Spargus, leaving Daxter to turn to Ionna. “You’re not gonna lecture at us like the Moldy Oldy used to, are you?”

She gestured to the chairs nearby. “Why don’t you join me and find out?”

The training grounds were a huge, open field nestled between two cliffs in the Mountain Temple. Ionna and Seem were the only ones permitted to use them: though the monks were trained in hand-to-hand combat, only the Sages had truly destructive abilities.

Ionna exhaled slowly as she moved through her forms. Each eco power had its own set of movements she had to learn, its own way of flowing through her body. As she felt the eco gather in her chest, she pulled for a thread of blue eco. It was there, a crackle of energy that she could use. She exhaled again and clapped her hands.

As her clap rang through the grounds, Ionna felt the eco shoot through her body, flickers of electricity invading her muscles as she moved. Everything was a blur; her movements were quick and effortless as she leapt into the spring of water. It splashed in slow motion, the water bursting off the surface, even as her feet left the spring itself. 

But she had no time to watch the water. She let the blue eco fizzle out and spun around towards the cliffside. As the blue eco faded from her body, red eco swirled to fill the hole. It pulsed through her muscles, powerful as she punched the air. Three strikes at an imaginary opponent, followed by a spin-kick to knock them down. 

Quickly, before her imaginary enemy could recover, she reached into herself and pulled on the yellow eco. It swelled to her fingertips and exploded into a fireball, hitting the cliff and forming a small crater. The light eco faded and Ionna exhaled, letting her arm fall.

“Wow, and here I thought all monks were pacifists.”

She jerked her head. Behind her, watching from on the edge of the cliff above her, stood Damas. She hadn’t seen him since the coronation a few days ago. He seemed a bit happier since then, though she wasn’t surprised. From what she knew of the royal family, Damas had been close to his father; no doubt he had still been mourning his death.

(Many years later, she would see Damas in worse grief. It was expected for a son to outlive his father. But no father was prepared to outlive his son.)

Ionna bowed her head from below him. “Your Highness. What brings you to our humble temple?”

Damas climbed down from the cliff and landed next to her, bouncing on his feet. “I’ve never seen eco used like that before. It’s...kind of fascinating.”

Standing face to face with him, Ionna couldn’t help but notice how young the new king was. He was short, only around her height. He kept his green hair in thick, short dreadlocks, pulled up into a ponytail on top of his head. The crown she’d placed on his head a few days ago was askew, tilted in a haphazard way. She gestured to it.

“Your crown is crooked.”

“Huh? Oh!” Damas straightened it. “Ha, I suppose I’m just not used to it yet.”

He was barely sixteen. So young to be king.

And yet, here she was, only seventeen. So young to be a sage.

“You have not answered my question, Lord Damas.” Ionna clasped her hands together. “Rarely do visitors come to the temple. What brings you?”

“Onin sent for me,” he explained. “I haven’t gotten a chance to leave the palace in a few days, so I figured I’d stop by now.”

“Onin sent for you?” Ionna raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you go to her?”

Damas rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Well...I got lost,” he admitted. Ionna fought back a smile. “This place is huge! I just...wondered around for a while and found you.”

“Ah. Well, I suppose if you’re not used to it, the temple is very labyrinthian.” She pointed back towards the path behind him. “Onin is usually at the bottom level of the main chamber. But you’ll have to wait until sundown,” she added. “That’s when her meditations end.”

“Oh.” Damas squinted at the sun, an hour or so away from setting on the horizon. He hesitated, then asked, “Since I’m waiting...would you mind if I train with you?”

Ionna blinked at him. “Train with me?” she repeated. “As in, combat?”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged. “I always spar with Praxis, but he tends to focus on gun battles. I could use some hand-to-hand practice.” He gave her a flash of a smile. “Besides, I’ll get to see your powers in action.”

Ionna hummed thoughtfully. “Well...if you wish, I suppose it would do no harm.”

Damas readied himself in a battle stance, fists up. Ionna inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. She felt the glimmer of light eco in her chest, like a second heartbeat. “Ready yourself, Your Highness. I will not go easy on you.”

Damas’s grin became a fierce smirk, all teeth. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

She smiled back, just as fierce. She pulled on a thread of blue eco and, with a resounding echo, clapped her hands together.

Jak felt a bit like a child again, sitting and listening to someone read out of a book. Of course, he’d never been much for Samos’ lessons; maybe it was his age, but he hadn’t been able to sit still long enough to listen to the old man lecture about eco.

But, as Ionna showed them the images in the old book, he found himself just as fascinated as Keira.

“There are two ways to channel eco,” Ionna explained. “Think of them as...offensive and defensive. Each eco can be used either to attack or to defend.” She gestured to the diagram, leaning forward so they could see.

“For example, yellow eco gives you the power of projectile motion, to propel the eco to your enemies. That’s its offensive channeling.”

Jak skimmed the book. He didn’t understand the writing, and by the look on his friends’ faces, neither did they. But they could understand the sketches drawn on the page. One was a fireball-like picture, obviously the yellow eco shooting power. However, next to it was a picture that looked almost like an eye.

“But yellow eco also has a defensive power. Can you tell what it is?” Ionna was watching them patiently, waiting.

Jak ran his finger over the eye absent-mindedly. An eye? He tried to imagine what he’d done when he channeled yellow eco. He’d felt it rush to his fingers, ready to shoot out at a moment’s notice. He would pull his goggles down over his eyes, focusing and zooming in to find his target...

Damas’ voice echoed in his ears. Calm and patient as he explained how to shoot like a sniper.

A sight is a useful tool for any warrior. But your eyes are more useful.

“It makes your eyesight better,” Jak said firmly. “So that you can aim.”

“Oh! That makes a lot of sense,” Keira commented.

Ionna gave them a smile and took the book back, flipping through it. “Exactly. Now, consider your shield for a moment. The power to make a shield is a passive form of channeling eco. Which eco?”

Jak frowned thoughtfully. A shield, he thought. Protection, a hard shell that surrounded him. The word strength came to mind, just as Daxter shouted, “Oh! Oh, oh! I know!”

He was furiously waving his paw in the air. Ionna laughed fondly. “You don’t need to raise your hand, it’s not grade school.”

“Red eco,” Daxter said smugly. “Jak used to get some o’ the red stuff and open up a can of whoop ass on the baddies!”

“So my shield is red eco,” Jak interrupted. “Then, does that mean that the other way to use red eco increases strength?”

In answer, Ionna held up her fist. Jak sensed the swell of eco, powerful and warm, before she reached over and slammed her fist into the wall. The stone crumbled around it with a crunch, leaving a fist-sized hole.

Daxter whooped in excitement. “You gotta learn to do that, Jak!”

Ionna glanced at her hand. The knuckles were swollen and bruised, but Jak felt the soothing feeling of green eco as she healed herself.

“So you can use all these powers?” Keira asked, fascinated. “Any time you want?”

“With light eco, yes. And so, I believe, can Jak.” Ionna gestured to him. “All these powers can be used if you can channel light eco.”

“But I thought only the sages could use eco like this,” Keira interrupted. “You can’t really control eco like that without an awakening.”

“That’s correct.” Ionna raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Quite knowledgeable.”

“Oh, my father’s the sage of green eco.” Keira folded her arms. “He said he had to go through…a test, I guess?”

Ionna shook her head. “Not a test, per say. Supposedly, sages can only unlock their true powers by communing with the eco itself.”

Jak’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Samos had to commune with the plants when we protected him, remember, Dax?” 

“Yeah. I remember.” Daxter looked as if he’d be happier to forget. “So, who did you have to talk to, the sun?” He snickered and nudged Jak. “Gettit? ‘Cause it’s a big lightbulb!”

Ionna smiled tightly. “Remember, I am not a full sage. I never completed my training.”

Before either of them could say anything else, Ionna held the book out again. Keira, Jak, and Daxter looked through the page.

“Hmm...this looks like blue eco!” Keira said brightly. Indeed, Jak could see the symbol for electricity, the shape of a bolt of lightning. Next to it was a swirl around a figure in a battle stance.

“You’ve seen both ways of channeling blue eco,” Ionna explained. “Jak, you used it to increase your motion and speed. But blue eco is used to power mechanical devices, as well. All of Haven City uses blue eco in the eco grid.”

Jak nodded in understanding, so Ionna continued to the next page. “You should recognize this,” she told Keira. “Green eco holds the power of growth and healing.”

Jak glanced at the images there. One was a cross, like he’d seen on the thousands of health packs in Haven City. The other showed a tree, its branches spreading out like spider webs.

“Daddy always said green eco helped him grow his plants,” Keira said cheerfully. “He says it helps them build strong roots!”

Ionna closed the book. “Those are the powers of all four ecos,” she explained. “There are others, of course. Some that are unique to light eco alone.”

“Really? Like what?” Jak leaned forward, eager, but Ionna shook her head in fond exasperation. “What is it?”

“Those types of powers are very advanced. Trust me, you will learn them,” she added, seeing Jak’s annoyed face. “But they’re also very dangerous. The last thing I want is for you to start running before you learn to walk.”

Jak pulled a sour, almost pouting face, but shrugged. “Fine.”

“You should try some of these powers I’ve shown you today out,” Ionna suggested. “If you master them, we can move onto the more difficult powers.”

Jak folded his arms as he watched her stand up and return the book to the shelf. “I’ve already used the yellow eco power once, but I’ve never been able to do it since. Any ideas why?”

And, boy, had he tried. On desperate missions, with low ammo and a hundred metal heads, he’d tried to shoot a blast of eco, but it hadn’t come to him. He’d been forced to rely on dark eco to get him out of those jams.

“Honestly? Not really.” Ionna bustled back to the counter, reaching into her cabinets. “It’s very likely that, since you were in battle, you channeled the eco and your body acted on instinct. You reached for a power to help you and landed on yellow eco.”

“Yeah, Jak,” Daxter drawled. “Coulda just as easily been you trying to punch Gol’s robot to death.”

Keira snickered at the image as Ionna began to pull out some vials of medicine. Jak bit back his own chuckle at the thought of a younger version of himself, trying to land a punch on the huge robot Gol and Maia had piloted. Knowing himself, it wasn’t as hard to imagine as he thought.

“You have a very unique talent for channeling eco, Jak,” Ionna told him. She was writing labels for the vials on a pad of paper. “It’s very...intuitive. Just as Keira said, most sages need to have an awakening to truly tap into these kinds of powers. But you...don’t appear to require that.”

The bells chimed overhead and Rios, the young boy who delivered the medicines, stepped in. “I’m here, miss!” he called out.

Ionna tore the paper off the pad and picked up the vials. “You two should take your friend to see Spargus while you have the time,” she suggested. “I have no doubt that by this time tomorrow, Damas will have found some kind of job for her. Take advantage of the downtime while you can.”

Jak wanted to protest—he had more questions, he wanted answers—but Ionna was already busy, explaining to Rios the directions for the medicines. Keira reached over and set her hand on his shoulder. 

“Come on, Jak,” she teased. “You gonna show me around, or should I just go find a map?”

“Ugh, don’t ask Jak for a tour,” Daxter complained loudly. “Our boy here gets turned around trying to find his own elbow, geez. I’ll show you around, Keira.” He tugged on Jak’s ear, as if he were steering his friend. Jak winced and tried to wave Daxter away.

“Yah, Jak! Onward!” Daxter pointed towards the door. Jak rolled his eyes and Keira laughed as they started out the door. “Good boy! I’ll give you a treat when we get home.”

Jak reached up and flicked Daxter’s ear. Keira laughed even harder as they stepped out into Spargus. Daxter started gesturing around grandly, while Jak began to walk through the city, his mind still on the eco lesson.

He burned to know more; it felt like pieces of a puzzle were fitting into place, but there were still gaps. He flexed his hands gently, trying to imagine how it would feel to punch something with red eco behind it, or to touch a dead plant and make it grow green again.

“Hey! Are you paying attention to my tour?!” Daxter snapped his fingers in front of Jak’s face. “I was just tellin’ Keira about the sand over here!”

“Sorry, Dax.”

“You better be,” Daxter mumbled. He cleared his throat dramatically. “Now, Keira, this here is sand. It’s like dirt, but worse . It’s gritty and gets into unpleasant places. Most Havenites aren’t familiar with sand, but if you come visit my new souvenir shop, the Taste of Wasteland, you can buy some sand to take back to your pals back home! Only five payments of 29.99.”

Jak and Keira both burst into laughter, while Daxter protested that he was serious, dammit, don't laugh. Jak continued walking, still laughing, his friend’s voices ringing pleasantly in his ears.

Chapter Text

Spargus wasn’t a big city, but it certainly made an impression.

“Does...everyone here carry guns?” Keira whispered to Jak.

Walking beside her, he nodded. “Yeah. I mean, it’s better than just the KG carrying them, right?”

She couldn’t argue with that. Still, it made her a bit uneasy to be around so many well-armed strangers. Especially since they didn’t look like they would hesitate to use them. 

Jak took her through the city, giving her the rundown of how it all worked. There was the market place, where you could trade anything you had for anything you wanted. The arena, he explained, was where Wastelanders trained and fought for battle amulets. It was a proving ground for the city.

“It’s sort of...barbaric, isn’t it?” she mentioned. “I mean, here I thought the Baron was cruel.”

Jak practically snapped his neck turning to look at her. “Damas isn’t cruel,” he insisted, and he sounded sincere when he said it. “He’s just...look, it’s rough out here. He just wants to make sure that Spargus can take care of itself.”

Keira frowned. “Yeah, but there have to be better ways to do it, right?”

“Eh, I’m with Keira on this one.” Daxter was lounging on Jak’s shoulder, his bout as tour guide over. “The Sand King’s not a bad guy, but the arena is a little, uh, how shall we say... absolutely insane?!”

“I didn’t say I liked it,” Jak said quickly. “Just that I understand it.”

“Good for you.” Keira rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him. “I guess he didn’t seem so bad when I met him earlier. Maybe he’s an acquired taste.”

Jak nodded, but didn’t say anything. Daxter, however, suddenly exclaimed, “Hey, let’s show her the leaper lizards!”

“The what?” Keira didn’t have time to argue before Jak agreed and roughly shoved her towards a wall. “Hey!”

Leaper lizards, it turned out, were Spragus’ preferred method of transportation in the city. Keira was absolutely delighted by them, and vice versa.

“This guys must be related to the flut fluts from back in Sandover!” She rubbed the lizard’s head affectionately. It made a happy noise and rubbed against her hand. “They probably evolved because of the climate change. Scales are better in the desert than feathers, I guess.”

“Oh, sure, you like these animals.” Daxter kept his eyes on the lizard, still not over his last adventure with them. “But ask you to scratch behind my ears and all you do is complain.”

Keira ignored him, though Jak stifled a chuckle. She clambered onto the lizard’s back and shifted, getting comfortable in the saddle. “Aww, who’s a good boy?” The lizard leapt happily at her encouragement. “Come on, guys, let’s race!”

“Race?” Jak folded his arms. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“What’s the matter?” she taunted. “Scared?”

“Ahh, leave ‘er in the dust, Jak!” Daxter cheered. “Lookit, there’s another one over there! Go get ‘im and show her what for!”

“Unless you think I’ll win.” Keira snapped the reins on her lizard and watched it jolt forward, eager. “Don’t worry, Jak, I understand. Lots of men are intimidated by me.”

“...Intimidated…?” Jak’s face twisted into a smirk. “Oh, please. You’re on.”

With that, he ran for the other leaper lizard, looking more like the Jak she remembered from Sandover than he had since they’d arrived in the future.

Maybe this place wasn’t so bad, she thought. Different than she was used to, sure. Jak came skidding to a stop by the lizard and jumped onto its back with vigor. Daxter whooped and shouted something about kicking her ass.

But, as she had learned recently, different didn’t always mean bad.

Spargus was in great danger.

Damas squinted at the map he had tacked to the wall. There were markings on it, pins and dots where Dark Makers had been sighted. Paths that showed where they’d fallen from, what direction they’d been heading.

They were getting closer.

What had started as scouts, surveying the entire area, had now become clusters of scouts in two areas: Spargus and the Monk Temple.

He clenched his fist. Behind him, he heard the elevator grind to life, but paid it no mind. He ran his finger over the area. Why, he wondered, were they not attacking directly? He couldn’t complain, as his city was safe another day. But it almost seemed like they were circling around the city and temple, getting closer and closer, but never touching either of the areas.

Why?

Heavy footsteps splashed closer to him. “Your favorite new warrior is racing leaper lizards through the city,” Sig informed him. “I guess that’s what happens when he finds a friend who’s taller than two feet.”

Damas snorted. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”

“Guess not. I owe you an apology, by the way,” Sig added. “I should’ve asked before I brought Keira here.”

Damas shook his head. “There is no need. As I said, any help available, we would be foolish not to accept.”

They went quiet again, as Sig eyed the map. “...What are you thinking, Damas?” he finally asked.

“I am thinking of nothing. These patterns, the way the Dark Makers are attacking...it makes very little sense to me.”

Sig tilted his head to the side. “Maybe they’re testing our defenses,” he suggested. “Gettin’ ready for a bigger attack.”

Damas frowned even deeper and folded his arms. “Then why haven’t they sent scouts directly into the city?” he questioned. “Why haven’t they attacked the temple? Testing our defenses would require them to make an attack.”

Sig shrugged. “I won’t lie to you, Damas. I’m not exactly a tactical genius.”

“Heh. Nor am I, to be honest.” He pressed his fist to his mouth, still thinking. “When Marauders or metal heads attack, I am usually able to predict their next moves. However, these Dark Makers...they operate differently.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Sig asked. “Sit here in the throne room and try to figure it out?”

For a moment, Damas wondered if he just was going to do that. He was a smart man, after all; surely he could decipher the reasonings of his enemies. Predict their movements, defend against their plans.

But he banished the thought as soon as it came to him. No, that sort of hubris is what led to the downfall of many a ruler, himself included. If Damas had learned anything from being unceremoniously dethroned, it was when to seek out help.

“...I will do what must be done.” Abruptly, he pulled the map off the wall and began to roll it up. “Sig, check in with Malik and Jess. Make sure we are prepared in case these creatures do attack. Anything they need to improve our offense and defense, get it for them.”

Sig nodded and gave him a salute. As Damas headed for the elevator, Sig hesitated and asked, “Where are you going?”

Damas gave him a grim smile as the elevator started to head down. “To seek out my old advisor.”

Praxis wasn’t happy about it, but then again, when was Praxis ever happy?

“For the last time,” Damas said, irritation clear in his voice, “I invited Ionna here as an advisor. My father valued the Precursor Monks’ input; so do I.”

“Monks are, by their nature, peaceable.” Praxis loomed over the young king as they headed for the meeting room. “As valuable as their input is for running the city, they are not helpful when it comes to war meetings!”

Not as peaceable as you’d think, Damas thought, absent-mindedly rubbing his jaw. It still ached a bit from his sparring match with Ionna. Of course, he’d dislocated her shoulder, so maybe they were even. Out loud, he said, “Praxis. Enough. She is invited as a tactical advisor. If you truly have a problem with her being there, you’re welcome to skip this meeting.”

Praxis said nothing, but his face twisted unpleasantly. Damas largely ignored him as they opened the doors to the meeting room.

It was a large, very open room with a huge table in the center. Maps littered the table, along with tins full of pins and half-used pens. Damas felt his heart twist as he recognized his father’s hasty scrawl on a few of the maps.

Everyone was already in place in the room: Ionna was huddled around the table with the three other members of the Krimzon Guard. Damas nodded as he and Praxis joined them.

“Alright, let’s not waste any time.” Damas felt his crown slide down over his brow and frowned. As he set it properly in its place, he continued, “General Praxis, you have an update for us?”

Praxis nodded stiffly. “Yes, Your Highness.” He spread out a map onto the table and placed several pins in it. “These are the outposts we currently have on the edge of the Wasteland. Metal head armies have been attacking, but so far, we’ve been able to defend the outposts.” He sighed and folded his arms. “However, it comes at the cost of heavy casualties. We won’t be able to defend for much longer if the metal heads continue this assault.”

Yasir leaned over the map, eyes narrowed. “These outposts are very important,” he said. He was always a man of slow, calm demeanor. “They protect the eastern eco mine. If the metal heads are able to overtake the mine, we lose quite a bit of power to the city.”

Damas examined the map carefully. “It looks like they’ve built a small nest a few miles north,” he commented. “They must have some source of eco nearby. Maybe one of the underground pipes is leaking?”

“It could be as simple as a pool of dark eco,” Ali added. “If we can find a way to dry up their supply of eco, that would force them back!”

“But there are no known eco pipes in that area,” Antwon reminded them in his lilting voice. “Even if they were leaking, a simple leak would not provide enough to let the metal heads build a nest.”

Ionna’s voice, calm and clear, cut over them. “...The source is the mine itself.”

Praxis made a noise in his throat, but she ignored him and leaned over the map. Her thin finger ran along a blue line. “Do you see? There’s a stream that flows past the mines. And it flows…” She tapped the map. “Right here, next to where they built the nest.” 

Indeed, Damas could see it. A small stream that pooled into a pond, directly next to where the metal heads had built their nest. Ionna continued, “The runoff from the mine must be collecting in the pond here. Unprocessed ore, excess raw eco...unusable to us, but perfectly fine for metal heads.”

“Aha!” Yasir nodded approvingly at her. “Very clever thinking, young sage. Your Highness, we should send word to shut down the mine processes temporarily.”

“Foolishness,” Praxis dismissed. “We don’t even know if that’s where the metal heads are getting the eco!”

“I agree with the General,” Ali quickly added. “No disrespect to anyone at this table, but if we shut down the mine, we would be forced to ration eco to the city. Some sectors might have power outages, even blackouts. People would be absolutely furious.”

Antwon frowned and gestured to the map. “But if we lose the mines for good to the metal heads, we will be in a much worse position. Inconvenience is one thing, but a permanent blow to our eco supply? Lives would be lost.”

All eyes turned to Damas, awaiting his decision. He pursed his lips and looked around at them. “I suppose it’s up to me, isn’t it?” He exhaled softly and examined the map. 

“Your Highness, I strongly object to this plan.” Praxis gestured wildly to Ionna. “To make a decision on the speculation of a mere monk? Laughable.”

“You don’t like me very much, do you, General Praxis?”

The room went silent and still at Ionna’s words. She was staring directly at Praxis, eyes ice cold. He huffed air out of his nose, furious with indignation.

“It has nothing to do with that,” he snapped. “Your idea is—”

“My idea,” Ionna interrupted, “is the only one I’ve heard so far. But if you have a better one, let us hear it. The floor is yours.”

They were silent for another moment, Praxis’ face getting steadily more and more stony, before Damas said, “Enough. We already have a war to fight, let’s not snipe at each other.”

He sighed heavily. “...Tell the mine to cease operations for the next week.”

“Your Highness!” Praxis was outraged, but Damas shook his head. 

“Ionna’s right, no one has any better plan for what to do, and her idea makes sense. Would you rather lose more soldiers to the metal heads?”

Praxis’ shoulders slumped, defeated. “I...disagree with your choice, but I will respect it.”

“What shall we tell the citizens?” Ali asked. “To stop the mining process for a week...we’ll have to do something.”

Damas folded his arms and tilted his head back, thinking. “...Send out a broadcast,” he said finally. “We’ll get some ration stamps for people to use for individual businesses and residences.”

“People will be angry,” Ali cautioned. 

“Then they’re welcome to come yell at me in person,” Damas replied with a grim smile. “I’ll light some candles in the throne room, just to show I’m doing my part.”

Yasir gave a chuckle. “Very well, Your Highness. I will send out the broadcast.”

“I will send out the ration stamps,” Antwon added. “This is not the first time we’ve had to ration eco, it won’t be the last.”

“Excellent, thank you. You are dismissed.” Damas nodded as they began to leave. “Except for Praxis and Ionna. Stay back for a moment, you two.”

Antwon managed to stifle a snicker as he and the other two men left. Praxis and Ionna both turned to Damas, who folded his arms and glared at them. He wasn’t exactly familiar with stern lectures, but he supposed he’d have to get familiar with them. 

“I’m not dealing with this every time we have a war meeting.” He raised an eyebrow at the general. “Praxis, Ionna is one of my advisors, and I value her input just as much as yours. Be respectful to her.”

Praxis didn’t act chagrined, but he nodded. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“And you need to be less blunt,” Damas told Ionna. “These meetings aren’t for you to bring up personal feelings. We have work to do.”

“My apologies, Your Highness.” Ionna bowed to him. “It will not happen again.”

“Thank you. You’re both dismissed.” As Ionna and Praxis both left, the door closing behind them, Damas exhaled and let his shoulders slump.

This being king stuff...it wasn’t for the faint of heart.

The infirmary was a much quieter and calmer place now that no one was going out into the Wasteland for missions. Ionna hadn’t had to treat sunburn in several days, and with only a few broken bones, she was almost bored with the peace.

Luckily for her, Spargus children always seemed to get into trouble with or without adult supervision. Such as Lene, who had apparently seen some adults racing leaper lizards and wanted to join them. Unfortunately, since she was only six, she’d fallen off and cut herself on one of their sharp claws. The gash wasn't long, but it was wide and still oozing blood; the girl needed at least ten stitches.

As she carefully threaded the needle, Ionna was reminded of the first time she ever gave Mar stitches. A short line, right below his chin, from when he’d tried to climb the rocks after his father. Damas hovering over her shoulder, while Mar himself practically vibrated with energy. Sig had to hold the boy’s shoulders to keep him still.

“Miss Ionna? Your hands are shaky.” Lene tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

“...Just fine, child.” Ionna flexed her fingers to steady them. Behind her, the bell to the door jingled. Whoever it was, she thought, they could wait. If it was an emergency, they’d make it known. “Stay still for a moment, Lene.”

She began to stitch, moving quickly and carefully, making the sutures even across the wound. “There we go.” With the wound sewn together, Ionna cut the suture thread and smiled. “How’s it feeling?”

Lene made a fish-face and moved her arm. “Weird,” she giggled. “Will I always have the thread stuff?”

Ionna rested her hand on the girl’s head. “No, you’ll come back in a few weeks and we’ll take it out. Here, let me bandage it, too.”

A hand appeared from behind her, a roll of bandages in its calloused fingers. Lene looked up and her smile broadened. “Hi, Lord Damas!”

“Hello, little one.”

Ionna took the bandages from him and began wrapping Lene’s arm. “And...we’re...done!” She helped the girl off the bed and smiled down at her. “Now, no more playing around with leaper lizards, alright?”

“But the big kids do it,” she whined. “I’m just tryna be like them!”

Damas stooped down to her eye level. “You know, you’re going to have quite a warrior’s scar there,” he told her. “Once you’ve gotten the bandages off, you and I will go brag about your scar to all the warriors I know.”

“R-really?” Lene gave him a toothy smile. “Okay, Lord Damas!”

“Very good. Now, head home and rest.”

The pair of them watched as Lene left, bouncing happily through the door. Once she was gone, Damas turned hesitantly to Ionna. They stood there for a moment that felt like an eternity, awkwardly avoiding each other’s gaze. There was a part of her that wanted to pull out a stool and make him a cup of coffee, invite him in and chat, like they were old friends.

But their shared past was just that: past. There was little point in pretending they were anything but reluctant comrades, doing their best to work together for the sake of a better world.

Finally, Damas broke the silence. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“It crossed my mind.” Ionna began to clean up after herself, throwing bloody rags into the waste bin and setting the tools aside. As she began to wash her hands, she added, “You don’t look ill.”

“I am in need of your advice.” Damas unrolled the paper he’d been holding, revealing a map. “I have been looking over the Dark Maker sightings.”

He spread the map out on the counter. Ionna glanced down at it. Dots and pathways, lines and scribbles. Typical of Damas to have the most unorganized tactical map she’d ever seen. “I am trying to prepare for their next move,” he continued. “But I can’t understand what their next move is.”

“Walk me through it,” Ionna ordered. “What’s happening?”

Damas gestured to the clusters of dots marking Dark Makers. “They’re landing all around the Monk Temple and Spargus. But there have been no reports of direct attacks.”

“They’re scouting for something,” Ionna said. “The Eco Sphere, would be my guess.”

“That was my original thought.” Damas tapped his finger on the Monk Temple. “But then, why haven’t they attacked yet? If they’re trying to find the artifact, they’re being incredibly foolish about it. While they’re scouting, we could be finding it.”

“...They could be testing our defenses.” Ionna frowned. “But that’s a very poor way to do so.”

Damas smiled knowingly. “Exactly my thoughts. Whatever they’re doing, it’s almost as if they’re...observing us, rather than attacking.”

Ionna put her hands on her hips. “...If they thought Spargus was a threat, they would’ve attacked the city by now. If they were looking for the artifact, they would’ve attacked the temple by now.” Her eyes widened. “Damas. Have there been any reports of Dark Makers in Haven City?”

“A few, but nothing substantial. According to Sig, it’s just the occasional satellite on the outskirts of the city.” Damas frowned. “But why does that matter?”

“Consider it for a moment. Haven City is currently just this side of fallen. If the Dark Makers wanted to destroy a city, it would be easy for them to take out Haven now, while it’s already losing a war.”

“But they’re focused on us instead.” Damas nodded in understanding. “Why?”

They both stared at the map for a moment, before Ionna suddenly laughed in her throat. “Of course. Whoever’s leading these Dark Makers, they’re very clever.”

“...Do you have an idea?” Damas questioned. “Or are you simply stating the obvious?”

“Both.” Ionna tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Right now, the key element, the single greatest asset to either side, is the Eco Sphere. That artifact holds the key to stopping the Dark Makers.”

“Yes. If we acquire it first, we will be able to stop them.” Damas shot her an annoyed look. “But if they find it first, we will be helpless against them.” But Ionna was shaking her head. “What?”

“Not who finds it first.” She folded her arms and turned to him. “Do you remember that game the Nomad children used to play? The one with the crown.”

“Keeper of the Crown. I remember.” Damas furrowed his brow in confusion. “It was just tag, if I recall correctly. They used to chase each other around and steal a stone from each other.”

Ionna gestured for him to continue. “Right. There was a time limit, remember? And the winner was…?”

Damas gave her a curious look. “I believe whoever had the stone last won.”

There was a very pregnant pause as the revelation fell over Damas. “...Whoever had it last,” he repeated softly. “They don’t want to find that artifact.”

“They’re waiting for us to find it,” Ionna confirmed.

“And then they’ll take it.” Damas put his hands flat on the counter, exhaling angrily. “Of course. It makes sense: why would they race for something when they can just crush the winner and take the trophy?”

Ionna sighed. “Which puts us in quite a predicament.”

“We’ll have to find it quickly.” Damas clasped his hands behind his back, straightening. “And whoever finds it will have to expect an attack immediately after.”

“Jak is planning on being the one to take the Eco Sphere.”

“Absolutely not.” The words were out of Damas’ mouth before he could even process them. Ionna raised an eyebrow, surprised at his outburst. “Jak is...very young,” Damas said quickly, looking away self-consciously. “It would make more sense to send a more experienced warrior! Someone like Sig or...myself.”

Ionna stared at him with an odd look on her face. He cleared his throat and turned away, rolling up the map. “Thank you for your advice,” he told her. “I sincerely appreciate your wisdom and guidance in these dark times. We may be able to—”

“It’s because he looks like Mar, isn’t it?”

He spun around, almost losing his grip on the map. As he quickly grabbed it before it fell, Ionna continued, “I’m not blind, you know, nor am I foolish.”

“...I will let you know of any plans I make,” Damas said haltingly. “If there are more attacks, or any indications of where the artifact is…”

“Please do.” She began to strip the bedding off the cot she’d used to stitch Lene’s wound. “I will continue training Jak. Regardless of what the future holds, he will need to learn as much as he can for the battles ahead.”

Damas watched her for another moment, as she gathered the sheets in her arms. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but she turned away, intent on putting the sheets in the laundry basket. By the time she turned around, Damas was gone, the sound of the bell ringing in her ears.

Chapter Text

Damas did not head to the throne room once he returned to the palace.

Usually, he would sit on the throne and finish up any business he had left: read any reports, listen to any concerns from his citizens, check in on Seem and her monks. But he found himself unable to focus on the normal tasks, his mind cluttered with memories, thoughts, and feelings.

Instead, he headed down the hallway that led to Mar’s bedroom. He opened the door and slowly looked around.

There was nothing here, he thought. Nothing to help his current situation, just memories and ghosts of a life he’d lost. He sat down on the edge of Mar’s bed and picked up the stuffed crocadog his son had loved so much. He leaned back, with his back on the pillows, leaning against the stone wall. 

How long had it been since he’d sat here, on this bed? It was just as small as ever, not meant to hold an adult body. His legs hung off the edge and the wooden frame creaked under his weight as he shifted. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, memories rolling through his head.

A tiny boy with messy green hair, tucked in Damas’ arms, squirming and giggling. “Paaapaaaa, no squish! No squish!”

“I am not squishing you, little one,” Damas told him. He tightened his arms in a hug, while Mar squealed playfully. “This is squishing you!”

Mar wiggled so that he was facing Damas. “My turn! I squish, I squish!” He threw his tiny arms around Damas’ broad chest, imitating his father’s bear hug. Damas pressed his hand to the back of the boy’s head, pulling him close. He kissed the green curls and inhaled the scent of the desert itself. 

His memories faded, leaving Damas with nothing but his son’s favorite toy. He turned the crocadog over in his calloused fingers. 

Was Ionna right? Was he really letting his judgement be clouded by fond memories and superficial similarities? Did he really see so much of Mar in Jak, that he was willing to put others at risk? 

He clutched the crocadog tighter. No, he assured himself. His logic was sound: Jak was a fine warrior, but he was young. Inexperienced. Rash and foolish.

No, this mission was vital; failure would probably doom the entire world at this rate. He needed to send his best and brightest. 

And it had nothing to do with the way his heart twisted when Jak smiled, or the strange pride that welled up in his chest after a successful mission, or the flash of paternal protectiveness he felt when he saw Jak do something reckless.

Damas closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the stone wall. He was tired; it had been a long night. As much as he wanted to get up and head to his own bed, his body didn’t seem to want to move. Eventually, exhaustion won out and Damas felt himself falling into unconsciousness. 

Through the haze of half-sleep, he felt the crocadog slip through his fingers. And no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to keep a grip on it.

On the other side of the city, Ionna tried to distract herself with her work.

There was an uneasy feeling settling in her chest. Maybe it was Damas’ sudden presence, or maybe it was simply the new information they’d deciphered. It seemed the more they learned about these Dark Makers, the more dangerous they were. These enemies were smart, smarter than any metal head or Marauder. And smart enemies made for troublesome ones.

They needed to find the Eco Sphere, and they needed to find it fast. Of course, she mused, that presented its own problems. Mainly that no one knew where the damned thing was.

Ionna had been absolutely certain that the artifact was nowhere in the Monk Temple; she and Seem had searched the place top to bottom. But the fact that the Dark Makers seemed to be circling the temple...well, that was a clue right there. As concrete proof as she would get: the artifact had to be somewhere there.

And she couldn’t shake the feeling that Jak was the key to finding it.

Shoving her conflicted thoughts and feelings aside, she began her evening rituals: sweep the floor, fold the blankets, wash the bottles. As she was portioning out medicine for the next morning’s patients—the world may be ending, but the Wastelanders still needed their health—she was forced to face the thoughts she’d been avoiding.

Jak. 

Of course Damas saw Mar when he looked at the young man. He’d confided in her, not long after Mar’s abduction, his breathing still ragged from his injury, that he couldn’t stop seeing Mar’s face.

Everywhere.

In his dreams, in his nightmares. Anytime he closed his eyes. In the shadows along the walls, in the reflection of the water. In the faces of Spargus’ children as they passed by. He’d seen Mar so often, he became blind to everything else.

But when she looked at Jak, Ionna didn’t see Mar.

Oh, there were bits and pieces: the way his hair fell, the shade of his eyes, the sly smile he had (whenever Daxter could coax it out of him). Not to mention a certain affinity for trouble-making.

But Mar, at least to her, was the little boy who clung to her hand and hid behind her legs. Mar was a timid child, shy and playful, a cautious explorer of the world. He fiddled with his amulet when nervous and begged his father to read him ancient bedtime stories. He loved animals, chasing after the kangarats and stroking the leaper lizards’ bellies.

But Ionna saw something very different in Jak.

A young man, burdened with power, but unsure how to wield it. Someone caught between what he wanted, what was expected, and what needed to be done. Forced into a role he had not been prepared for. Hailed as a hero, hated as a monster, actually neither.

No, when Ionna looked at Jak, all she saw was Damas.

The people were protesting.

Peering down from the palace above, Ionna asked what, exactly, the huge crowd of Haven citizens was protesting. Damas gave her a cheeky grin.

“Well...me, I’d suppose.” He leaned against the railing of the roof, looking down. “Praxis and Ali warned me. Wartime rations make for civil unrest. I suppose they got tired of having to ration eco.”

From his other side, Praxis made an almost growling noise in his throat. “Foolish people think that just because they throw a tantrum and scream the loudest, they get what they want.”

“There have been no reports of property damage or injury,” Yasir interjected. “So far, these protests have been peaceful marches through the city. I doubt they will escalate.”

“No excuses!” Praxis snapped. “These people should listen to their leaders, not rebel against them. Your Highness, we should call in the guards, have them disperse the mob. Put a curfew in place to keep the peace.”

“...” Damas hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Like Yasir said, they’re just protesting, making their voices heard. Let them shout.”

“You need to be more forceful!” Praxis argued. “You are the king! You must make your power clear. If you do not put your foot down—!”

“You’ve made your opinion known,” Damas said curtly. “I’ll take it under advisement, but right now, I want to focus on more important things.” He turned around and leaned his back against the railing. “Antwon, you had an update from the eastern outposts?”

“Yes, sir.” Antwon nodded and straightened his shoulders, always the perfect soldier. “The metal head nest near the eastern mine is dwindling. The metal heads have begun to retreat.”

Yasir nodded to Ionna, a graceful smile on his face. “It would appear our young sage’s idea was correct. Clever thinking.”

“Great. That gives us some breathing room,” Damas said, relieved. “Have the foreman figure something out to reduce runoff from the mine. Then we can start operations again.”

“Maybe they’ll stop protesting then,” Ali muttered. Damas gave a dry smirk, but said nothing.

“We should still station troops near the eastern mine.” Yasir folded his arms, looking out at the horizon thoughtfully. “To ensure the nest is purged of metal heads.”

Antwon made a noise of agreement. “If we drive them out, they would be less likely to settle there again.”

“I will begin to pull some soldiers together,” Praxis said. “Twenty-five men should be enough to clear them out.”

Damas hesitated, then said, “I will lead the troops.”

Praxis huffed out an aggravated sigh, while the other men eyed each other warily. “We have discussed this, Your Highness,” the general said gruffly. “You are a child, the last heir of Mar, the king of Haven City. You are far too important to die in battle!”

“I am far from a child!” Damas jerked his head towards Praxis; his crown slid a bit to the side of his head. Still glaring daggers at Praxis, he adjusted it smoothly. “I have a duty, to my people and my city. I have fought the metal heads before, I am not afraid!”

“You fought in skirmishes along the city walls,” Praxis snapped back. “Failed attacks from weak enemies, just scouts testing our defenses! Nothing like this!”

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” Antwon said delicately, “the frontlines of the war are a different breed. You have fought well in defense of our city, but this...this is an offensive attack.”

Ali was not delicate, nor did he mince words. “Men will die. You have to accept that you could be one of them.”

“You are very brave, Your Highness, and it is noble to want to lead your men. But your life is much too valuable to risk.” Yasir gave him a sad smile. “The city already lost your father; we cannot lose you, too.”

Damas shifted his gaze down, avoiding their eyes. “I know all that...” They were quiet again, waiting for him to speak. He clenched his fists. “But I can’t let others fight alone. I will lead the soldiers.”

He lifted his head to gaze at them all, violet eyes glinting with steel. Daring them to defy him, readying himself for a fight. Praxis sucked his teeth, but didn’t say anything. None of the other guards disagreed, though none of them looked particularly pleased.

Damas nodded in satisfaction. “Then, we will begin the planning of the assault tomorrow. Until then, we’re dismissed.”

Though none of them looked particularly happy, Praxis least of all, they nodded respectfully to Damas as they headed for the elevator. Ionna hesitated, then approached him near the railing.

“Your Highness. I would like to join you during your fight against the metal heads.”

Damas looked surprised. He eyed her appraisingly, probably remembering the sparring match they’d had not long ago. Finally, he said, “If you want to. Far be it from me to keep you off the battlefield, especially after that display.”

“Thank you.” Ionna hesitated, watching him. He put his hands on the railing, steadying himself as he looked down. “...No one would blame you, you know.”

“Blame me for what?” he asked absent-mindedly. 

“For choosing not to fight.” She looked down, to where his gaze fell. There were hundreds of people, packed into the bazaar, chanting and waving flags. “No one blames you for the horrors of war.”

“It’s not about blame.” Damas turned to her, frowning. “It’s about responsibility. Look down there.” He gestured out to the protesting crowd. “Praxis sees a mob, but I see people. People who have sacrificed for this war. They’ve given up spouses, children, siblings, friends. Some have even given up their own health. Now we’re expecting them to give up the simple comforts, a hot meal or a light in the darkness?”

“Very poetic,” Ionna mused. “Empathy is a rare trait in most leaders. But you aren’t making people give up those things. The metal heads, this war, the...situation. That is what is truly causing suffering.”

“And it’s my responsibility to stop it.” He gave her a sideways glance. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m putting too much pressure on myself.”

“It crossed my mind.” She leaned forward on the railing. The palace was the second-highest place in Haven City, second only to the Mountain Temple. At night, she wondered, did Damas look up and feel like he could touch the stars, just like she sometimes did?

“It’s not pressure,” he continued. “It’s reality. I can’t run away from being the king, I can’t pretend I’m not the one in charge.”

“I don’t envy your position,” Ionna replied. “A crown is a heavy burden to bear. But always remember...you do not have to bear it alone.” She gestured to the door the Guard had just left through. “All your advisors are behind you.”

“...Thank you for the reminder.” Damas flashed her a grin. “You know, you’re pretty wise for someone so young.”

“Mmm, it came with the hood.” She tugged on the rubber headwear and he chuckled.

“What’d you get with the facepaint?” he teased.

“Acne.” 

Damas’ laughter echoed across the barren rooftops, bold and fearless. And for a moment, with the sound echoing across the glass panes of the windows, he sounded almost hopeful.

Chapter Text

Mornings in Spargus were pretty nice, Keira thought to herself. She sipped her tea and looked out the window at the breaking dawn. Rays of pinkish light streaked across a dark blue sky, a halo of golden light from the sun coming through. She sighed, relaxed by the serenity.

Of course, the effect was ruined a bit by Jak, who gave a loud snort in his sleep and flopped over. Keira stifled a laugh and drained the rest of her tea. 

Jak and Daxter lived in a little building on the west side of Spargus. It wasn’t much, Keira thought to herself, but it was enough. There were a few wooden crates that acted as chairs and tables, a cooking pot against the wall, and a pile of blankets that Jak used as a makeshift bed.

She stood up and stretched, the empty mug dangling from her fingers. She’d always been an early riser; probably because her father had been the same way. How many times in Sandover had she woken up at the crack of dawn, ready to work on some new vehicle project or another invention?

As she washed the mug in the basin and set it aside to dry, she glanced back at her friends. Jak was lying stretched out, with Daxter curled up in a comfortable looking box filled with blankets. She was tempted to wake them up, but decided against it. They were both cranky when they were tired.

Besides, she thought, throwing open the door, now she had a chance to see the city for herself.

The tang of brackish sea-salt filled the air. Keira started to retrace her steps from where she’d gone the day before, taking in the sights: strange Precursor statues that glowed a dim blue, leaper lizards hunting for their next meal, half-rusted wind chimes swaying in the wind. Eventually, her feet took her back to the garage at the entrance. The doors opened and she stepped through.

Now this was more like it, she thought cheerfully. Oil, engines, tools? Just what she was used to. She checked to see if anyone was around—not a soul, it seemed—before walking over to one of the vehicles.

Cold, smooth metal met her hand. Familiar. She flexed her hands against the steel and inhaled, her fingers itching to tear it apart and put it back together. 

“Hey! You ain’t got me permission to mess ‘round with those!”

Keira turned around. The huge Wastelander she’d seen when she first got here stormed up to her. He looked irritable, his face twisted in a permanent sneer. It reminded her of every ornery mechanic she’d met when she was just starting out in Haven City.

“Sorry, I didn’t know they were part of a museum.” She rolled her eyes and he growled at her. “Are you in charge around here?”

“That’s right,” he said. “I’m the top dog here, and let me tell you, I don’t have time for little pups. Why you touchin’ me buggies?”

“That Damas guy said I had to help out around here if I wanted to stay. Well, here I am, ready to help.” Keira put her hands on her hips. “I guess if you’re in charge of the garage, you’re the one to boss me around. Just try not to get on my bad side, okay?”

Kleiver snorted. “Ha! You got some bite, girly, I’ll give you that. But don’t think you impress me just ‘cause you’re a mechanic from the big smoke.”

“Do you have a job you want me to do,” Keira challenged, “or am I just going to stand here looking pretty?”

“Heh. Fine. You wanna play with the big dogs?” He gestured to the crappy little buggy to the other side. “Been meanin’ to mount some guns on that little biddy over there, but I ain’t had the time for it. You manage to get it done, and I might tell Damas how much of a help you been.”

Keira folded her arms. “No problem,” she said coolly. “Where are your tools?”

Torn had known Samos for years. He’d met the sage in what was now Dead Town, after Praxis blocked off the area and left everyone behind to die. Of course, that was a different Samos; a younger man, willing to sacrifice anything and everything to bring down the tyrannical leader who’d left them there. This Samos was different, more cautious and less aggressive. 

More protective.

“For the last time,” Torn snapped, palms flat on the table before him, “I don’t know where Keira is. I’m not a babysitter, you know.”

The Naughty Ottsel wasn’t the best place to work from, but it was nice to have an HQ on the frontlines. Torn could easily see what was happening, keep on top of the troops. Plus, it had the distinct advantage of being a quiet place to work. Away from prattling moncaws, anxious governors, and neurotic sages.

Usually.

“Are you sure ?” Samos pressed. “She didn’t stop by for a drink or anything?”

“No.” Torn tried to focus on the console in front of him, brow furrowed. “Did you try calling her on her comms?”

Samos fumbled with his own communicator. “She isn’t responding,” he said anxiously. “Of course, that’s normal for Keira, she always gets so caught up in her work…”

The door opened and Tess bounced in, grinning as usual. She waved cheerfully to them as she headed for her spot at the bar. The place might not be open right now, but she still spent her time making sure everything was clean and ready to go for her “big hero.”

“Ah, Tess!” Samos floated off to go harass her, for which Torn was grateful. He exhaled and started to open up the files with the reports he needed. He flicked through the files, scanning over them.

Metal heads were pushing through the slums, which wasn’t great. And even worse, Ashelin was running out of space to house the people they evacuated. At this rate, he’d have most of the city crammed into New Haven.

Another report detailed the push for clearing out the Industrial District, a task that was going...poorly. Jak had stopped the War Factory from cranking out more Death Bots, but now it seemed like the metal heads had shown up to provide reinforcements. 

The last report was both the shortest and the most alarming. After hearing about the rumors among the Freedom League, Torn had sent out his own feelers. Old friends from his days in the Guard, informants who’d helped out the Underground, and even a few less-than-scrupulous pals who liked to eavesdrop.

What he’d gotten back was a dozen or so rumors that made it clear: Veger was angling to take control of the city.

Torn had been a kid when the Baron took over; he didn’t remember much from those times. But Praxis himself liked to brag about how he came to power. How the king had ignored the plight of his people, and how the city had rallied behind their favorite war hero, placing him on the throne instead.

Torn knew as well as anyone: revolution started with whispers in the shadows. It started with friends talking to friends, talking to family, talking to strangers, about the mythical someone who was going to save them. The war hero general, the young heir of Mar, the hotshot racing champion. 

The whispers grew, until they were conversations, and then chants, and then shouts and screams. Until there were enough people to create a tidal wave of anger and change. There was strength in numbers, Torn knew.

Right now, the whispers were all about a nobleman who had the blessings of the Precursors on his side.

And Torn was beginning to think they were outnumbered.

Several hours later, when Jak and Daxter found Keira in the garage, the Tough Puppy not only had new guns mounted on it, but its hydraulics had been flushed and the shocks had been replaced. She was underneath the buggy, welding the struts, when they got there.

“Keira! We were wondering where you went.” Jak tilted his head and leaned down beneath the buggy. “Daxter thought you’d run back to Haven City.”

“Oh, please.” Keira rolled her eyes. “Like a little sand scares me.”

“Shoulda known you would be here,” Daxter said cheerfully, hopping onto the ground beside her. “Whatchya doin’?”

“Your girly’s more useful than you are,” Kleiver growled from behind them. Jak folded his arms and glared at the man. “But I guess that’s not surprising. I’ve met rocks more useful than the you o’ two.”

Jak ignored Kleiver and stooped beside Keira. “I’m helping,” she explained, her voice muffled by the buggy. “That king said I could stay as long as I helped out around here, right? Well…”

She slid out from beneath the buggy. “Consider yourselves helped.” She twirled the wrench in her hand and stood up, nodding at Kleiver. “Everything’s good to go. I’d be careful with going too fast, though, that frame needs welded.”

Kleiver made a noise in his throat. “I’ll admit, you got some talent. But don’t go thinkin’ you’re the best mechanic in this place. Plenty o’ folks would be happy to show you up.”

She brushed her knees off and put her hands on her hips. “Whatever. Please tell me you two are buying breakfast. I’m starving. ”

Jak looked at Daxter. “Sure, I guess. Come on, we’ll show you the market.”

Keira nodded and set the tools aside carefully. She handed the toolbox to Kleiver. “Keep these warm for me, big guy.”

Kleiver snarled at her, but she paid him no attention as she headed for the doors to Spargus. Jak and Daxter glanced at him, shrugged to each other, and then followed her.

“You know,” Daxter said, “you oughta be careful around Bog Breath back there.”

“He’s fine,” she said breezily. “All bark and no bite. A lot of mechanics are like that. You just have to show them that you mean business.”

Jak snorted a laugh through his nose, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he just led her through Spargus, Daxter hanging from his shoulder lazily.

The market in Spargus was very different from that of Haven City, Keira thought. It wasn’t a cramped, carefully sectioned bazaar; every seller had their own stall or tent, but it had a sort of... open feel to it.

And unlike the bazaar in Haven, it was kind of quiet, too. Keira had become so used to the packed shoppers and loud merchants that it took her a minute to realize: no one was shouting or yelling or calling. The Wastelanders were standing at their stalls, going about their business, not particularly caring about who or what passed by their area.

Jak stopped in front of a small produce stand, manned by a large woman with a sour face. She glared as Daxter hopped onto the stand and started chattering at her. “Hey, Marta. How’s it goin’? My sidekick and his babe are gettin’ a bit hungry here, and I know you sell killer fruit.”

While Jak and Daxter haggled for breakfast, Keira glanced around at the other stalls. A string of dried spices hung beneath the desert sun; baskets heaped high with rice and wheat; fresh raw fish wrapped in clean cloth.  

It did remind her of Sandover, a little bit. 

“C’mon, Marta,” Daxter said smoothly, dragging her attention back. “Remember that time we, ya know, saved your life?”

“Ya helped me with some metal heads,” she snapped back. “Don’t get a big head, boy-o.”

“How about 5 orbs?” Jak offered. Marta squinted suspiciously at him. “Oh, come on, it’s a good deal.”

“It’s not a bad deal.” She folded her arms. “Ain’t a great one, neither.”

“Saved your life,” Daxter reminded in a sing-song voice. “Saaaved your liiiife!”

Marta rolled her eyes. “Deal. Now get ya selves outta here.”

Jak picked up a woven basket of fruit and nodded, while Daxter handed her some Precursor orbs. “Thanks. See you around.”

“Ugh, I hope not,” Marta said, but she was smiling as she did so. “And tell ya rat to shut up,” she added as they walked away.

Keira smiled as Jak led her to the rocky ledge near the sea. “You know, I’m not surprised you two have made friends around here.”

Jak dropped the basket on some rocks and sat down with his legs dangling off the edge. Daxter began to peel an orange and lounged against a rock. “Pff. Friends. You think they’d be nicer considering we saved their lives! ” he shouted back towards Marta. She either didn’t hear him or, more likely, ignored him. 

Keira picked a pear out from the basket and bit into it. It was a bit more sour than she was used to, but it tasted pretty good all the same. “So what are you two planning to do today?”

“We usually train with Ionna in the mornings,” Jak told her. He was pulling  apart a spiky pink fruit. “Then we do any missions Damas has for us, and we go to the Monk Temple with Seem at night.”

“That’s your dark eco training, right?” Jak nodded and Keira gave him a smile. “Wow, Jak, you’re learning all these cool powers! Daddy would be so proud of you.”

Jak rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. Daxter rolled his eyes. “Listen to that, Jak, Ol’ Dirt Nap would be proud of you. Not enough to say he was proud of you, but…”

“Knock it off, Dax,” Jak said. To Keira, he asked, “How is Samos doing, anyway?”

Keira hesitated, remembering how tired her father had been recently. “He’s okay. Stressed, but who isn’t right now?”

Daxter put a paw up to his forehead and pretended to faint. “Do you hear that, Jak?” he cried mockingly. “ Samos is stressed! How could it get any worse?!”

Jak gave him a look. “Dax. C’mon.”

“No, no,” Daxter continued dramatically. “We’ve only been savin’ the world, again! We’ve only been stuck out here, gettin’ sunburnt and kicked around by metalheads and yelled at by spiky people!”

“Daxter!” Jak batted the back of his friend’s head. “Will you calm down?”

“Fine.” Daxter folded his arms and gave an almost pouting look, while Jak rolled his eyes. “Just sayin’, you’d think Father Stumpy would be nicer to us, considering everything we’ve done for him...”

“We have more important things to worry about right now. Can’t you focus on those?”

“Yeah, I can!” Daxter leapt up and pointed wildly across the city. “Ya see that building over there? I’m gonna put Taste of Wasteland there!”

Jak groaned in exasperation, while Keira stifled her laughter. “Will you ever stop talking about this?”

“Nope!” Daxter said cheerfully. “It’s in a primo position. Lookit, see, people goin’ into the arena to see the fights can buy a nice souvenir! And then folks who survive the arena can, you know, get a memento.”

Keira shook her head at Jak, who gave her a smile and chuckled. While Daxter prattled on, she took another bite of pear and gazed out into the sea. It reminded her of home, of Sandover. Of the fisherman and his boat, of the days spent diving into the sea. 

“Hey.” She turned to look at Jak, who was giving her an odd look as he spoke. “Are you okay?”

She opened and closed her mouth, not sure how to answer. On one hand, this was Jak, her best friend. She’d always felt safe telling him anything.

On the other hand, this was Jak , and he’d grown since the boy from her little village. He had been born in Haven City, this was his time. Did he even miss Sandover in the same way she did? She could still hear his voice, echoing through the metal head nest: “ But we are home. ”

Before she could answer, Jak’s communicator beeped and came to life.

“Listen up, lovebirds.” Kleiver’s growl floated through the speaker. “Quit ya cuddlin’ and get to the palace. Damas has a job for you.”

Morning brought with it a bright burst of sunlight. Damas shielded his eyes as he entered the throne room, blinking away the reflection of golden light in the water. He tucked his communicator away and started for the throne, groaning as he stretched his arms over his head.

Perhaps it wasn’t wise for him to fall asleep in a child’s bed. He could feel his bones creak, his vertebrae snapping into place. His head was pounding with tension, the pain running down along the back of his neck and pulling on his shoulder. An uncomfortable sleeping position.

But at least he had slept.

He was still holding Mar’s crocadog in his hand. He’d woken up and felt the need to carry it with him, a reminder of his son. Damas ran his thumb over the rough patches on it, looking out absent-mindedly over the desert.

Behind him, the elevator ground to a halt. Jak stepped out, with his mechanic friend, Keira, behind him. Daxter was chattering away on his shoulder, as usual. Damas felt his heart twist a bit — it’s because he looks like Mar, isn’t it? — but shoved the feelings aside.

“Kleiver said you had a job for us?” Jak folded his arms lazily across his chest, while Keira looked around curiously. 

“Hmph. Kleiver misunderstood.” Damas jerked his head towards Keira. “I have a job for your friend, not for you.”

“Keira?!” Daxter looked outraged. “Wait a minute! Jak and I bust our humps helpin’ you out, trackin’ all over the desert, savin’ the world again—!”

‘“Boy, you’re on a kick today, aren't you?” Keira rolled her eyes at him and stepped towards the throne, attitude in every step. “So, what do you need me to fix?”

Damas raised an eyebrow. “Who said I needed anything fixed?”

“Well, I don’t know about you,” she said, “but most people only call a mechanic when they need something fixed or something made. So which is it?”

Damas couldn’t help but smirk. “...Come with me.”

Damas led them to a corridor off to the side of the throne room. Jak glanced at Daxter as they walked; neither of them had been back here before. In fact, they’d almost always simply hung around the throne room itself. Somehow, going deeper into the palace felt almost...forbidden. As if Damas would turn around and chastise them any minute.

But as they walked through the dimly lit corridors, the only thing the king said was, “Over here,” as he ushered them through a doorway, into another room.

Like every other room in the palace, this place was plain and simple, made of stone. But off to the side, on a table, was some kind of mechanical device. It looked like something from the Power Station, Jak thought: fraying wires and oddly faded buttons. Keira’s eyes went to it immediately, and Daxter leapt off Jak’s shoulder onto the table.

“Ooh, fancy!” Daxter tilted his head. “What is it?”

“It’s a communication transmitter,” Keira answered automatically. “Kinda out of date, though.”

Damas eyed her appraisingly. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, for one thing, it’s got an older style of dials.” Keira launched into her explanation with ease, walking quickly around the machine. “Most newer systems use digital frequency dials instead of manual ones. And, based on the way the case has been welded a couple times,” she added, “it’s a second-hand system. It’s definitely had a few owners.”

Jak and Daxter shrugged at each other, clueless about whatever Keira was talking about. Damas, however, was standing still, paying rapt attention.

“Hmm…” Keira tilted her head and frowned, tugging on a loose wire. “Look at that corrosion! This thing has to be ten years old.”

Damas walked up beside her. “This system is one that was bartered for from Haven,” he explained. “It is, indeed, a fairly old piece of machinery. Tell me, would its age cause it to lose range?”

Keira made a thoughtful face. “Maybe,” she said finally. “But there are so many things that can go wrong with these older machines, it would take an expert to figure it out.”

“An expert.” Damas hummed thoughtfully and continued, “You built Jak’s Jetboard, am I correct?”

Keira looked surprised. “Well...yeah, that was me.”

“Kleiver was quite impressed with your mechanical skills,” the king added. “Sig has mentioned it, as well.” He narrowed his eyes shrewdly at her. “It would appear you are one of the closest things we have to an expert on this.”

“Well, I’m not the best mechanic,” she admitted. “But I’m no novice, either.”

Damas huffed out a laugh. “Out here, we make due with what we have.” He gestured towards the communicator. “I put this task in your hands, then. Borrow Kleiver’s tools, and see if you can’t fix it.”

Keira nodded, looking pleased with herself. “Alright, but no promises. Like I said, this thing has a lot of moving parts to it.”

“If anyone can do it, Keira can,” Jak said insistently. Keira beamed at the praise. “She’s a genius with this kind of stuff.”

Damas gave them both a wry smile. “There you have it. Get going.” He shot Jak a look. “And you should get going to Ionna,” he said. “I believe you have a lesson to attend.”

“Huh? Oh, right!” Jak held out his arm for Daxter. “I guess we are running late.”

“Good luck, Jak!” Keira called as he ducked out towards the throne room. He grinned and shot her a thumbs up, heading for the elevator. “And be careful!”

On the ride down, Daxter leaned against Jak’s head. “She fits in out here better than we thought, huh?”

Jak gave a chuckle. “Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She held her own in Haven for two years.” He shrugged. “I doubt she’ll want to stick around out here for too long, though. Everyone else is back in the city.”

“Yeah. But sounds like the Sandman will let her come visit us,” Daxter reminded him. "At least she wants to come visit."

"Right," Jak agreed. "At least there's someone who cares enough. That counts for something, right?"

"Right, partner," Daxter drawled. "It counts."

Chapter Text

To be honest, though he would never say it out loud, Samos could not figure out why his younger self had thought so highly of Tess.

She was frustratingly dim-witted. It was no wonder she enjoyed Daxter’s company so much, and vice versa. They were on the same level, mentally speaking. Always chattering about unimportant, banal things. Never able to answer a question without going off on some kind of tangent.

As demonstrated by the fact that Samos had asked about Keira, and Tess was now prattling on about the time the two of them had a homemade spa day and braided each other’s hair. Three months ago.

“...and then we played some of those girly sleepover games, you know? Can you believe Keira had never played MASH? She’d never even heard of it!”

Samos watched anxiously as Tess wiped down the bar. “That’s...very well and good,” he said delicately. “But have you heard anything from Keira lately ?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tess said brightly. “Talked to her a few days ago. I think she just took a bit of a vacation, you know?”

“Vacation?” Samos shook his head irritably. “What in the Precursors does that mean?”

Tess put away the cleaning cloth and started to count the bottles of alcohol behind her. “Hmm...we’ll need some more Fireball before Daxter gets back...people love that stuff…”

“Tess! Where is Keira?” Samos followed her as she started rearranging the bottles on the shelves. “She didn’t go on vacation, she’s gone!”

“Oh, you’re always so worried about her,” Tess dismissed. “Keira’s fine, she’s a grown woman. Give her some space to grow up and become the beautiful butterfly you always knew she could be!”

Samos raised an eyebrow. Tess sighed, exasperated, and said, “Alright, if you promise not to get mad...Keira went to the Wasteland.”

Samos stared at her, dumbfounded. “The Wasteland? She...why would she…?”

“She wanted to visit Jak.” Tess tilted her head to the side. “She seemed pretty adamant about it. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Well, that certainly sounded like Keira. Still, Samos felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. “B-but the Wasteland is dangerous! She could be killed!”

“She’s fine,” Tess said soothingly. “She’s with Jak and Daxter and Sig. Nothing bad’ll happen, I promise.”

“You can’t guarantee something like that!” Samos argued. “She could have gotten lost, or run out of water, or—!”

“Keep it down over there, will you?” Torn’s annoyance was clear. Whatever he was working on, he wasn’t happy. “I’m trying to focus.”

“I told you, Keira’s safe. She just popped over to visit Jak, okay?” Tess gently took Samos’ upper arm and started to lead him out. “Now, I suggest you go relax a bit. Take a nice hot bath, or go do some yoga!”

“I am not—! I need to—!” For all his bluster, Tess managed to nudge him out of the Naughty Ottsel. “Tess!”

“Bye, Samos!” She waved as the door shut, leaving him alone in the port. He stood there for a moment, then exhaled in annoyance.

She was right. Keira was safe, he reasoned. As he started to walk, Samos repeated the words to himself. Keira was safe. Sig knew what he was doing out in the Wasteland. Jak would take care of her.

At the thought of Jak, Samos felt a sudden sting of guilt.

Guilt, because for all his fears about Keira being in the Wasteland, he hadn’t had a single one about Jak being banished there. Guilt, because he had never even considered that Jak would be in danger. Guilt, because he had failed at the one thing he’d promised himself he would do.

He always told himself that he would look after the boy. 

In Sandover, Samos had watched over him. Seen him grow, seen him make friends, seen him become the hero he was destined to be. But there was a distance, a sort of...wall that Samos had carefully constructed. 

That was why he’d arranged for Jak to live with the explorer, the man he called “Uncle.” A spirited adventurer who was all too happy to have a protege to teach. He’d never had children of his own, he told Samos. His one great regret. 

So Jak had been raised by his uncle, while Samos taught him and watched over him from a distance, the wall still there between them. The boy would face horrors unimaginable; it was best not to get too attached.

And now Samos was left only with guilt for a boy behind a wall.

Looking up, he realized he’d been walking through the slums while lost in his thoughts. He could hear the metal heads, skittering away from his powers. Green eco: it had always been a deterrent. It had kept the Lurkers away from the village, all those years ago.

At the entrance to Deadtown, Samos stopped in his tracks.

He had been born here, on the shore of murky ocean waters. His parents had been herbalists, doctors, sometimes even surgeons, when the need called for it. He’d been raised with the mantra of “Do good or do nothing, Samos,” and he’d taken it to heart. 

Young Samos had a green thumb: his parents put him in charge of growing the tiny, windowsill garden on the outside of their hut. They never knew his secret, of course; they never knew that he could make the plants glow an acid green as they grew, their whispers shuddering in his ears, thanking him for his help.

Years later, after his parents had passed and he had taken residence as the local herbalist/doctor/sometimes-even-surgeon, Samos had learned more about green eco. About these strange powers that let him grow and heal. 

He hadn’t paid much attention when Praxis took over. A child-king or a war hero, what did it matter? The ruler of Haven City hardly affected Samos, and his little chunk of the city. What did he care for political dealings and underhanded coups? There were people to heal, herbs to grow. There was good to be done.

He should have cared. Instead, he’d simply gone about his business, doing good while doing nothing.

Until the metal heads broke through.

And Samos had no choice but to watch in abject horror, as his friends and neighbors, those he had healed and taught and lived with, had to fight off the monsters. Screaming and dying and crying and hiding. In the mad rush to get away, they’d headed for the wall to the city proper.

“He blocked us off!”

“What?! There’s still civilians out here! We’re still out here! ”

“Praxis called for a tactical retreat! No one can get in or out!”

Their leader left them out here to die. As Samos watched the people fall back in fear, watched the guards raise their guns in one last stand, he’d felt the eco whisper to him, a response to his fear, the same voice he’d always heard when he made his parents’ herbs grow. 

We can help.

Without his input, all the eco rushed through him, and the plants answered his call. Vines smashed through the buildings, roots ripped themselves out of the ground. They grew and coalesced around the metal heads, glowing green and burning the creatures. Howls of pain filled the air, as the guards began to shoot their now-paralyzed enemies.

Behind him, another set of vines intertwined with each other, creating a makeshift ladder over the wall.

“Civilians, head for the wall!” A commander, a man too young to be a leader in a war, called out orders. “Climb over! KG, cover their retreat! Go, go!”

A few moments later, the eco ebbed away. Samos couldn’t keep it up; he was too exhausted. The vines lost their glow as he pitched forward. The young Guard ran to him.

Samos didn’t remember much else after that. He was vaguely aware of being slung over the man’s shoulder and carried over the wall, into the city. He woke up in a dingy apartment, with the young man wrapping his own wounds, grimacing as he tried to use a pitiful little health pack to heal them. 

Tattoos on his face, a ripped Krimzon Guard uniform, a gash across his back. Samos hadn’t thought anything of it then: he’d wordlessly gotten up and started to heal the young man. 

And that...that had started it all.

In the present, Samos stared down at the entrance to Deadtown. It seemed to mock him. Look who’s on the other side of the wall now, it said. Are you doing good or are you doing nothing?

Samos abruptly turned away. He had done what needed to be done. He had done everything because of the greater good , to save the world! The destruction of Dead Town was bad enough: what would the metal heads have done if they’d conquered all of Haven City? 

Surely, he insisted to himself, he hadn’t really had a choice. 

Still, in the back of his mind, the guilt nagged at Samos.

When Jak and Daxter entered the infirmary, bell chiming above his head as usual, they saw Ionna sitting at the counter. She was resting her head on her arms, eyes closed. Daxter shot Jak a worried look.

“Uh, hey, Doc. You okay?” Daxter gently nudged her with his paw. “Up ‘n’ attem, wakey wakey!”

Ionna’s eyes shot open. “Hello, Daxter. I’m perfectly fine.” She sat up and stretched, yawning. Despite the early morning  “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Man, some of you guys need to learn to relax,” Daxter said smoothly. “Chill out, go hang in the shade, take a nice nap.”

“If I took time to nap,” Ionna said wryly, “I wouldn’t be able to get much done around here.”

Now that Jak looked closer, Ionna did seem tired. Her eyes had dark circles under them, and there was something lethargic about her movements. He hesitated, then put his hands on his hips.

“We can take a rain check, if you want.”

“It’s very sweet that the two of you are concerned,” she said with a smile. “But a sleepless night is hardly the worst thing to go through. I’ll survive.”

She sighed and rolled up her sleeves, loosening her muscles. “Now, let’s talk light eco, shall we?” She picked up a bottle of eco and nodded to Jak. “I think we’ve spent more than enough time developing your healing abilities. What shall we work on next?”

“But I don’t think I can do what you do,” Jak argued as he absorbed the eco. He never thought he’d be the one trying to slow his lessons down. “My healing isn’t as good as yours.”

“And it most likely never will be.” She said it so matter-of-factly that he was almost insulted. “Don’t forget, I have spent years training in one specific type of eco. The only person with healing abilities greater than mine would be a green eco sage.”

“Oh, geez, don’t mention him!” Daxter put his fingers in his ears to block out any  mention of Samos. “Lalalala!”

“But still…” Jak flexed his hands while Daxter loudly hummed in the background. “Do you think I’m ready to learn what’s next?”

“As ready as you’ll ever be,” she confirmed. When he still didn’t seem convinced, she set a hand on his shoulder. “Do not feel like you are behind, child. Your abilities are incredible, especially from someone with no formal training.”

Jak made a noise in his throat. “Yeah. I guess.” He reached behind himself to slap Daxter. “Hey, Dax! Shut up, will you? We’re not talking about Samos anymore.”

“Good! If I never hear Ol’ Loghead’s name again, I’ll be a happy ottsel!” He folded his arms and glanced over at Ionna. “So, what now?”

“Well, you mentioned that you wanted to try projectile shooting,” Ionna said. “We can start on that, though we’ll have to go somewhere else before we actually start shooting things.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I’d like to avoid going out of the city right now...I’ll think of something.”

She picked up another book from the shelf and flipped through it. Jak cocked his head curiously as she laid it down on the counter for him to look at. “These look like battle stances,” he remarked.

Ionna nodded and gave him an encouraging smile. “Good observation. These are the physical forms used to propel eco from your body.” She tapped her finger on the first set of diagrams. “We’ll try them a few times without eco for now. Watch.”

She exhaled and took a fighting stance. Jak and Daxter watched as she brought one fist up to her chest and held the other outstretched. With an abrupt punching motion, she jolted her other arm forward, palm out, and brought the other back to her chest. 

“So...it’s a punch?” Jak shrugged at Daxter, who shrugged back. “Seems easy enough.”

“The form itself is not difficult,” she admitted, “but it’s not just a punch. The movements mirror how the eco flows through your body.” She did the same movements again, slower. “You gather energy in your chest, and propel it out of your hand.”

“Looks like a punch to me,” Daxter cracked. “And lemme tell you, if there’s one thing Jak can do, it’s punch things.”

Ionna let out a huff of laughter. “This form also sets you up for another attack,” she explained. “See how my stance is the same, but my arms are reversed? You can follow it up with another blast of eco.”

She demonstrated, showing him a series of imaginary shots. Jak watched with avid interest, already imagining how he could chain some of his own moves to it. A spin kick, he thought, right afterwards to follow it up. Or even a jump while he was shooting...

Ionna let her arms drop and turned to him. “I can see the gears in your head turning. But you must remember, these powers are not toys to play with.”

Jak frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Eco powers are difficult to master and difficult to control.” She gestured to the book. “For example, when you do this, you’re essentially just throwing raw eco at your enemy. Be smart about it; don’t use all your eco at once.”

Jak nodded and mimicked her stance, while she watched. “Pull your arm back towards your chest, at the same time you throw your other arm out.” She nodded appraisingly as he did so. “Good. Now, the hand you're shooting with should be palm-out. This lets the eco have an easy access point to exit your body.”

Jak nodded. “Palm out,” he repeated. “Gather the eco inside my chest and let it out from my hand. Got it.”

She led him through the form a few times, then stood back to watch him. Finally, she said, “Excellent. You’re a quick learner, Jak.”

He scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. “Um...thanks.”

She held out the bottle of eco and uncapped it. “Let’s try channeling the eco. As I said, we can’t actually shoot anything, but I want you to get a feel for how it moves through your body.”

He took the eco in, letting it settle in his chest. He inhaled slowly as he went back into the battle stance. 

“Go slow,” Ionna instructed. “Separate and channel the yellow eco to your hand.”

Jak did as she said, pulling on the yellow eco until it surged up his arm. He moved his hand forward, palm out, stopping the eco before it left his hand. He let it fizzle out on his fingertips, imagining a ball of swirling yellow energy spiraling through the air.

“Hmm.” She wrapped her hand around his wrist and brought his arm up a few inches. “Your technique is fine, but you need to keep your shoulders straight.”

He nodded and pretended to take another shot. Ionna frowned. “What?” he asked. “What did I do wrong?”

“You...nothing.” She tilted her head. “You’re fine. Go on.”

He went through the forms a few more times, shooting imaginary eco at an imaginary enemy. After a while, Ionna said, “Take a break.”

Jak stretched his arms behind his shoulders. “That gets kind of tiring,” he told her. “Is that because of the eco?”

“It’s probably just the repetitive movements.” Ionna folded her arms, suddenly serious. “But you should be careful. If you overexert yourself, you could collapse.”

Daxter rolled his eyes dramatically. “Puh-lease! Look at who you’re talkin’ to. When has Jak ever—and I mean ever —gone overboard with anything?”

Jak glared at Daxter, who flashed him a grin. Ionna, however, was not amused. Eyeing him with a stern look, she said, “This is not something to joke around with. You are both very young, and very brave. But youth and bravery often have disastrous consequences.” She gave them both a fond smile, her face softening. “Just...be aware of your limits. Don’t push yourself too hard; we want to keep you around for a bit.”

Jak opened his mouth, then shut it again, resigned. “Yeah. I’ll be careful.”

She chuckled lightly. “Thank you. I know you’re not actually going to be careful, but it means a lot that you’re willing to lie.”

Daxter snickered. “She’s got your number,” he said, jabbing a furry thumb at Jak. “Young and reckless, that’s what you are.”

Jak wandered aimlessly to the counter and flipped through the book she still had out. “You know,” he said absent-mindedly, “I’ve only ever gotten tired after channeling dark eco. Everything else, I just...never had that problem.”

“Yeah, he even danced right after he channeled light eco the first time,” Daxter teased. “Fit as a fiddle.”

Ionna shook her head at them both. “Youth. It’s wasted on the young.” She sighed as she went to return the book to its rightful shelf. “Of course, I suppose we’re all a bit reckless when we’re young. I’m hardly one to talk about pushing the limits of your abilities.”

Daxter snickered, but Jak tilted his head. “You don’t seem like the reckless type.”

“Hmph.” Ionna closed her eyes, a smile on her face. “I told you, child. We’re all a bit reckless when we’re young.”

Standing on a rocky ledge, looking down over hundreds of oblivious metal heads, Ionna fiddled with the gleaming Krimzon Guard pin on her collar.

Damas had given it to her in the transport, on their way to the eastern eco mine. Once the six of them—Praxis, Yasir, Ali, Antwon, Damas, and herself—had piled into the transport, sitting uncomfortably close on the bench seats, Damas had insisted on pinning it to the tunic under her armor.

The Precursor monks usually wore leather armor, lightweight and flexible. But the armor she was wearing now was plated Precursor metal, dull from years in storage, but much more suited to combat. Warrior’s armor, Onin had told her, a sad smile playing on her lips.

The armor fit better than Ionna expected. It was almost as if it was made specifically for her: perfectly tailored around her arms and calves, flexible enough to bend around her midriff, flared around her shoulders to allow movement. 

It fit a little too well, she thought.

“There’s usually a ceremony,” Damas said as he attached the pin to the cloth, “where we induct you formally into the Guard, but this will have to do.”

“Welcome to the club, young sage.” Yasir tilted his head respectfully at her. “We will make good use of your expertise.”

Praxis rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. Ionna didn’t pay him any attention; it had become clear, over the past several meetings, that he did not agree with her placement in the Krimzon Guard. But Damas had insisted: if she was going to fight like a Krimzon Guard, she deserved to have the title.

Now, standing beside Damas, Ionna peered over the eco mine.

They had landed the transports on the bluffs overlooking the lake where the metal heads were. It gave them enough space to survey their situation, while also allowing them to make a quick escape if they needed it.

The lake was in a valley, surrounded by cavernous mountains and jagged cliffs. Eco ore glittered in the lake bed, visible even from their vantage point. It was only Damas and Ionna on the bluffs now; the others had all gone down to ground level, scouting from there.

“We have them boxed in,” Ionna noted. She gestured to the southern side of the valley. There was only one way out of the area on foot: a narrow, metal bridge that hung over a seemingly endless chasm in the rocks. 

Beside her, Damas’ sharp eyes were on the lake. “That may be true, but there are a lot of them,” he murmured. He had his rifle still strapped to his back, not wanting to risk alerting the metal heads to their presence. He pressed the button for his communicator. “Praxis, what are you seeing down there?”

A crackle, then a gruff voice. “Mostly grunts. I’m sure there are plenty of the crawlers, too.”

“I don’t see any metal jackets or wasps,” Damas reported. “The air is clear.”

“Not quite,” Antwon said grimly. “Over on the east side, there are some flyers, the bigger ones. They’ll be a nuisance.”

Damas surveyed the battlefield. “I can take care of the flyers,” he told them. “I have a good vantage point from up here, and a bigger metal head is a bigger target.”

“I’ll take the eastern side,” Ali said. “If Damas handles the flyers, I can take the ground.”

“The majority of the men will need to head to the western side,” Damas said. “Most of the metal heads are clustered around there. Ionna was right, they’ve started to nest near the lake.”

“Antwon and I can cover the enemies on the lake,” Yasir said immediately. “Ali, take five men. I’ll take fifteen to clear out the lake.”

“And I’ll take the rest to cover the entrance to the bridge,” Praxis concluded. “None of those vile creatures will escape us!”

“Then we have a plan.” He looked over at Ionna. “You need to conserve your eco. Just...watch my back. Provide support if needed. I trust your judgement.”

Ionna glanced over at him. He was setting his rifle up on the rocky ledge, fiddling with the sight. His armor was lighter-weight than that of the other Krimzon Guards; it had more open area and was more maneuverable. His amulet, the rosy Seal of Mar, hung from his neck. As she watched, he ran his fingers along the trigger of the gun, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

She nodded and turned away, back towards the battlefield. She needed to be ready, too. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Praxis’ voice came back over the communicator. “If you’re ready, we’ll start. Antwon?”

“Yes, General.” Below them, Antwon pulled a set of grenades off his belt. “I’ll send a blast their way. Get ready: they’re not going to be happy about it.”

The comms went silent as they all waited. Fifteen seconds later, a loud explosion was heard, followed by the sound of snarls and buzzing. Damas raised his rifle, patient and focused, violet eyes flickering around the sky.

The flying metal heads burst up from their resting place, dark wings fluttering around grotesquely. Ionna readied herself, but Damas had his rifle out and aimed in seconds. With a quick series of shots, four of the flyers went spiraling to the ground.

“More on the way, Your Highness.” Ali’s warning came seconds before another wave of flyers, growling angrily into the sky. “Stay sharp.”

“As if I’m ever not.” Another round of shots rang out, barely covering Ali’s laughter. 

As Ionna kept watch, her eco at her fingertips, Damas made quick work of the metal heads; the flyers were slow-moving, and he was such a quick shot, they never even managed to get close. Below them, the rest of the soldiers were holding their own. On the ground, dozens of skull gems glowed eerily in the half-light. 

She could distantly see Antwon, blasting grenades into masses of metal heads, dark eco misting above their bodies. Not far away, Praxis was holding the line by the bridge, using his sword to swipe any fleeing metal heads. She couldn’t see Yasir, though she did see a crackle of blue electricity that was Ali’s favored weapon. 

“Damas, you’ve got some trouble coming your way.” Antwon’s voice was calm and clear through the communicator. “A few of the crawlers are headed up to where you are. Get ready.”

Damas glanced wryly at Ionna. “Can you handle this?” he asked. “Or should I call Praxis up here?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do I need to break your jaw again?”

He snorted out a laugh and went back to his rifle. “I was just checking. I know how you monks are.”

“I should let the metal heads have you.” With that, Ionna heard the clicking of the metal heads skittering towards them. Before Damas could respond, she ran towards the enemies.

Red eco swirled through her muscles, pulsing in her hands. She ran to the first crawler and grabbed its tail, her fingers holding tight to the thick, scaly appendage. With a grunt, she hurled it over the edge of the cliffside, flailing and shrieking. She gathered eco to shoot it, but before she could, there was an echoing ‘pop!’ from behind her. The metal head exploded into dark eco, its skull gem bouncing down the cliff.

“Ha!” Damas smirked from behind his scope, the barrel still smoking. “You’ll have to be quicker than that.”

Ionna debated saying something back, but there was no time: another crawler was coming up to her. She grabbed its tail and threw it over; once again, Damas shot it in midair. Ionna didn’t waste time, picking up another and tossing it off the side effortlessly. They started to get into a good rhythm, picking off the crawlers one by one.

By the time they had made their way through the small horde of enemies, Ionna’s arms ached. She exhaled as she turned to Damas, who was balancing his rifle on his shoulders, behind his neck. He gave her a tilted smile. 

“Nice arm,” he remarked.

“Passable aim,” she replied. 

Damas gave a bark of laughter, just as something growled behind him. 

“Damas, look out!” Ionna lunged forward and grabbed hold of the Seal around his neck. She hauled him towards her, forcing him to stumble forward as a metal head grunt slashed its claws at his back. The leather cord snapped, leaving Ionna holding the amulet in her palm.

Damas hissed in pain, but he managed to keep his balance. He spun around and shot, killing the grunt quickly. “Dammit!”

“Here, I can heal you,” she began, but he waved her off. 

“Minor injury. Save your eco for those who really need it.” He jostled his shoulders and aimed the gun into the darkness. “Get ready, there’s more coming!”

Ionna pulled on a thread of red eco and prepared herself. There were at least four more metal heads advancing towards them; she mentally calculated that, if she could get a hit on the closest, Damas could take out the rest quickly. 

Her eyes slid to Damas. He was concentrating, and she got the feeling he was coming to the same conclusion. He met her eyes and nodded towards the nearest metal head, shifting his rifle. She tossed the amulet to him, its earthy red a streak through the air between them. He pocketed it and raised his rifle.

And suddenly, the metal heads froze.

The nearest one gave a snarl and they turned, running back from where they’d come from. Damas looked at Ionna, bewildered. “Why are they retreating?”

“...Maybe they were afraid,” she suggested, just as confused as he was.

The communicator crackled to life again. “Enemy retreating on the east side,” Ali reported. 

“Retreating by the lake, too,” Antwon confirmed. “It...looks like they’re headed towards the caves. Back to the nest.”

“...Did we win?” Ali asked. “Are they gone?”

“...” Damas frowned at Ionna. “I don’t like this,” he said over the communicator. “Why are they retreating?”

“It could be some sort of diversionary tactic,” Yasir replied. “Perhaps they are lulling us into a false sense of security, and intend to strike when we are vulnerable.”

“Or they headed back for reinforcements,” Praxis added gruffly. “Either way, we shouldn’t remain here to find out. Head up towards the…”

He trailed off as a dark shadow hovered over him, appearing almost from nowhere. Damas looked up, rifle at the ready, as the shadow grew bigger. 

“Wh-what is that?” Ali’s voice cracked as the figure making the shadow came closer to the ground. “It...it’s a…”

“Metal head,” Ionna breathed.

It was huge and grotesque, almost like a hybrid of all the other types of metal heads. It had an almost human-like aspect to it: Ionna could see that, though it had six insectoid legs, it also had two very human-looking arms. Its huge tail was covered with glowing pustules, ending in spikes. She caught a glimpse of the skull gem that sat on his head, almost like a crown.

Its massive jaw opened as it growled at them, descending down into the center of the valley. As they all watched, its eyes darted around, searching. Finally, it made a noise.

It took a moment for Ionna to recognize the sound; it was raspy and breathy, low in a way that seemed to a mockery of human sounds. 

Laughter.

The metal head was laughing.

Damas was evidently just as alarmed by this as she was. His eyes widened and he took a few steps back. “What the hell…?” He trailed off, dumbstruck. Ionna knew the feeling.

The communicator clicked to life. “Damas,” Praxis said in a low, stern voice, “get into one of the transports. Do not leave it, do you understand? Do not get near that thing!”

If Damas was listening, he certainly didn't act like it. Instead of turning around to the transport, he leapt off the edge of the cliff and began to slide down, almost as if he were surfing along the rocks. Ionna could distantly hear Praxis’ shriek of anger as the communicator followed him down.

Sighing, she followed.

Sliding down to the bottom of the bluff, she ended up next to Damas, who had already shut off the communicator. “Do you ever listen to what he says?” she asked, brushing dirt off her armor.

“I always listen to what he says.” Damas ducked behind a rock, scoping out the metal head. “I just don’t do it.”

They crept along the rocks, avoiding the monster’s line of sight. Praxis had started to fight it, switching between his blaster and his green-glowing sword. Before she could say anything, Damas ran forward, rifle raised.

Ionna groaned and ran after him, getting her own weapons ready. Red eco wouldn’t be helpful here, she thought. Yellow eco, absolutely. She inhaled and felt the eco well up inside of herself, eager to be thrown.

Ahead of them, Damas took a few shots at the metal head. They pinged harmlessly off his torso, causing him to laugh. Ionna had a split second when she saw the creature swipe towards them with his tail.

She slowed down to avoid it. Damas didn’t.

The monster’s tail slammed into Damas’ midriff, sending him flying, careening towards the bridge. Towards the bridge and that empty, endless chasm. Ionna let the eco take over, completely transforming, her wings unfurling around her as she took off after him. 

“Your Highness!” She was distantly aware that the metal head laughed again, and Praxis shouted something, but she had already zoomed through the air. 

She caught up with Damas before he landed in the chasm, luckily. She grabbed hold of his wrist and swung him up into the air.

Damas managed to twist in midair and land on his feet, picking up and running with surprisingly flexible movements. Ionna flew alongside him as he ran back towards the battle; he glanced over and his eyes widened in shock.

“Ionna?” Right. He had never seen her complete transformation before, had never seen her wings. Before he could say anything else, she swirled in midair and landed in front of him on graceful feet. The eco burst off her skin in vibrant light.

“Monks,” he said, slowing to a stop. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Your Highness!” Antwon skidded to a stop beside them, panting with exertion. Yasir followed right behind, shouldering his scatter gun. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Damas glanced over Antwon’s shoulder. Praxis was still engaged with the metal head, while Ali ran towards them now. “How is everyone else?”

“A few casualties,” Antwon reported. “But we need to retreat before it becomes a lot more.”

Damas clenched his jaw. “I didn’t come here to retreat.”

Ali stepped forward abruptly, his frustration making him lose any sense of politeness. “I don’t think you understand. That thing over there? That’s the metal head leader. That thing can talk, and it’s not saying anything nice.” He glared at the king. “We have no chance against it.”

“We must be strategic,” Yasir said softly. He nodded to Damas and Ionna. “The king and the sage should be our priorities for safety. Ali, go with them and support their retreat. Head over the bridge and get to the outpost. We’ll follow when we can.”

Ali puffed his chest up. “I’m not going to leave you behind,” he began, but Yasir interrupted him.

“I am your superior officer and your older brother. Do as I say.” He gave Ali a quirk of a smile. “Or I’ll call our mother here to come tell you off.”

Ali didn’t look happy, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he just grabbed Damas’ wrist tightly. “Let’s go, then.” 

Despite Damas’ protests, he yanked the king towards the bridge. Ionna followed behind, footsteps faltering as they heard a roar behind them.

“...We can’t just…” She glanced over her shoulder helplessly. Yasir and Antwon had both gone back to help Praxis, who was ducking and dodging the huge claws aimed his way. She bit her lip and kept running to keep up with Ali and Damas.

Damas, who was now shouting. “We can’t just leave them!” He struggled to escape Ali’s grip, but the guard held fast. “Dammit, Ali!”

“We need to get you out of here.” Ali ignored his protests and kept going. “The others will be fine, trust me.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Ali,” Damas began, but he was cut off by an ear-splitting screech. Behind them, the metal head leader took flight, his enormous wings beating a whirlwind around them.

“No! You will not escape!” His voice, hoarse and booming, echoed above them. He hovered for a moment, then let out a blast of dark eco. 

Ionna prepared her shield, but the blast wasn’t headed for them. It soared over their heads, directly for the bridge ahead. With a crash of metal, the bridge exploded, broken wreckage all that remained.

“Well, there goes that plan.” Ali finally let go of Damas’ wrist, slowing to a stop. He looked up at the metal head hovering above them. “Holy shit, that thing’s huge.”

Damas fumbled with his gun and pointed it towards the creature. Ali raised his own weapon, eyes flickering across the battlefield. He seemed to be weighing a lot of options, and he didn’t seem particularly pleased with any of them.

“I’ll try to hold him off,” he said finally. “You two head back the other way and run for the transports.”

“Not a chance.” Damas’ hands were as steady as always, but his voice was definitely grimmer than usual. 

Ali growled in his throat. “Very noble of you, Your Highness, but—”

“No, I really mean, there’s no chance.” Damas’ eyes were still on the huge creature above their heads. “It’s coming after me. That’s why it blew up the bridge...it wants me.” He shot Ali a wry look. “I doubt I can make a break for it.”

Ali bit his lip. Clearly, he didn’t like this fact. Ionna looked between the two, an idea forming in her head.

“Can you two keep him distracted?” she whispered. Damas’ eyes flashed to her. “I have an idea. It might not work, but…”

“What is it?” Damas asked. The metal head leered down at them, his eyes flickering between them. It settled on Damas, who grimaced. It slowly sunk down towards the ground, between them and where the bridge had been.

“I’m going to try and back it into the chasm.” She swallowed her fear and exhaled. “It probably won’t die, but maybe we’ll have a chance to escape.”

“It’s not like we have any better ideas,” Ali said, setting his shoulders. “What do you need us to do?”

“Shoot at it. Try to keep it from noticing me.” She inhaled slowly. “Just...keep the damn thing busy for a few minutes.”  

Ionna slid back a few feet, gathering the eco into her body. Damas and Ali both stepped closer to the metal head, readying their guns. It laughed, cold and cruel and oddly human for such an inhumane creature.

“The last heir of Mar. How kind of you to appear before me. Tell me, boy, are you that eager to see your father again?”

Damas gripped his rifle tight and sneered at the metal head. “I don’t intend to die here today.”

“If only your intentions meant anything.”

Without preamble, Damas and Ali both opened fire. The bullets ricocheted off the creature’s shell, making it laugh derisively. “Fools! You think you stand a chance against me?”

Ionna reached into her chest for the light eco. She pulled on the thread of yellow eco, letting it course through her arm. It hit her fingertips and she exhaled.

With a jerk forward, she shot the eco out of her palm. It hit the metal head mid-laugh, causing it to stumble back a few feet and let out a shriek of pain. 

“Light eco?! How….?!” his eyes fell on Ionna. Damas and Ali both continued shooting, but it had eyes only for her. “Haha...how cute. The heir of Mar made a little friend.”

The metal head leader skittered over to face Ionna. “Tell me, monk,” it spat, “will you still serve a king from the grave?”

Damas shouted something at it, but Ionna didn’t bother to waste her own breath. She pulled on the yellow eco again and let loose another shot. The metal head screeched and recoiled a few more feet.

Closer to the edge.

Another shot, another few feet. It was no longer laughing or mocking now, but intent on her. It shot a blast of dark eco at her, but she was ready: her shield came up and covered her, letting the blast dissipate harmlessly around her.

The metal head growled. “I see...so you’re no normal monk.”

Ionna shot another blast of eco, this one hitting it squarely in the chest. It was forced back another few feet, but not enough. Panting, she wiped her forehead, some of the paint coming off on her shaking hand.

She was running out of eco. It was getting harder and harder for her to pull together another shot. She concentrated and reached into herself to pull on the well of eco. 

Fifty more feet. She could do this. Two, maybe three more shots.

She swallowed as the metal head bore down on her, his pupil less eyes gleaming. If she had enough in her for two or three more shots. If she didn’t miss. If that thing didn’t decide to just kill her now, while she was trying to gather her energy. If—

“And here I thought you were after me!”

A shot rang out and hit the metal head directly in his skull gem. The creature howled in rage and turned his attention towards Damas, who was giving it an almost feral grin.

“I will destroy you, your foolish monks, and your precious city!” It charged another eco blast, this one aimed at Damas, but Ionna was quicker. With an exhale, she threw another blast at it, right at his underbelly.

Further towards the edge. She closed her eyes to concentrate. She could hear footsteps, loud voices, gunshots, but she had to focus. The metal head roared again, and she let loose another shot.

This one hit his head, causing it to screech in either pain, anger, or both. Ionna gasped a ragged breath and tried to gather enough eco for one more shot. It hurt; a sharp pain ran through her chest and up her arm. She grit her teeth.

“Aim for his skull gem. That’ll stun him.” Damas’ voice was close to her; she realized he had run to her side. “The rest of us will try to push him back a bit further, keep him distracted.” 

The rest of them? She looked around to see that Antwon, Yasir, and Praxis had all appeared beside them, ready to fight. She set her shoulders and shot Damas a hesitant look.

“I...I might not be able to…”

Damas shook his head at her. “Now is not the time for ‘might.’ If you manage it, great. If you don’t…” He glanced around at the other KG. “Then we’ll do what we can.”

She nodded at him, and he nodded back. “Go,” she whispered, and he did. He ran back to the other Guards, taking well-aimed shots as he went. She inhaled shakily and closed her eyes.

Concentrate. She still had some eco, deep down inside, and she needed it. Every scrap, every drop, every single bit of light eco needed to be in this shot.

It welled up in her chest like an old friend, a hopeful flame burning in the darkness. She exhaled and opened her eyes to see the metal head leader.

She took careful aim at the skull gem on his head, hoping that it would be enough. She pulled back for a moment, readying herself, and jolted forward.

Fwoosh.

The last shot of light eco hit the metal head directly in his skull gem. He let out a shrill scream, and as he stumbled around in apparent pain, Damas took a few well-aimed shots at his knees (or, the metal head equivalent, she guessed).

He lost his balance: they all watched with bated breath as the metal head finally lost his footing and fell down into the chasm. For a split second, they couldn’t hear anything except his echoing cries.

Then, finally, Praxis snarled, “Retreat!”

They all turned and ran, heading for the transports. Ionna turned around to follow them, but her vision spun. Her knees buckled and she crashed to the ground, struggling to stand back up. 

“Ionna!” Damas turned around to help her, but someone else was faster. Their hands hooked under her arms and hauled her to her feet like a child.

Confused, she looked up to see Praxis’ stern face above her. He slung her over his shoulder, causing her to yelp in surprise, and started to run. There was a rush of light-headedness, forcing her to close her eyes or be violently ill. Every muscle in her body ached.

Praxis said nothing as they all made a mad dash into the transport. The remaining soldiers were following his orders to retreat, running ahead of them. Finally, Praxis’ boots hit metal; she could hear the doors closing behind them, as someone banged on the wall of the driver’s cab.

“Get us the hell out of here!” Ali shouted. 

There was silence, except for the sound of them all breathing heavily. Then the engines started and they all breathed a collective sigh of relief. As they took off, rising above the eco mine, they heard a distant screech of anger.

Praxis set Ionna down on the seat. She kept her eyes closed, hoping to push down the sickness that came with using too much eco; hadn’t Onin warned her about this? Everything was spinning, almost terrifyingly so. Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it back.

Her attention was taken by something cold splashing over her face. Her eyes popped open. The bitter taste of paint dripped into her mouth as she spit and gasped. Above her, glaring down, was Praxis. He’d dumped a canister of water over her.

“Still alive,” he grunted, then turned to sit down.

For a moment, her mind seemed to unfocus. But the cold shock had helped, since she was no longer light-headed. It gave her something to concentrate on that wasn’t the exhaustion and pain and burnout. 

Without even thinking, she rasped out, “Don’t be disappointed, there’s always next time.”

Praxis snorted and smirked. Damas set another canister of water into her hand. “Here. Maybe you can let her actually drink this one, Praxis?”

Another shriek echoed through the mountains, but it sounded much too far away to matter. They had, evidently, managed to get out of range of the metal head leader. Ionna exhaled and took a gulp of water, letting the cold of it clear her throat.

The transport went quiet again, all the Guards wallowing in their exhaustion. Finally, Damas broke the silence with a wry, “You know, I don’t think he liked me very much.”

At first, everyone stared at him in astonishment. It was Antwon who started laughing first, a bubble that rose from his chest, before everyone else joined in. Infectious, delirious, tired-drunk laughter that filled the cabin and seemed to bond them together.

Chapter Text

Fixing the communications system let Keira avoid all the confusing thoughts and feelings that were bouncing around in her head. The work was second-nature to her: she'd been fixing machines for most of her life. But it was just distracting enough that she had no brainpower to devote to her troubling personal life.

Like the fact that, now that she was here, what was she supposed to do next?

Sure, coming to the Wasteland to see Jak and Daxter had seemed like a good idea at the time. And, sure, maybe Keira had been hoping that Jak would decide to come back to Haven City, that seeing her again would remind him of all the things he'd left behind.

But seeing him out here? It was like seeing a totally different Jak.

Almost like seeing the Jak she knew from her childhood. The boy who was always playing and teasing, who chuckled silently as he fell into mischievous adventures, who easily traded Precursor Orbs for Power Cells with a smile on his face.

She couldn't take that away from him. He was happy here; he deserved to be happy here.

Shaking her head clear, Keira levied a screwdriver and pried off the cover of the communication center. Inside were fragile, practically ancient wires wound around delicate mechanisms. They were still working, but crying out for basic maintenance that should have been done years ago.

She worked slowly, careful not to break or dislodge them. This was so unlike the vehicle work she preferred: humming engines, the smell of oil, sparks flying from welding tools.

She gently pulled out the main nodule. This sort of work required precision, cautious and methodical movements. She was careful not to bend anything out of shape or touch any delicate glass.

The transistors worked perfectly, despite how outdated they were. Only a single modulator, but that shouldn't be causing the issue. The connection wires weren't insulated; maybe that was it? Keira reached into the toolbox and pulled out the electrical tape to wrap them.

Three hours later, Keira was becoming increasingly certain that the issue wasn't with the transmitter at all. Everything seemed to be working correctly: the oscillator oscillated, the modulator modulated, the wires...were there. No, whatever was going on with this, she was sure it wasn't an issue with the transmitter.

"You are permitted to take breaks."

Keira jerked her head around. Damas was there, standing in the doorway, an imperious smirk on his face. A look so familiar to her, though she couldn't quite place it. He continued, "It's well past noon. Aren't you hungry?"

She shrugged, but her stomach growled suddenly. Damas gave a low chuckle. She folded her arms petulantly. "I just get caught up in my work sometimes. No big deal."

"Wait here." He stalked away, back oddly straight as he walked. That was also familiar, Keira noticed, though she recognized this one. That was the way Jak walked, with his shoulders back and head held high. She frowned and tried to remember: had he always walked like that? Or was that a habit he'd developed in the years they'd spent apart?

She was having trouble remembering her childhood in Sandover. It was blurry and faded, faraway in the recesses of her mind. That scared her a bit.

Damas' footsteps echoed down the hall again, capturing her attention. She looked up from the floor as he reentered, a woven basket in his arms.

The basket landed on the floor beside Keira with a thump. "Eat," Damas commanded. "You are of no good to me when weak from hunger."

"...Thanks." She leaned over the basket and peered inside. There was some kind of flatbread and a little container of oil, along with several fruits and a small cistern of water. She started to tear a piece of bread off and glanced up at Damas. "You know, you're not so bad."

"Hmph. So they say." He folded his arms and watched as she chewed the bread. It was softer than she expected; bread in Haven City was tough, as if the dough had been worked too much before baking. "Have you made progress on your task?"

"Sort of." Keira dipped another piece of bread into the oil. "From what I can tell, the problem doesn't seem to be the transmitter at all."

He raised an eyebrow as she took another bite of bread. The oil was tangy and spicy, but not hot. He made a noise in his throat. "That's...something, I suppose."

"Hey, progress is progress." She swallowed and tapped the transmitter with her nails. "I'll run a few more diagnostic tests to see if I can pinpoint the problem. Even if it's not with the transmitter, I'll bet we can fix it!"

Damas clasped his hands behind his back. "See it done."

He started to walk away, but Keira looked back at him. "Hey...before you go, can I ask you a question?"

Damas raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Suppose I wanted to go back to Haven City," she said, "but visit Jak and Daxter here sometimes. Can I do that?"

Damas frowned. "...I will admit, there is no law already in place that bars you from doing so. Most who seek refuge in our walls have nowhere else to go." He tilted his head, thinking. "You have shown that you are willing to work for the people of Spargus. You obviously have skills that would benefit the city, so I see no harm in allowing you free passage in and out."

Keira broke into a smile, though Damas' face turned stern. "But you are responsible for the well-being of Spargus when you are here. Do not expect favor just because you are a newcomer."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Keira answered dryly. Damas gave a shadow of a smile before he turned and left. Keira tore another piece of bread apart with her teeth and chewed it thoughtfully.

Maybe this place wasn't so bad after all.

Youth, Damas thought wryly. It came with a certain vigor, a vitality and enthusiasm that waned the older you grew. He never understood the old Wastelanders who sneered at the young folks, muttered about their laziness and their foolishness.

If they could see Keira now, buzzing across the room like a madwoman, he wondered if they'd still think of her as foolish or lazy.

"Jak, you're right on time!" As Damas led Jak and Daxter to the back room, Keira suddenly grabbed the ring on his tunic and pulled him forward. "C'mon, I think I figured it out!"

"Nice to see you, too," Daxter grumbled. "Not even here for five seconds and she's already shoutin'."

Keira dragged him to the table, where she'd put the transmitter back together. She picked up a wrench and quickly tightened a bolt on the side panel.

"What have you found out?" Damas asked her. "Do you know what's wrong with it?"

"Okay, well, there's good news and bad news." Keira twirled the wrench in her hand. "The good news is, the transmitter is still in pretty good condition, no problems there."

"And yet, there are problems." Damas stood in front of her, stiff and straight, appraising her work. Keira smirked at him.

"Well, there are a lot more parts than just the transmitter, you know. There's the transducers, the amplifier, the receiver…" She trailed off as Damas raised an eyebrow. "Okay, you don't seem like the kind of guy who cares about all that, so I'll keep it simple. This box?" She cocked a hip and tapped the main terminal. "It's working perfectly. It's transmitting a signal with no trouble. The problem is, the signal isn't reaching far enough out to get to your communicators."

"So how do we fix it?" Daxter held up a tangle of wires. "Ooh, ooh! Maybe we should tie all these babies together!"

Keira rolled her eyes at him. "I just told you, it has nothing to do with anything here. Communication towers have satellites in them. These satellites are what sends the signal out to the communicator itself."

Jak looked down at the scattered bits and pieces. "So there's a problem with the satellite?"

"Well, satellites, plural." She folded her arms over her chest and cocked her hip. "Communication towers work using triangulation—well, technically, trilateration—which means that you need three satellites in different locations to send a strong signal."

"So one of 'em's busted!" Daxter had gotten tangled in the wires now; Jak shook his head and reached over to free him.

"Yep. And I think I know which one," Keira replied. "I sent out a test signal, to see which satellites this communication system is programmed to. Long story short, it looks like this system was using one satellite from Spargus, and two satellites from Haven City. At least, it was until one of the Haven satellites went mysteriously off line."

Damas made a disgruntled noise in his throat. "Sig bought this from a contact in Haven City years ago."

"He probably got it from Krew," Daxter remarked from beneath the pile of wires. "Anything worth havin' went through his pudgy little hands."

"We only received one satellite. We were told we only needed the one to be placed at the highest point in the city." The king huffed out an annoyed breath. "Are you saying we were lied to?"

Daxter snorted as he popped his head out from the wires. "Sure sounds like Krew."

"I'll bet the missing satellite was on top of the Palace," Jak said, yanking a wire from Daxter's tail. "Which explains why it's not working, since the Palace is, um...currently rubble."

Keira smiled broadly. "All we have to do is build another satellite to replace it. With three satellites, the problem should be fixed."

"Hmm." Damas rubbed his chin thoughtfully, frowning as he considered it. "I dislike the idea of any part of our communications system lying in Haven City. It puts us Wastelanders in a vulnerable position."

"I thought you might say that," Keira said dryly. "So, I figured, if we're already replacing one satellite, why not replace the other one? That way, if another satellite goes down, at least it goes down in the desert."

Daxter gave a yelp as Jak pulled him out of the wires. "Where are we gonna find enough metal to build communication towers?" he asked, scampering up to Jak's shoulder. "And who's gonna build 'em?! 'Cause let me tell you, I'm not going out there with all those creepy dark whozits to build it!"

"Who said we need a tower?" Keira remarked slyly.

Jak and Daxter both tilted their heads, confused, but Damas' eye lit up in realization. "Ah. Of course."

"Of course? Of course what?" Daxter snapped. "Ugh, I hate being out of the loop!"

"There is no need to build towers when we have mountains." The king folded his arms. "We placed the original satellite at the top of the palace due to its height. We can place new ones anywhere we wish in the desert."

Keira nodded. "All I need are the right materials to make the satellites. After that, we'll just need some brave hero to put them in place!" She smiled at Jak, who flushed and looked away.

"I gotcha, baby! No fear, the Daxinator is here!" From his friend's shoulder, Daxter struck a pose. Keira rolled her eyes. "Me and my sidekick will take care of it."

"What materials will you need?" Damas asked, ignoring Daxter's antics. "We Wastelanders may not be rich, but we know how to scavenge."

Keira tapped her chin. "Metal," she said first. "Any kind will do, but Precursor metal would hold up best against the sand. And I'll take any old communicators you've got: I can gut them to create the electronic components."

"Consider it done." Damas turned to Jak. "And you…"

Jak grimaced under the stern glare. "Wh-what did I do?"

"...You should be on your way to Seem." Damas gave him a flicker of a smile. "She's being kind enough to teach you. You shouldn't keep her waiting."

"Uh, right!" Jak nodded and held his arm out towards Keira. Daxter leapt off it and onto Keira's shoulder. She winced as his claws scratched against her skin. "You guys okay to hang out here?"

"Of course," Daxter said. "You go chill with Paint By Numbers, and we'll get somethin' to eat. Hey, wanna go to my favorite watering hole?"

The three of them headed back out towards the throne room, Daxter chattering away while Keira rolled her eyes and Jak grinned at them both. Laughter rang down the corridor, along with a playful exclamation of indignation from Daxter.

Yes, Damas thought with a smile. Youth was something to be treasured.

The euphoria from escaping the metal head leader only lasted until the next Krimzon Guard meeting.

They were missing Ionna and Ali for the meeting. Ali had been injured during the battle, and at Yasir's insistence, was recuperating in the infirmary. He claimed it was minor—just a dark eco burn, nothing serious—but they had all agreed that he should take the time to heal.

"You have exceeded every expectation put before you," Praxis had told him. "You've earned a rest."

Ali had clearly been in awe of the praise, and insisted that he would be better soon. "A few days, tops," he said, waving them away from his bedside. "Don't worry, you're not getting rid of me that easily."

Meanwhile, Ionna hadn't come back to the palace at all since the battle.

"I apologize, Your Highness," she said once they returned to Haven. The Krimzon Guard trooped out of the transport, peeling off armor and sighing with relief. "But Onin and Seem both requested that I return to the Mountain Temple immediately. There are duties I need to attend to."

"Sick of us already, I suppose." He'd given her a grin, which she exhaustedly returned. "Go. Rest well. Tell Seem I said hello."

Ionna smiled gratefully before turning away. She hesitated, however, and then turned to Praxis. "...General Praxis. I owe you my life. Thank you."

Praxis snorted. "No need for your thanks."

At the meeting a few days later, that left Damas, Praxis, Ali, and Yasir.

And a very heated, very familiar argument.

"I renew my objection to having you on the battlefield, Your Highness." Praxis clenched his fist against the table. "Now that the metal heads recognize you, it would be absolutely madness to take that risk!"

"And I'm telling you," Damas snarled back, "that's not going to happen. I intend to fight beside my soldiers."

"Damas," Yasir said quietly, "your loyalty to your men is commendable, but…"

"You are the king," Antwon finished solemnly. "This battle could have very well spelled the end of Mar's line. Quite frankly, we owe Ionna and Ali for their courage and quick thinking."

"Hey, I was there, too," Damas objected. "I fought along with them!"

"Saving your own life doesn't count as heroism," Praxis bit back. "We could have retreated and left you behind to face that...thing on your own! It was only after you!"

Damas slammed his palms on the table, sending the pens jumping. "Make up your damn mind! Am I invaluable or am I expendable?"

"You are nothing but a child, foolish and overconfident!"

"That's enough!" Yasir's voice, normally the epitome of calm and steady, rang out sharply through the room. They all turned to him.

"We cannot afford to fight amongst ourselves," he said firmly. "United we stand, divided we fall. If you are unable to accept that, then we will lose this war!"

"Yasir is right." Antwon folded his arms and glared at them both. "If we do nothing but fight, nothing but fighting will get done."

Damas grit his teeth. "I'm not changing my mind," he insisted. "I'm not staying behind while everyone else fights!"

"Damas. The metal head leader knew you were the Heir of Mar." Antwon exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. "We need to be more careful from here on out."

"He only knew it was me because of my seal." Damas wrapped his fingers around the amulet he wore. "If I hide it, I'll be fine."

"They already know your face!" Praxis snapped. "They'll recognize you if you get close to them."

"And then every battle we have," Yasir continued, "will turn into the same thing: the metal head leader versus us."

"We barely survived the last battle. I doubt we could survive another one." Antwon folded his arms and sighed. "The light sage's quick thinking saved us, but we won't be so lucky next time."

Damas' grip tightened on his seal. "I…"

"And that was an impromptu attack," Yasir added, not hearing Damas' hesitation. "If the metal heads know the heir of Mar is there, they'll have traps, ambushes. We must be prepared."

"Your Highness?" Antwon asked quietly. "Are you alright?"

They were all watching him. Waiting for him to say something, to do something. He felt his chest tighten.

"You must listen to us!" Praxis snapped. "Your selfish desire to fight would endanger every man on that battlefield."

"Praxis, quiet." Antwon reached over and squeezed Damas' shoulder. "Damas?"

Damas inhaled slowly, but couldn't seem to catch his breath. He shrugged off Antwon's hand. "I need a minute. Excuse me."

With that, Damas spun around and ducked out of the room, while they all stared at him. Heart pounding, he headed for the doorway to the roof, to the wall that overlooked the city. He leaned against it and put his head in his hands.

Selfish. Foolish. Childish.

Damas slid the crown off his head and stared at it, twirling it in his hands. He remembered, as a child, when he'd sit on his father's lap and play with it. With a wry smile, he tossed the crown into the air, spinning it and catching it on his fingers. He spun it a few more times, watching the metal shimmering in the neon lights of the city.

"Your father used to say that crown was the heaviest object in the world."

Damas glanced behind him. Antwon was standing there, watching him carefully. He settled the crown back on his head and sighed. He ran a finger over the Seal of Mar and traced the symbol.

"I wish he were here," Damas muttered. "Maybe he could tell me what to do."

"Ha. That's what makes the crown heavy." Antwon leaned against the wall beside him, crossing his ankles casually. "Listen, everyone in that room is on your side. Even Praxis."

"I know, I know!" Damas groaned and rubbed his temples. "I just...it's not in my nature to have other people fight while I stay behind."

"And it wasn't in your father's nature either." Antwon sighed. "I'm sure he'd tell you how dangerous such a notion is, but unfortunately, he's dead."

Damas snorted. "Thank you for the reminder. You're very helpful."

"I'm making a point." Antwon met his eyes. "Your father, a formidable warrior in his own right, held the same ideals that you did. He went into almost every battle with the Krimzon Guard, helmed an entire battalion, faced countless metal heads in battle. But he paid a steep price for it."

Damas glared at him. "So I should just smile and nod and stay in my place on the throne, like a good little boy?"

"Did I say that?" Antwon kicked at Damas' legs teasingly. "I happen to agree with you. Good leaders aren't afraid to get in the thick of it." He tilted his head and sighed. "But good leaders also know that there is compromise in every disagreement."

Damas raised an eyebrow. "Compromise?"

"Don't say it like you've never heard of it." Antwon laughed and playfully shoved the king's shoulder. "I'm just saying, it wouldn't hurt to take Praxis' concerns into consideration. There are lives besides your own at stake."

Damas lifted his head. "You're right. I get it."

"Good man." Antwon slapped Damas' back. "Now let's get in there and finish up this meeting, shall we?"

Damas shoved himself off the wall, a grin making its way back onto his face. "I guess we should."

As they made their way back into the meeting room, Damas fiddled with his Seal of Mar. He inhaled as he looked around at Praxis and Yasir.

"You guys are right," he said finally. "But...I'm right, too. So I'll compromise." Praxis scoffed, but Damas paid him no mind.

"I'll wear a helmet and keep anything identifiable back at the palace. And…" Damas hesitated, then continued, "I'll stay stationed at a sniper's outpost. I'll keep out of the fray and let Praxis handle the infantry decisions. I work better as support, anyway."

Praxis didn't look particularly happy with the compromise, but he simply said, "Fine. But you can't go leaping into battle whenever you feel like. Your little stunt with the metal head leader can't happen again."

Damas nodded in agreement. "You have my word. But you have to agree that you won't undermine me." He narrowed his eyes at Praxis. "I won't abandon my soldiers. I'll coordinate long-range and air support, you stick to the ground."

For a moment, he and Praxis made eye contact. They were mirrors of each other, both of them glaring with a sort of familiar anger. Bitter, jaded, frustrated. A glare that said, quite clearly, that neither of them quite trusted the other.

Chapter Text

Standing in front of a dozen angry Freedom League soldiers, Ashelin began to question if blue was really a calming color.

That was, after all, why she'd picked it. Something she'd read once about how blue made people feel more relaxed and at ease. When putting together the Freedom League, she and Torn had wanted to make sure people weren't intimidated by the uniform. This was a new era, she'd reasoned; the people could trust the Freedom League, and their uniforms should show that.

Now, though, she wasn't so sure.

They'd marched into Freedom HQ, backs straight and eyes accusing. They wanted to talk, they said. About the war, and how it wasn't going well.

"I understand you're all concerned," she said evenly. "But we can get through this, and defeat the metal heads once and for all!"

"It's not just the metal heads," one of the guards said. "Count Veger says there's something else coming, something worse."

"Veger is just trying to sow discord. He's using the Freedom League to accumulate power." Ashelin watched them, wishing she could see their actual faces. Talking to helmets made them seem almost inhuman. "Don't let him use you."

"So that thing in the sky is just...what, a star?" Another guard, her voice panicked, spoke up. "Veger's lyin' to us?"

Ashelin hesitated. "...It's nothing to worry about. We have a plan in place to take care of it."

"So there is something coming?" This guard slammed his fist into his hand. "I've had enough of being lied to! The Baron pulled this shit all the time with us!"

Ashelin flinched, but the other guards murmured in agreement. "You have to tell us what the hell's going on," someone shouted at her. "You can't just leave us in the dark!"

"Okay. Okay, I get it." Ashelin held up her hands in surrender. "Look, I'm sorry that you guys felt...out of the loop. I just thought there was enough for you all to deal with down here."

The guards all watched her, faceless and angry. She sighed. "Yes, that...star is something coming," she continued. "Yes, it's dangerous, but we already have a plan to take care of it."

"What's the plan?" another guard called out.

Ashelin took a deep breath. The best answer, she supposed, was the truth. Or close to it. "We have someone working on a weapon that can destroy it."

The crowd murmured again, though they sounded calmer this time. Ashelin's shoulders relaxed. "I'll be more forthcoming in the future. In the meantime, please remember, you can always come to me or Torn if you have concerns. Don't listen to Veger's nonsense, he's just trying to get you on his side."

With the guards pacified, Ashelin watched them march out. Some of them nodded respectfully, while some of them had less-than-pleasant looks for her. When they were gone, she collapsed in a chair and groaned.

It was one thing for Veger to spread lies and rumors about her. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. But it was another thing for him to sow fear like this among the guard. This was dangerous. This was how people got banished into the Wasteland.

"Ah, heavy is the head that holds the crown." The slow footsteps of hard-soled shoes on the floor brought Ashelin's attention back. "You know, some people just aren't fit to be leaders."

"Veger." She spun around to face him, a sneer already on her face. "Didn't I throw you out of here?"

Veger clicked his tongue. "Now, now, there's no reason to be so adversarial. I've come to offer you a...proposition of sorts."

She glared at him. "Whatever it is, no."

"So eager to be rid of me," he said haughtily. "You might change your tune after you hear what I have to say."

"Just say it and get out," Ashelin snarled.

Veger tilted his chin up, his staff carefully balanced in his hands. "The Daystar looms closer with each passing day. It seems your little eco freak hasn't helped you very much, has he?" He tutted in mock disappointment. "You must be very...worried."

Ashelin glared at him. "Jak knows what he's doing," she said. "I'm not worried at all."

A lie, of course. Not that she didn't trust Jak; she did! But…

...Jak hadn't contacted her since the last time he was in Haven City. No news on the artifact they needed, nothing about going down into the catacombs. Radio silence.

So she was sort of worried. Not that she'd let Veger know that.

"So loyal. Such faith is to be admired." Veger began to pace around the room. "And pitied, of course."

"Can you please just get to the point?" Ashelin snapped. "I have real work to do."

Veger stopped, his heels clicking together. "My monks have given the knowledge needed to access the catacombs," he said. "I can activate the weapon and destroy the Day Star once and for all."

"Jak's taking care of it," she said shortly.

"Ah, but I can take care of it faster." He gestured grandly around him. "This is my role to play in history. I will be the glorious hero, the chosen messenger of the Precursors themselves."

His eyes were shining with fervor now. Ashelin rolled her eyes and tapped her nails on the table. "Get to the point."

Veger seemed to come out of his delusion. "I can save the world," he said arrogantly. "But there is one thing I need first."

"Let me guess. Money."

Veger laughed coldly. "I have no need of material wealth." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "All I want...is that dark eco freak out of my way."

Ashelin raised an eyebrow and Veger continued, "That worthless menace is dangerous. Deranged, even! Dark eco changes a person's mind, you know. It makes them...unstable."

Ashelin folded her arms, ready to tell him off, but she stopped.

She'd never really seen Jak "go dark," as he called it. She'd heard stories, of course, from Underground members and Krimzon Guards who'd seen it. Torn flat out refused to talk about the one time he'd seen Jak lose control, claiming that he hadn't really been paying attention to the kid.

But she did know that Jak was angry. That he went from 0 to 100 in seconds, that he held grudges close to his chest. That every once in a while, he stormed around looking for a fight, and only Daxter could ever calm him down.

Veger's lips curled into a thin smile. "Even you see it. Jak has been a good little attack dog, but all dogs must come to their master's heel. And if they don't…they are put down."

Jak clearly still had hard feelings towards Haven, she thought. He clearly wanted to wash his hands of the city and stay out in the desert.

Maybe it was better that he did.

Loathe as she was to trust Veger with anything, especially the fate of the world, the fact remained: Jak was...angry. At her, at his friends, at the city itself. Rightfully so, but...

Suddenly, a thought popped into her head, intrusive and unprompted.

What would Daxter say if he could see her now?

Nothing good, she thought wryly. Probably something about how, of course they'd replace us, Jak. Even though they saved the whole city already! About how he ain't surprised! They already threw him out once!

Why not replace him while they're at it.

And suddenly, Ashelin felt a surge of guilty anger.

"Get out," she snarled. Veger sneered at her. "Did you hear me? Get out before I throw you out!"

"So," he said in a quiet, dangerous kind of voice, "you choose to side with destruction over rebirth. On your own head be it."

With that, he spun on his heel and stalked away, to the elevator and down to the city. Ashelin sighed heavily and let herself go limp in her chair.

God, this shit was tiring.

It was only a few minutes later that Torn called her, his holographic face peering through the room.

"Ashelin, you okay? You look...uh…"

"I'm fine," she mumbled. "I just realized my conscience has Daxter's voice."

It was a testament to how well Torn knew her that he didn't even question the statement. "I guess you're having a rough night."

"You have no idea. I'll fill you in later." She sat up in her seat. "What's the report on the latest attack?"

As Torn launched into the debriefing, Ashelin set her jaw. Veger would not defeat her. He wouldn't get the best of her. She would trust her friends, even when she felt unsure.

And on her own head be it.

The desert was peaceful at night.

Jak pressed his foot down, ramping the speed of the Dune Hopper. Bullets flew over his head in red streaks, the gritty engine of the Marauder behind him whining.

Okay, almost peaceful. It'd be a lot more peaceful without these guys chasing him. He turned the wheel hard, skidding through the sand and launching into the air. Annoyed, he slammed the turbo button and went careening across the sky.

Landing with a thump, Jak hit the gas again and zoomed away from the Marauders. He pulled his goggles down and drove towards the mountain path, jumping over gaps in the rocks and dodging the last few hits from the Marauders behind him. Finally, he reached the entrance to the temple.

When he reached the Atrium, Seem was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the swirling eco vents. She had a faraway look in her eyes, the lights flickering in the red of her irises. Jak hesitated, then stepped into the room.

"Sorry I'm late." He put his hands on his hips and nodded to Seem. "How's everything here?"

"Calm." Seem made a sign of gratitude with her hands and turned to him. "No issues, though we are being cautious. And before you ask, we still have seen no sign of the Eco Sphere."

"Of course not," Jak grumbled. He stopped, his gaze caught by one of the carvings on the wall. "I swear I've seen this before."

Seem glanced over at it. It was the same one he'd been interested in last time, jagged lines and smooth circles. "It may have been in the Mountain Temple in Haven," she told him. "Imagery from the Precursors is used often in the temples and catacombs."

He squinted at it, then shrugged. "That's not it. It'll come to me." He looked over at her. "Anyway...what are we doing today?"

"Well, you are able to control your darkness. I suppose it's time that you learned some of the abilities that come with dark eco." She gestured to the vents. "Gather your resources."

"...Ionna showed me all the things light eco can do." Jak walked closer, near the eco vents. As he was used to, he began to take dark eco in from the vent. "What powers come with dark eco?"

Seem tilted her head thoughtfully. "I do not know."

"But I thought you were…" Jak frowned. "You know, the dark eco sage."

"Acolyte," she corrected. "While other ecos have been studied carefully over time, dark eco has largely gone unknown. Or, rather, intentionally ignored. The only person I know who did any sort of research into it is Praxis."

Jak frowned. "So you don't know what sort of powers you have?"

"I know what sort of powers I have," she explained. "I have no doubt there are many others I don't have."

Seem picked something up from the edge of the Atrium, where small altars were carved into the wall. She turned to him and tossed it across the room. "Here."

Jak caught it with deft hands. It was one of the idols that he and Daxter had seen on the volcano. He felt dark eco crackle over his skin: he was turning invisible, just as he had before. Seem made a noise and nodded. "As I thought. You've already gained some dark powers without my instruction."

"Sort of." He tossed the idol back to her, the eco dissipating from his skin. "I can only do it when I touch one of those things."

He didn't know how to explain it. It wasn't like light eco; when he tried to tap into dark eco, it overwhelmed him. He couldn't control it long enough to make it turn him invisible.

However, Seem didn't need him to explain it. "You know now how to control your darkness. It should be possible for you to channel the eco into other powers."

"Like what?" He was genuinely curious; aside from invisibility, what else could dark eco do?

"...Watch closely." She exhaled slowly, gathered the eco into her chest, and took a step forward.

And vanished, in a plume of purple gas.

Jak blinked. That hadn't been invisibility, he thought. Where had she…?"

"Over here."

He turned around to her voice, echoing through the Atrium. She was levitating above him, near the statues that hung over their heads. There was something familiar about the way she hovered there, her arms and legs slack, staring down with dark red eyes.

His mind brought him back, all those years ago, in the Red Sage's hut. Watching the two barely-human creatures above him, extolling the virtues of dark eco.

Jak shook the image of Gol Acheron away as Seem slowly sank back down to the floor. "Teleportation is my most useful power, though I can only go short distances. All sages can levitate; I have no idea if you can do so."

"So what should we start with?" he asked. "Invisibility?"

Seem nodded. "It seems prudent. After all, you already know how to do it. We just need to practice." She gestured and walked closer to him. "Go on, then. Transform."

Jak let the dark eco crackle over him, the pain of the transformation tearing a growl from his throat. Seem watched calmly, evidently too used to Jak's transformation to be bothered by it. He pushed the wave of darkness down; to his surprise, he had a lot more clarity than he was used to.

"Very good. Now, focus on allowing the dark eco to...almost cover you. Imagine it is a protective skin around you, blocking others from seeing you."

Jak did as she said. The power came to him, like muscle memory, and he watched as his hands disappeared. Seem looked surprised.

"You catch on quickly. Change back."

Jak did so, letting the eco slide off his skin. He shuddered as he transformed back. Seem waited, then continued, "But for all your cleverness, there is more to learn. You can use this power outside of your dark form, as you already have."

She held up the idol and handed it out for him to take. However, once he had his hands on it, she didn't let go.

"Turn invisible. Then I'll remove the idol, but I want you to focus on the dark eco. Keep it covering you."

Jak nodded in understanding. He closed his eyes and let the dark eco run over him again. Slowly, Seem began to pull the idol away.

It was like the dark eco was caught between two magnets: it crackled and arced towards the idol, but Jak pulled it back towards himself. His body wanted to take it in, to absorb the eco, to change. He grit his teeth and held steady, not letting it overwhelm him.

But he couldn't hold it back for long. Darkness threatened to overwhelm him. Shuddering, he pushed the dark eco back into him, shoving down the urge to transform. When he was steady, he looked up at Seem, who was watching him carefully.

"H-how'd I do?" he mumbled. She nodded, stepping briskly forward. "Did it work?"

"You kept your invisibility for approximately thirty seconds."

Had that been all? Jak felt like it had been several minutes, at least. However, Seem continued, "I know it wasn't an easy task. Do you wish to stop?"

"No," he said firmly. "I can do this. Let's try again."

They repeated the exercise, three more times. Each time, Jak was able to hold his invisibility for a little longer. When he could keep the invisibility over him for about a minute, Seem stopped him.

"That will do." Seem clasped her hands together, while Jak looked disappointed. "Do not be discouraged. Mastering dark eco is not easy."

"I just wish it came to me like light eco does." Jak watched as Seem picked up one of the cisterns of water. "I don't have any trouble with any of the light powers Ionna showed me."

She set the cistern by his feet. "You will learn. You've come very far in a short time, you know." She folded her arms hesitantly. "...I am surprised, hero. I never expected you to do as well as you have."

"Gee. Thanks." He sat down and reached for the water. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised I'm better at light eco. I never wanted to channel dark eco, you know. Praxis is the one who forced me to."

Seem stiffened as she set the idol back, her eyes widening. "...Praxis?"

"Yeah. He pumped me so full of dark eco that it...changed me. Bastard," he added bitterly. "He was obsessed with making—"

"A dark eco weapon," Seem interrupted. "I know."

Jak raised an eyebrow. "Really? How'd you know about it?"

Seem's eyes met his, an oddly sad look on her face. "Because back when I knew him, Praxis didn't need to make one."

In the year and a half since Damas had been crowned king, Seem had gotten used to being alone.

Ionna had been her only real friend in the Mountain Temple: the other monks avoided being near her, even insisting that she meditate outside of the temple walls.

But Ionna wasn't around so often anymore. The metal heads were attacking with alarming frequency; she was often heading out to battles with Damas and the rest of the Krimzon Guard. When she was in the temple, she was poring over unfamiliar maps and ancient tales of Mar and his monks.

Seem asked her sometimes, why she was studying them. After all, why would they need a map of the world outside the city?

"Just in case, Seem," Ionna told her quietly. "A little knowledge goes a long way."

So, with Ionna away more often than not, well…

Seem found it easier to be alone.

She meditated down by the lake of dark eco, where few ever went. On the shores of inky black liquid, where the only sound was the wind of the mountain.

Until one day, it wasn't.

"Dammit, I said stop!"

Seem's eyes popped open. She recognized Ionna's voice, echoing through the Precursor metal. She peered around a nearby rock, towards the path that led down here.

"I don't take orders from monks!" Another voice, deep and booming, full of vitriol and spite.

"But you do take orders from your king!" A younger voice, one she knew from the speakers in the city. King Damas. "And I order you to stand down, Praxis."

"You were both overruled," Praxis snarled. "The Guard has decided that this is the best course of action!"

The group came into view. It wasn't just those three, Seem realized. There was also another man she didn't know, dressed in the red of the Krimzon Guard. He set his hand gently on Damas' shoulder.

"Your Highness, this is for the best," he said softly. "We need to do something to defend against these attacks. And we aren't going to hurt Seem, we just need to use her powers, just as we do with Ionna—"

"But Seem's powers don't work like mine do," Ionna snapped. "She can't control them yet, she's just a child!"

Seem shrank back against the rock, hands clasped together. Beside her, the lake of dark eco was starting to ripple. She closed her eyes, her heart pounding, blood in her ears.

"You are both soft-hearted!" Praxis exploded. "The metal head attacks are becoming more frequent. We are losing men and ground by the day. We must do whatever it takes to protect this city!"

"I don't care!" Ionna burst out. "You're not going to drag Seem off to fight against metal heads!"

Seem took a shuddery breath and closed her eyes tighter. She didn't want to fight, she wasn't like Ionna, she wished she could just hide from them…

As if it heard her, she felt the eco swirl around her. It settled over her body, like a second skin. She looked down, terrified, only to find that she couldn't see her hands.

Or her legs. Or her torso. Or anything else.

She was invisible. Or see through. Or...something.

Seem hugged herself. It was strange; despite all the warnings about dark eco, she almost felt...comforted by it. Protected, safe, a shield between her and the world.

The group came closer, close enough that if they could see her, they would have. She exhaled softly in relief as they looked right through her. Praxis craned his neck to look across the lake.

"Now then...where is that foolish girl hiding…?"

"This is ridiculous," Ionna snapped at him. "You're expecting a little kid to save you from the metal heads?"

"Listen to me, my dear sage." The other Guard spoke in a quiet, steady voice. "Ordinarily, I would agree with you. I've been a soldier my entire life; children should avoid the horrors of war as long as they can. But…" He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "But we are running out of time. People are dying."

Ionna looked away. "I know that. But there are other ways to defeat the metal heads. There's the weapon Mar built!"

"The weapon that no one can use," the man said calmly. "The weapon that requires a literal myth to operate."

"We can figure out another way," Damas argued.

Praxis opened his mouth to argue back, but he was cut off by a noise from the path. A steady tapping sound that the monks knew by heart. Ionna's face lit up.

"Onin? Is that you?"

She came down from the path, leaning heavily on the staff she used to help her move. She usually had an attendant to help her move around, since her eyesight was all but gone and her movements were stiff. But the monk leader was alone as she made her way down the path to the lake of dark eco and approached the group.

"You will have to pardon me," Onin said in her raspy voice. "I'm not quite as young as I once was. It's a bit harder to get around these days."

"This doesn't concern you," Praxis said dismissively. Onin gave a cackle of a laugh and stepped closer, her staff tapping on the ground.

"Of course it concerns me. This temple is a sacred place, and those who reside here are under my protection." She gestured to Ionna. "We monks are servants of the Precursors. We obey our makers. We serve the heir of Mar." She nodded at Damas, then looked at Praxis. "But I'm afraid we don't obey you at all."

Praxis grit his teeth. "So," he grunted, "disrespect is a way for you monks, is it?"

"As much as it is for you," she replied. "You are the one who barged in here, ready to drag one of my monks out of her home and force her into battle."

"Hmph," Praxis scoffed, "you don't understand—"

"I understand plenty, young man," Onin interrupted. "More than you do, believe me. And since you cannot remain courteous, I must ask you to leave."

Ionna looked triumphant, while Praxis looked irate. "You can't order me around," he snapped, but Onin simply heaved a sigh and waved her hand.

A spark of blue eco jolted from her fingers, snapping against Praxis' chest. He stumbled back, hissing in pain, as Onin continued, "Remember, this temple is a sacred place, watched over by the Precursors themselves. Take care they are not disappointed with what they see."

Praxis, for the first time since Seem had met him, looked a bit rattled. Onin looked rather pleased by this turn of events and gestured to Ionna.

"If you would, please find Seem while I escort our...esteemed Krimzon Guards to the exit." Onin took Praxis' arm with a surprisingly firm grip and started to lead him back to the path. "And impress upon her that, so long as I am the leader of the monks, she will remain here, under my protection."

"Of course, Onin." Ionna bowed respectfully, but her smirk betrayed her true feelings. "Come on, Damas, you have sharp eyes. Help me look for her."

They separated, with Onin leading the two Guards away, while Ionna and Damas scanned the edge of the lake.

"I cannot deal with him," Ionna grumbled. "How do you put up with Praxis always trying to overrule you?"

"By ignoring him, mostly." Damas tilted his head back and squinted at a tree nearby. "Wait here, I'm going to get a better vantage point."

He started to climb up the tree, gripping the limbs with deft hands. He hesitated, then continued, "He is right, though. We can't keep defending the city. Eventually, we'll have to attack the metal heads ourselves."

Ionna glared at him. Seem's heart thudded against her chest; she'd always liked Damas. Was he really considering making her fight?

"Seem isn't your weapon," Ionna said curtly.

"I know she isn't, but I was thinking about what we can actually use." Damas reached the top of the tree and peered out over the lake. "About Mar's actual weapon. He built it to attack the nest directly."

"...Ah. You want to finish his plan." Ionna relaxed a bit and Seem did as well. "I'm afraid you'll have one hell of time doing it. The legend says Mar hid the Precursor Stone so only his most worthy heir could find it."

"Hey," Damas called down, feigning offense, "I'm worthy."

Ionna rolled her eyes and looked back up at him. "Do you see her?"

"No." He glared down from the tree and then frowned. "...Wait."

He suddenly jumped, landing with a bounce on the balls of his feet. He started towards the rocks, where Seem was standing, invisible.

Seem tensed. She didn't know why she didn't want them to find her, but something about the eco was a comfort. She liked being invisible, and the eco seemed to want to protect her.

By now, Damas had reached the rocks where she was. He was only a few feet away, and he was staring directly at her.

Or rather, at her feet.

"...Hmm." He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Quietly, he leaned down and picked up a handful of dirt, letting it sift through his fingers. He held his cupped hand of dirt and inhaled.

Then he blew.

The dirt showered over her, sticking to the paint on her face. Damas broke into a grin.

"Hi Seem."

"...I don't want to fight," she blurted out. She felt that sting of almost-tears behind her eyes, her fingers buzzing with dark eco. "Don't make me fight."

The dark eco slid off her skin, her invisibility fading away. Ionna came up behind Damas, relief in her face. She knelt down to Seem's level.

"Of course you don't have to fight," she said comfortingly. "Trust me, if anyone wants to make you fight, they'll have to go through me first."

Seem felt the dark eco start to ebb away as she relaxed, calmed by Ionna's assurances. She followed the other two as they headed up the path, back towards the temple.

Behind her, the lake of dark eco still rippled in the sunlight.

Chapter Text

Jak couldn’t sleep.

Staring up the ceiling, he couldn’t shake the voice of Baron Praxis, raspy and breathless as he spoke his last words.

“Remember, the first rule of making a bomb...is to always make two.”

Two of them. There had always been two.

He rolled over on his side, looking towards where Daxter and Keira were sleeping. Daxter was lying in the box, a lump of blankets and orange fur that snored. Keira was curled up in the fetal position, a blanket wrapped around her. 

Jak hadn’t told them what Seem had said. He’d been quiet and distracted when he arrived back in Spargus, troubled by the story she’d told him. Daxter had suggested that he was just tired from the eco lesson, and Jak didn’t bother to correct him.

These were his friends. Once upon a time, he’d been able to tell Daxter and Keira his most well-kept secrets. 

But this…

He needed some time to think. To make sense of the story he’d just been told.

He’d tell them eventually.

Jak stood up abruptly, too awake to lie down anymore. He needed to clear his head, get himself straight. He pulled his boots on and crept to the door, careful not to wake them as he slipped outside.

It was cooler out than expected: Sig had told him once that the desert was only hot because of the sun. Jak rubbed his arms and started walking.

Somehow, it bothered him more to think that Praxis had been toying with dark warriors for years before Jak came along. Sure, he’d known that Praxis experimented on others. He’d heard the screams and seen the bodies.

But the fact that Praxis had first wanted to use Seem, a little kid, and throw her into a war she had no chance of winning…

For some reason, that bothered Jak a lot more than anything the bastard had ever done to him.

Jak walked through Spargus, boots scraping against the rocky dirt. Distantly, he could hear the raucous sounds of laughter coming from one of the taverns on the other side of the city. This late, only the partiers and drunks were out. The leaper lizards were all asleep, perched like birds in the shade of the buildings. 

He found himself heading for the shore. Jak always felt safe there, listening as the water splashed against the rocks. It reminded him of all those days he’d spent in Sandover, diving for Precursor orbs and chasing seagulls.

You could take the kid out of the ocean, he thought, but you can’t take the ocean out of the kid.

A figure loomed from the rocks above the shore, a shadowy sentinel overlooking the sea. A staff in one hand, the other on his hip. Jak automatically felt his mind shift into a better place.

“Damas? What are you doing out here?”

The king turned around, surprised to see Jak scrambling up on the rocks. “I should be asking you the same question. This is hardly a time of night for younglings to be out and about.”

Jak stood next to him, looking out over the ocean. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. “Just...too many thoughts, you know?”

 Damas nodded, his lips twisting into a smile. “All too well, I’m afraid.”

To Jak’s surprise, Damas sat down on the edge of the rocks and gestured for the younger man to join him. Jak sat beside him, his feet dangling above the water. 

“Thoughts are often best shared. If you wish to unburden your mind, my ears are open.” Damas gave a gruff laugh. “And if not, silence can be calming.”

Jak leaned back on his palms, letting the cool breeze blow drops of water over his skin. In the sky above them, the purple splotch of the Day Star glowed between the stars. Jak couldn’t help but be reminded of dark eco. 

“...You fought with Praxis against the metal heads, didn’t you?” Jak asked suddenly. Damas raised an eyebrow. “What was he like back then?”

“Are you asking if he was a tyrannical dictator with sadistic tendencies?” Damas asked wryly. 

“Well...yeah, I guess.” Jak shifted uncomfortably under the older man’s gaze. He got the feeling that Damas had not expected to be talking about his past like this. “I mean, it’s not like he was born crazy, right?”

“Hmph. Praxis has done nothing but bring you pain. I would think you’d never want to talk about him again.”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Jak grumbled. “But…”

He couldn’t really explain it. How could he describe the strange hole that sat in his mind, the lack of closure. Praxis was dead, yes; but the effects of his cruelty still remained. In Jak, in Seem, in all the citizens of Haven City itself.

Damas gave a humorless chuckle. “I suppose I did ask you what was on your mind.” He leaned back on his palms. “To answer your question, Praxis always had a fervor for the endgame. He firmly believed that the ends justified the means. Unfortunately, I think his obsession with winning the war overtook all sense of morality. He did truly reprehensible things.”

“Like creating Dark Warriors,” Jak said bitterly. “He couldn’t find a soldier to kill the metal head leader, so he decided to make one.”

“...Do you know the difference between a soldier and a warrior, Jak?” Damas was looking across the water absent-mindedly, a smile playing on his lips. “What separates a man like Praxis from a man like you?”

“Not a clue.”

Damas folded his arms over his chest. “Soldiers,” he explained patiently, “fight against enemies. They fight and fight and fight until their enemy is eradicated. Then, they have nothing left.”

He turned to Jak then, huffing out a breath of air. “But warriors fight for others. They fight to protect their loved ones, to make their lives better, to build a world worth fighting for.”

“And Praxis has only fought against metal heads,” Jak said. “Never for the city.”

Damas nodded. “He spent his entire life fighting them. He gave up everything for it, sacrificed countless lives, fought like hell, did things no moral man should ever do. He crossed lines that made him a monster, and all for the sake of defeating a single enemy.”

Jak frowned. “I just...I have to live with what he did to me.” He turned away, his eyes towards the sea. “Every day of my life. I thought if I heard more about him, I’d...understand him. Why he did all this stuff to me.”

Damas reached up and pressed his fingers to Jak’s chin. He gently turned the boy’s face towards him so their eyes met. “Jak. You’re searching for answers that won’t help you.”

“But — !” Jak wanted to argue, to tell Damas that he needed closure, that he’d never really gotten to beat Praxis. But the words died on his tongue.

Because Damas looked sad, more than anything.

“What good does it do to dwell on what Praxis did to you?” Damas shook his head. “You’re far beyond that life. Consider all the things you have to fight for now. You’re not the weapon that Praxis made, you know. You’re a warrior, not a soldier.”

Jak swallowed. “I...guess you’re right.”

“You’ve accomplished more than Praxis ever intended,” Damas said. “You should be very proud of yourself. I know I am.”

Jak straightened his back. “Uh...thanks.”

Damas gave a bark of a laugh, one that resounded over the ocean waves. It was almost...familiar, Jak thought, but he couldn’t place where. 

“Remember this,” Damas told him lightly, the smile still lingering on his face. “Praxis sacrificed everything and everyone for the sake of destroying the metal heads. But you know that there is life after the battle is won. Do you think Praxis was fighting for peace, or a better world? Or do you think he was fighting just to win?”

Jak sat quietly, digesting Damas’ words. Finally, he said, “Are you so sure that I’m not like him?”

Damas raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“When I first got out of the prison,” Jak said, his voice stilted, trying to keep it steady, “all I wanted to do was kill Praxis. That was the first thing I said to Daxter. I wanted him dead, and I wanted to be the one to do it. I made it my mission, and for a long time, that was all I cared about.”

“Praxis is dead,” Damas said bluntly. “Tell me, what do you care about now?”

Jak closed his eyes. “I...Daxter.” His eyes fluttered open, determination in the sparkling blue. “I care about Daxter, and Keira, and Sig, and...everyone in Haven. And I care about you, too,” he added. “The people in Spargus, Ionna and Seem and...even Kleiver, I guess. I want this war over so I can just sit here and relax with all my friends and family.”

The word slipped out before Jak could even comprehend it: family . It was a strange, foreign word on his tongue. After all, he’d never had a family. His uncle, sure, but the absence of a real family, of parents and brothers and sisters ...it had always stung.

But what else could he call them? Daxter had always been his brother, there through thick and thin. Samos had been like a grandfather: distant, but always a steady presence in his life.

And what had the Wastelanders become to him? Those who had fed him, taught him, nursed him back to health? If they weren’t family, what were they?

“You forgot someone, warrior.” 

Jak frowned as Damas stood up. Who had he left out? 

“You must also fight for yourself.” Damas’ voice was firm and warm, heartening in a way that appealed to Jak. He held out a hand to help the teenager up. “You are worth fighting for, too, Jak.”

Jak grinned and took his hand. As Damas hauled him to his feet, he saw the light go on in the window of his little home. Someone—Keira, probably, since Daxter could sleep through an earthquake—was awake, and probably wondering where he’d gone. Damas followed his gaze.

“You’d best get home. And get some sleep,” he added sternly. “You’ve got people to protect.”

War was tiring.

It took its toll. The older Krimzon Guards—Praxis, Antwon, and Yasir—were used to the mental and emotional turmoil that came with constant battle. They had learned to cope with it, albeit in sometimes unhealthy ways. But Ali, Damas, and Ionna were younger. They hadn’t adjusted to the pain of war yet. 

Ionna was most obvious: she had become hyper vigilant in the past year, jerking her head towards any loud noises and flinching when anyone touched her. Her hands shook sometimes, and she would have to take deep breaths to steady herself.

Ali mostly seemed to be very tired. He would sometimes stare off into space, a faraway look in his eyes, and wouldn’t snap out of it until Yasir called his name several times. He claimed it was just trouble concentrating, but Damas saw how his gaze would slide out of focus sometimes, when he was shouldering his gun after battle.

But Damas seemed to be having the most trouble. He often woke up in the middle of the night, gasping for air, mind spinning from dreams he couldn’t remember. It got to the point where he would show up to meetings exhausted, listless and unable to think clearly. Eventually, Ionna gave him a packet of green herbs from the temple.

“To help you sleep,” she told him. “Make a tea with it, drink it about ten minutes before you go to bed.”

And it worked. Damas would sleep peacefully through the night, dreams gone by morning.

But the longer the war went on, the more people died, and the worse it became. At this point, Damas had seen his fair share of soldiers fall to the metal heads. He’d seen Ionna desperately try to heal men with missing limbs, only for them to succumb to blood loss. She’d put her head in her hands, the blood marking her hood, before saying last rites.

He’d seen Antwon and Praxis load up bodies while Yasir wrapped them in cloth. For most of them, families would not get to say goodbye; a small blessing, though, since most of the bodies had been half-torn apart. There would be pyres for the dead, and their ashes returned to the families.

He’d seen Ali become violently ill as they lit the pyres, doubled over as Yasir gently rubbed his back. The flames flickering in the light of his eyes, until he finally turned away, unable to look anymore.

He’d seen widows and orphans, parents who’d lost their sons and daughters, siblings who were suddenly only children. He’d heard sobs that seemed to be ripped from the depth of mothers’ chests, vicious swears spat at him in rage, denial that dissolved into hopeless grief.

But he’d seen the other side, too.

Damas had seen the bazaar in the mornings, when the shopkeepers set up their stalls, hopeful that they’d have a good day. He’d seen festivals, full of lights and laughter, food that had been carefully rationed for the event. He’d seen weddings, with dancing and singing, lovely couples who could forget about the war, just for a day. 

Damas had seen people worth protecting. 

Maybe that was why he did it. Why he walked into the strategy meeting, surrounded by the Krimzon Guard he’d begun to think of as his best friends, despite all their differences. Why he put his palms flat on the table and leaned forward, his words sharp.

“We’re going to attack the metal head nest. This ends now.”

“Not even a note! You coulda been dead for all we knew!”

Jak rolled his eyes. “I already apologized, Daxter. And you weren’t even awake for it.”

“Not the point!” Daxter dramatically clutched his chest. “Oh! What would we have done if he hadn't returned, Keira?”

“I don’t know about you,” she said dryly, “but I would’ve gone back to sleep.”

Jak laughed as his boots hit the rocky ground. He’d gotten back just as Keira was getting dressed to go find him, though he’d never tell Daxter that. He’d eased her worries by telling her he just went out for some fresh air.

And now, with a few hours of sleep behind him, Jak was heading to find Ionna.

Keira stopped at the entrance to the palace’s elevator. “Well,” she said, “I guess I’d better go. I’ll see you later today?”

“Yeah, of course.” Jak hesitated, then gave her a brief, one-armed hug. Evidently, this surprised both Keira and Daxter, who stared at him in shock. “What?”

“Nothing,” Keira said, a grin breaking on her face. “Nothing at all.”

Daxter, however, wasn’t quite as quiet as Keira. As they walked away from the elevator, watching the door shut on her, he teased, “Aww, you’re back to hugs, not drugs!”

“Shut up, Dax.” Jak rolled his eyes. “I just...wanted to hug my friend, is that so bad?”

“Aww! You big softie! Here, you wanna hug from me?” Daxter didn’t wait for an answer, instead throwing his arms around Jak’s head. Through the orange fur covering his eyes, Jak saw Sig jogging up to them.

“Hey, chili peppers, glad I caught you two.”

“Sig!” Daxter let go of Jak’s head to reach his arms out toward Sig. “I’m givin’ out free hugs over here. What’da say?”

“I say, that sounds like Jak’s problem.” Sig put his hands on his hips. “Ionna said she wants to meet you at the Arena for your lesson today.” 

“The Arena?” Jak and Daxter exchanged looks. “Why?”

Sig shrugged. “Don’t know, but you better get going. She’s waiting there now.”

“We better hurry,” Jak said. He started running, waving back at Sig. “Thanks! We’ll see you later!”

They made it to the Arena quickly, stumbling up the stone steps and into the sweltering volcano. Down below, Jak could see Ionna, waiting in the center of the platform. He reached her and put his hands on his hips.

“Ah. I see you got my message,” she greeted. She was dressed differently, he noticed: she didn’t usually wear armor, but today she wore a chestplate and arm guards. “We’re going to practice shooting eco today, and Damas was kind enough to let us use the Arena for a training ground.”

Jak glanced around. “I don’t see any dummies,” he said.

In fact, there wasn’t anything around. The Arena was in its dormant state, with nothing but a flat platform on the lava. 

“And what good is it to shoot at dummies, when you’ll be fighting something dangerous?” Ionna asked. “No, you’re going to shoot at something dangerous. You’re going to shoot at me.”

Jak blinked at her, while Daxter mumbled something about Wastelanders and their heads. “But...listen, I don’t want to…”

“You won’t hurt me,” she said firmly, tightening the straps on her armor. “I’d have thought you’d have learned that by now.”

It was true, of course, though it definitely hurt Jak’s pride to admit it. He folded his arms. “Yeah, but…”

“But nothing.” Her tone was even as she readied herself in a battle stance. “Come now, get into your stance.”

Jak did as she told him. “Ready.”

“Now, you’re going to do the same thing we did yesterday,” she said, modeling the movements. “Except now, you’re going to let the eco propel out of your palm.”

They went through the movements together for a few moments, before Ionna said, “Alright, watch me.”

Jak took a step back, Daxter swaying on his shoulder. Both of them eagerly waited while Ionna took a deep breath. 

Faster than they expected, Ionna moved. Her movements were fluid and quick: an outstretched arm and suddenly a flash of light zoomed by them. By the time Jak had blinked the stars from his eyes, the shot had dissipated against the rock wall.

“Whoohoo!” Daxter cheered from Jak’s shoulder. “Do it again, do it again!”

She did so, three more shots in quick succession. Finally, she turned to Jak. “Your turn. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Jak nodded and took a deep breath. “Here we go.”

He pulled on the eco he’d stored up and mimicked her movements, jolting his arm forward. With his palm out, he felt the eco flow up his arm and towards his hand.

Before it hit his fingertips, it fizzled out into nothing but bluish-white sparks. He blinked and Daxter laughed. “Wh-what happened?”

Ionna was fighting a smile. “Well, you didn’t quite...put enough power into it. Try again, but put your whole body into it. It’s a motion, not a movement.”

Jak nodded and tried again. This time, he threw his whole body weight behind it. To his surprise, the eco zipped out of his hand, exploding out of his palm with a lot more force than he remembered.

“Excellent!” Ionna clapped her hands together as the eco exploded against the rocks. “Though not surprising. Here, adjust your shoulders and keep your arms straight.”

Jak did as he was told and fired another shot. He grinned at the scorch mark it made on the rocks. “This is great. Can you imagine the damage this could do to one of those KG death bots?”

“Ha! That’d wipe their mechanical wires off the map!” Daxter pretended to fight an imaginary death bot. “Ka-pow! Hiya! And some o’ that!”

Ionna led him through a few more shots, adjusting and advising him every time. Finally, she said, “Good. Now, let’s up the ante, shall we?”

She moved to the other side of the platform, a good hundred feet away. A glimmer of light and her skin turned an unearthly white, her eyes an icy blue. “Take aim at me. I’ll move fast, so keep on your toes.”

Jak nodded and readied himself. She nodded, satisfied, and waited. He pulled back his arm and fired a shot.

Before it reached her, she clapped her hands. 

With a blur of movement and the crackling sensation of blue eco, Ionna disappeared. He saw bits and pieces: a flash of her armor there, the echo of a boot on the metal. He saw enough to know that she was headed towards him.

In a panic, he fired another shot of eco at her, though it missed by a mile. She was moving too fast; by the time he realized he’d missed, he felt her fingers grip his wrist tightly. Another hand grabbed the ring on the front of his tunic, and before he knew it, he was slammed to the ground on his back, his head bouncing on the metal platform.

Daxter screeched, but Jak knew he was fine: he could feel his friend climb onto his chest. “Oww…”

“A solid attempt,” Ionna said with a smirk. “But you got caught up in what I was doing, instead of considering what I was planning.”

She helped Jak to his feet and returned to her previous spot. “Remember,” she called, “anticipate your enemy’s movements. Aim for where I am going to be, not where I am.”

Jak nodded in understanding and readied himself. This time, however, he and Ionna stood staring at each other for a few minutes. 

He was waiting. Waiting for her to make the first move.

She smiled knowingly and clapped her hands.

This time, Jak was a bit more prepared. He shot twice at her, both times missing, but when she pinned him, she said, “Good job . ”

Jak blinked up at her. Daxter had, wisely, decided to take a flying leap off his shoulder before Ionna grabbed him. As Jak stood up, Daxter said, “Ya know, I don’t think Wastelanders are normal people. What was good about that? He missed!”

“But he almost didn’t.” Ionna indicated her tunic, which had a tiny black mark where the eco had buzzed by. “Good eyes, child.”

Jak grinned as she returned to her position. Daxter clung to his shoulder and they began their stare-off again. In the back of his mind, Damas’ words suddenly echoed.

Sometimes...

Ionna finally moved, jolting forward so fast he couldn’t see her, but this time he was ready. 

  ...you wait…

He shot again, but knew it would miss. He kept his eyes on Ionna’s hands as they reached for him.

...until their weakness is revealed.

He braced himself when she grabbed him and slammed him into the platform again.

“Not bad,” she told him. “Try again.”

They stood apart for another few seconds, but this time, Jak shot first. Ionna dodged it as easily as the first time, but he was ready. As she ran for him and reached to grab him again, he ducked.

Ionna, who hadn't expected him to move, grasped nothing but air. For a moment, she stumbled, having to take an extra step to steady herself above him. Before she could register that she didn’t have a hold on Jak, his instincts kicked in.

He punched straight up, his fist slamming into her nose. With a crunch and spurt of blood, she was knocked back, landing on the platform several feet away. Jak winced and ran to her. 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.” He could see blood gushing from her nose, but she laughed thickly. “Huh?”

“No,” she agreed, reaching for his wrist, “you really didn’t.”

He glanced down as she pulled his hand in front of his face. There, spreading across his fingers like flames, was red eco.

Suddenly, he was pulled back to a lifetime ago: among the monstrous bones of Misty Island; in the bitter cold wind of Snowy Mountain’s peak; surrounded by Lurkers that snapped and clashed at him in the Citadel.

“I...I didn’t...mean to…” Jak stared in wonder at his fingertips, entranced even as the eco faded away. Ionna laughed again and reached a hand up to her nose, healing herself. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

From behind him, Daxter whooped. “Man, we oughta sell tickets to stuff like this! I bet some folks in Haven City would pay a lot to see the two of you duke it out.”

Jak rolled his eyes and helped Ionna up. She still had blood all over her face and dripping down her tunic, but she didn’t even notice. “You’re starting to develop eco powers without being explicitly taught them. You’re even able to transition between the powers naturally. Well done!”

Jak beamed. “Thanks. I mean, I don’t think I really did anything…”

Ionna waved him off. “It’s quite an impressive feat, especially given the timeframe you learned it in.”

Daxter jumped up on Jak’s shoulder. “Yeah, maybe one day you’ll be as good as me!”

“Now,” Ionna said, touching her face with a bemused smile, “if you don’t mind, I’m going to head back to infirmary, as I think you may have broken my nose.”

“Uh...sorry.” Jak rubbed the back of his neck, but Ionna hardly seemed bothered. “I’ll be a little more careful next time.”

“I certainly hope not!” Ionna said abruptly. “We’re training you to face some fearsome enemies. Treat it like what it is: a battle.”

With that, Ionna headed for the platform that took her up. “Damas said you’re welcome to train here as long as you’d like,” she said. “Feel free to get some extra practice in!”

Jak and Daxter watched her go. “You know,” Daxter said conversationally, “I’ll bet you can get real good with that red stuff if you try again.”

Jak stared at his hand, the memory of eco still lingering. He closed it into a fist and grinned at Daxter. “Let’s do it.”

Chapter Text

It didn't take long for Jak to get his bearings with his new light eco powers. He was getting better with every passing day, developing his own style of fighting. Pulling on the different eco powers like strings, shielding and shooting and punching, all with the sort of fluidity he always displayed.

By the end of the week, he could hold his own against Ionna. Admittedly, he was coming to the bitter and ego-shattering realization that she could kick his ass with little to no effort, but he was getting better. He was routinely landing hits on her, and even had a feel for how quickly she moved with blue eco.

"Your weak spot is defense," she told him, wiping her bangs from her face. Jak was doubled over, hands on his knees, sweat dripping down his face. The arena might be a great place to hone his skills, but working over open lava definitely had its downsides. "Don't forget, you have every power available. Don't be afraid to use your shield and your healing."

"Aw, don't cramp his style." Daxter was lounging about on one of the ammo boxes, having gotten tired of watching from Jak's shoulder. He fanned himself dramatically. "You know Jak's plan is usually 'punch it until it goes away.'"

Jak shot him a glare, but Ionna took him seriously. "Unfortunately, that's not enough. You need to be on your guard. These are, after all, the strongest enemies the planet will face."

She put her hands on her hips and gave him a smile. "That being said," she continued, "I think you've made a lot of progress. I ought to give you a final test, though."

"A test?" Jak must have made a face, because Ionna laughed. "I mean...we've been sparring with each other this entire time. Isn't that enough?"

"The more you fight," she explained, "the more you learn. You won't learn much from having the same battle over and over again."

He folded his arms over his chest. "I guess you're right," he finally said. "Is it going to be like an obstacle course?"

He was thinking of the training course Damas had him do when he first came to Spargus. Jumping over gaps, collecting things, melee fighting. All useful, but very basic.

"Ooh! How about another arena fight?" Daxter suggested cheekily. "We haven't had enough o' those."

This time, Ionna made a face, her nose wrinkling at the idea. Jak and Daxter, both well-versed in reading facial expressions, glanced at each other.

"You don't like the arena fights?" Jak asked.

"I do not," she replied firmly. "Years ago, the arena was used to settle disputes and to prove physical strength. Now it's just bloodsport. Ever since Damas made it a requirement for citizenship..."

The boys shared a look, but neither said anything. She waved her hand dismissively. "You two didn't sign up to hear my complaints about our political system. It's nearly sundown, you'd best head off to your dark eco training."

Unfortunately, Jak's success with light eco wasn't showing through with dark eco. Though he could turn invisible without the idol now, he wasn't able to keep it for more than a minute or so.

"Ugh...this is so exhausting," he grumbled, lying on the floor of the Atrium. His knees had buckled after the last attempt, and the floor seemed like a great place to lie down for a moment. Seem stared down at him, frowning. "Why can't I get it?"

"It takes time." Seem clasped her hands together. "That's enough for today. You're much too exhausted to continue."

"I can do it," he protested, but Seem shook her head.

"You need to be careful. Dark eco is wilder than other types; it's difficult to control. It can wreak havoc on your mind and body."

"Yeah, I know," Jak grumbled. As if to prove her wrong, he stood up on shaking legs. He thought he saw a flicker of a smile on her painted face. "C'mon, one more time."

"I don't think so." She handed him a cistern. His pride lost the battle and he gratefully drank. "Don't allow your hubris to get in the way of your...good...judgement."

Jak swallowed a mouthful of cool water and glared at her. "Hey, what's with the hesitation?"

That was definitely a smile.

It wasn't just Jak who was making progress, either.

"Hurry up," Keira said, poking Jak's side as she eagerly prodded him down the hall. "You too!" she added, glancing back to where Damas was following. He raised an eyebrow.

"You seem very confident in your work," Damas told her. "Let's hope your confidence is not misplaced."

"It never is," she responded dryly, opening the door to the room she'd been working in.

She'd finished the satellites. They were bigger than Jak imagined: about three feet across in a curved dish. Their patchwork of orange and grey metal reflected the torchlight as Damas, Jak, Daxter, and herself all trooped in.

"Aren't they beautiful?" she said excitedly. "Sig got me a whole bunch of scrap metal, and with the old communicators, it was a snap!"

She hustled them to a table, where a map was spread out next to her tools. "Now, you want to make sure that these are at the highest points possible. And they need to be in direct sunlight. They're run with solar panels instead of power cells or eco."

"The northwestern volcano would work," Damas commented, sliding his finger over the spot. "Provided, of course, that your satellites can survive the heat of open lava."

"Please." Keira shot him a smirk. "I was making heat shields before I could read. I also put cooling elements in the electronic parts to keep them working."

"Will it hold up against sandstorms?" Damas questioned. "Fierce winds can tear flesh from bone."

"Check it out yourself." Keira went over and picked up one of the satellites. She held it up like a shield. "This stuff is pretty hardy. Go ahead, punch it."

"Ha! I don't think so," Damas said, at the exact same time that Jak reeled his arm back and let his fist fly. His knuckles slammed into the metal with a crunch and he grunted in pain. Damas stared at him, while Daxter broke into furious laughter. "...Why would you do that?"

"She told me to!" Jak said through gritted teeth. He dredged up a bit of light eco and felt his bones snap back into place. Damas snorted, looking as if he was resisting the urge to comment on it.

"Ah, give 'im a break, your kingliness," Daxter teased. "Poor Jak here doesn't have any blood goin' to his brain when Keira's in the room."

Jak rolled his eyes and slapped the back of Daxter's head. "C'mon," he grumbled, his cheeks flushing red.

"Anyway," Keira said with a glare, "as Jak's hand can attest, these things aren't made of cotton. I designed them to hold up anywhere in the desert. As long as they don't get buried in sand, they'll work fine."

"We could put one down by the old ruins." Jak tapped the map. "There's a mountain there; it's pretty high."

"Perfect." Keira folded her arms and beamed at them. "You'll have to bolt them into the rock, which is easy enough. The tough part is synching the frequencies of the satellite here in Spargus."

She held up the satellite again. "See this button here? Each satellite has one. They have to be hit within five seconds of each other."

"Difficult to do when you're across the desert," Damas remarked. "And trying not to fall into a volcano."

"Especially because your entire communications unit will be down," Kiera added. She set the satellite aside. "You'll have to find a way to signal each other when you sync them."

"Hmm…" Damas tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Flare guns would do the trick. We'll have to do it in the morning, when visibility is best. Sig and I can go to the volcano with the first satellite, while Jak and Daxter put the second on the mountain near the ruins."

"Once you sync them, don't forget to test them." She looked pointedly at Jak, who rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I remember the first zoomer I built for you. Test them before you leave. Just a quick comm check should do."

"Keira, this is incredible." Jak ran his hand over the satellites. "I can't believe you made this out of scrap metal and old parts."

"Way to go, babe!" Daxter struck a pose on the table. "If I wasn't already spoken for, I'd say you had a shot with Orange Lightning."

Keira rolled her eyes, but Damas nodded seriously. "Your efforts deserve a reward. Here."

The king handed something to her. She took it, unsure. "That amulet is one of three. It allows you free passage in and out of Spargus. Earn two more, and you will be a citizen of our city."

Daxter whistled and Jak's eyes widened in surprise. "Look at you! Me and Jak had to fight through dozens of marauders to get one o' those babies! Plus, we almost had to kill our best buddy!"

Damas' mouth pressed together in a thin line. Evidently, he did not like being reminded of the incident with Sig and Jak. However, he didn't get a chance to voice his annoyance; Keira was handing the battle amulet back to him.

"I appreciate it," she told him, "but...I don't want to be a citizen of Spargus."

Damas didn't look surprised by her rejection. "I see."

"But Keira, you could live in Spargus with us." Jak tilted his head. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she said firmly. "This place isn't a bad place to live, but it's not where I want to live. My father lives in Haven, most of my friends live in Haven." She smiled at Jak. "The ones who don't keep getting in trouble, that is."

"And so you are a Havenite," Damas confirmed. "Despite what they've done to Jak? Despite the war?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I'm not a Havenite at all. I'm just...me. No matter where I live." She shook the amulet at him. "So, thanks, but no thanks."

Damas regarded her for a moment. "...Keep it anyway. So that no one questions you if you come back to visit."

Keira's fingers curled over the amulet. "Well, alright. Thanks."

As she tucked the amulet onto her belt, Damas turned to Jak. "Sig and I will meet you tomorrow morning in the garage. We need to set these satellites up as soon as possible."

"You can count on us," Daxter said, giving him a stiff salute. "Everyone's favorite handymen, at your service!"

Damas snorted, but Jak nodded firmly at him. "We'll be there."

Sig couldn't believe it.

"You're kidding me." He eyed Keira's battle amulet, as if trying to determine if it was real or not. "Hot damn, I can't believe he gave you one!"

"And she didn't even have to fight anything!" Daxter pretended to be bitter, but his grin gave it away. "Meanwhile, Jak and I had to knock out a thousand marauders."

Jak rolled his eyes as the bartender poured his drink. "It wasn't a thousand."

"Close to it!"

Sig shook his head and nodded at Keira. "You must have done some damn fine work. Damas doesn't hand those things out like candy."

"I always do damn fine work," she replied. "But I am pretty proud of it."

The four of them were sitting in one of the Wastelander bars, a tiny hole-in-the-wall that didn't even have a name. Daxter had insisted, since Keira was heading back to Haven in the morning, that they have one last hurrah.

"It's no Naughty Ottsel," he proclaimed, "but it's the happenest joint in the Wasteland!"

After about a half hour in the bar, Sig had found them, demanding to see Keira's battle amulet. Evidently, the rumors of her earning one had spread through the city like wildfire.

"This is the first time he's given one out without an arena battle in years," Sig told them. "And Wastelanders are worse than old aunties with the gossip. Makin' quite a splash there, cherry."

"How come it's such a big deal?" Jak had never really thought about it, but it did seem strange: Damas was a pragmatic king. Why would he turn away good help like Keira's?

Sig frowned. "Not really any of your business, is it?"

"We live here, don't we?" Daxter shrugged. "Seems like our business to me."

"Come on," Jak pressed. "It almost got the three of us killed, remember? If anyone should know, it's us."

Sig's frown deepened. "Aw, hell," he grumbled. "Listen, you can't go around runnin' your mouth about this, you hear? Damas has a right to his privacy, and I'm not a shit-talker."

"I won't say a word!" Daxter insisted. He mimed zipping his mouth shut. "See?"

"Fine." Sig folded his arms and sighed. "I'm not goin' into all the details, but the short of it is that...the arena wasn't always what it is now. Used to be, anyone could earn their battle amulets through anything useful. I went through the arena," he added, jabbing his chest. "But my mama's no fighter. She earned hers by fixing armor for people, and so Damas gave her an amulet."

"Hey! Then how come the two of us had to go fight through a million marauders?" Daxter was drinking straight from a bottle, much to the annoyance of the bartender. He took a long gulp and wiped his mouth. "Ahh, that's some good stuff."

"Ionna mentioned that the arena wasn't always required." Jak absent-mindedly fiddled with his own drink, the ice clinking against the glass. "So what changed?"

Sig shifted uncomfortably. "Like I said, I'm not gettin' too deep into it. But a few years ago, Damas was in charge of guarding something. Some nasty marauders got in, though, and they outnumbered him. Almost killed him. Ever since that loss, Damas has made it mandatory to fight in the arena. Says we can't afford to get soft."

"Is that why you went to Haven and did all that spyin'?" Daxter asked suspiciously. "To find that stuff they stole?"

"...Yeah." Sig took a sip of his own drink. "It caused a big ruckus when he changed the rules. Couple 'o members of the council quit in protest, lot of people thought he was overreacting. But you know Damas: more stubborn than a yakow. He thinks it's important to keep Spargus safe."

"Yeah? And what do you think?" Jak asked.

Sig snorted and looked around the bar. "Fine, cherry, you wanna know what I think?" He took another long drink of his drink and sighed. "I think Damas never forgave himself for losing that fight. He lost somethin' really precious that day, and the arena was his way of getting over his guilt."

Jak set his drink down on the bar. He remembered the day he'd come to the palace and seen Damas, sitting on the stairs and talking about hope. How hard it was to keep Spargus alive and thriving. It was the first time Damas had shown anything less than brute strength; a vulnerability, laid bare for Jak to see.

"Geez!" Daxter's voice cut off his thoughts. "Sounds like ol' Sandbag could use some therapy. Maybe we oughta send him to Haven and get Log-In-The-Noggin to take a look at him."

Jak snorted. "I don't think so. Besides," he added, settling his elbows on the bar, "it sounds like Damas might be having a change of heart. Maybe this whole Dark Maker thing is making him rethink some things."

Sig drained the last of his drink. "From your lips to the Precursors' ears, chili pepper."

The rumors reached Ionna's ears first.

As the sun set, she marched across the city, the sand making gritty noise under her boots. The last gangs of Spargus' children were running home, their shadows lengthening along the stone walls. Giggles and shouts as they shoved each other playfully. Jumping to touch the tattered cloth awnings. Cheering when one of them managed it.

She was numb to it, though she hadn't always been.

The elevator took her up to the throne room. The smell of water and plants, organic and fresh, almost made her smile with nostalgia.

A smile that faded before it began when she saw Damas behind the water wheel, staring out the window of the throne room.

He was staring over the desert, an odd look on his face. It reminded Ionna of many years ago, where a young king stared out over the battlefield, assessing each situation. Intense eyes that never seemed to miss what was far away.

Of course, she thought to herself, sometimes he never saw what was right in front him, plain as day.

She shook the thought out of her head and stepped forward, towards the throne. At first, she thought Damas didn't notice her; however, he finally spoke without turning around.

"Have you simply gotten lost," he asked wryly, "or do you find something about my back appealing?"

"There are some rumors going around," she responded. "I figured I'd best go to the source. Did you actually give Keira a battle amulet without having her fight in the arena?"

He turned around then, and he looked rather irritated. "...That went around faster than I expected," he said. "It was for building a set of satellites for Spargus. Well-earned, in my opinion."

"That's very magnanimous of you." She cocked her hip and folded her arms. "Especially considering how adamant you were that the arena was the only test a Wastelander ever needed."

Damas made a noise in his throat. "We are in difficult times," he said tersely. "Exceptions can be made. That's all there is to it."

"You don't have to justify it to me," Ionna said delicately. "I think it was a good idea. Not everyone has to be a fighter to be a warrior."

He headed to the throne and sat down in it with a sigh. "Is that the only reason you came here?" he asked her. "Or was there something else you needed?"

Years ago, she might have sat on the steps and insisted he tell her what was bothering him. Years ago, he might have sat on the steps and told her.

But that was years ago.

"No," she said quietly, turning back to the elevator. "That's all."

Ionna and Praxis never agreed on anything.

Damas should have taken the hint when they finally did.

Ionna stared across the table at Damas, who had just proclaimed that he was going to attack the metal head nest. The entire Krimzon Guard had stared at him in disbelief, but only Praxis and Ionna had spoken.

"The metal head nest is too well protected to attack directly," Praxis snarled. "It would be insane to even try!"

"The Metalheads are gaining ground outside the city," Damas argued back. "It's only a matter of time before they attack the city itself!"

"But we can defend the city if we need to. That's why we have the shield wall." Ionna folded her arms and frowned at him. "Not even Mar could break through the metal head nest."

"Mar created a weapon to do just that," Damas insisted. "He constructed a gun for that exact purpose."

"With the Precursor Stone," Ionna snapped back. "A legend. Something we can't find. Damas, it's admirable that you want to end this war, but this isn't the way to do it."

"But the point is," Damas argued, "that Mar thought it was possible. Yes, it'll take everything we've got, but we can break through!"

"And if we can't?" Praxis demanded. "If we end up surrounded by those monsters? That sort of foolish endeavor could end up with a massacre!"

"But if we get inside, we can eradicate them for good." Damas looked around at the other members of the Krimzon Guard. "I say it's worth the risk."

Antwon hesitated, then said, "With all due respect, Your Highness, I don't think it is."

"Maybe we can get Mar's gun working," Ali suggested. "I agree with the king, the war needs to end, but we can't just try to break through by ourselves."

"Perhaps that should be our next step." Yasir glanced at Ionna. "I'm sure that the Precursor monks would be happy to help us search for the Precursor Stone, or something to power Mar's gun."

Ionna opened her mouth to respond, ready to offer any of the scriptures or stories the monks knew, but Damas cut her off.

"No. No next steps, no Precursor monks, no wild goose chases." He folded his arms over his chest and tilted his chin up. "We need to end this war now. Before more people die."

Ionna gave him a cold stare. Knowledge of Onin's vision hung in her mind: "Mar's heir will be dethroned."

Was this how it would start? With Damas, pushing away his allies and turning his friends to enemies? With advice ignored, thrown to the side, in favor of a mad dream of victory?

Ionna pushed her thoughts away and directed her next words to Damas. "Stop being stubborn. Your idea has merit, but we have to take the time to do it correctly—"

"There isn't time!" Damas suddenly shouted. "People are dying every day. Citizens of my city! My soldiers, my family! We've lost too many people already."

"This war has been going on for longer than anyone in this room has been alive," Yasir reminded him calmly. "Haven City remains protected, and we can defend against the metal heads."

Damas set his jaw tightly and swallowed. "...I'm the king," he said finally. "I get to make the final decision. I say we're attacking the nest directly."

Praxis looked like he was going to argue, but Ionna got there first. "So you're just going to pull rank on us?" she demanded furiously. "Why even bother having advisors if you're just going to ignore their advice? Why hold these meetings if you're just going to make all the decisions yourself?"

"I want your advice for the battle," he began, but Ionna was still going.

"You want our advice for the battle? Don't do it!" She threw her arms up into the air. "There you go, Damas! Advice administered."

"Ionna, calm down." Antwon squeezed her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. "We should adjourn for today, this discussion is getting us nowhere."

"There's nowhere for it to go," Damas snapped. He was glaring across the table at Ionna. "I already told you, we're doing it."

"Damas," Yasir said warningly. "Show the sage some respect—"

But it was too late; Ionna had abruptly ripped something off her tunic, scraps of fabric still attached. Disgustedly, she threw it across the table at Damas. It bounced across the maps and notes, before finally landing a foot in front of him.

Her Krimzon Guard pin.

It gleamed in the light as it skittered to a stop. Damas stared at it for a moment, before looking up at her wordlessly.

"It was an honor being an advisor, Your Highness." Ionna's words were mockingly polite, her bow a parody of respect. "Good fortune on your endeavor."

She stormed past them, ignoring that several of them called her name, and threw the door open. It slammed shut behind her, leaving Damas to face his consequences alone.

Chapter Text

The Mountain Temple was so different than Haven City that it almost felt like another world.

Damas' boots made echoing thuds as he walked through the Temple. It was after dark; he had only starlight and the eerie green gems to lead his way.

Not that it mattered. He'd visited plenty of times. He knew exactly where to go.

He saw a few monks as he walked, each of them giving him a respectful bow as they passed him. Evidently, Ionna had not told anyone about the meeting they'd had earlier that day. Or, if she had, none of the monks cared.

Precursors, he felt bad just remembering it. The minute she'd left, the Krimzon Guard had laid into him. Yasir, in particular, was angry at him, yelling for the first time that Damas could remember.

Praxis, surprisingly, was angry, too. For someone who generally didn't have a lot of patience for Ionna being in the Krimzon Guard, he was quick to jump to her defense.

"Your foolish pride will be the death of us all," he'd growled. "Look at how you treat your allies! Disgraceful."

And then they'd all left, too, so that Damas was alone in the meeting room, staring at an amulet that had been his family for generations. A symbol of their lineage, their city. A great honor, and a great burden.

He reached the ledge where Ionna liked to meditate. Ionna was sitting there, cross-legged, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling evenly. Steaks of moonlight streamed through the trees, making her look paler than usual.

Damas crept up and sat down beside her, silent the entire time. Still, he saw her face tense and knew she was aware of his presence.

He waited a few minutes, until she opened her eyes with an annoyed sigh before speaking.

"I owe you an apology." Damas stared at the grass, wishing it could swallow him whole. He fiddled with the amulet, tugging at the cord and flipping the pendant in his hand. "I shouldn't have just dismissed your opinion like I did. Please accept my apology."

She opened her eyes and glanced at him. For a moment, he was worried she might not even speak to him, just brush him off. Finally, she sighed and turned to face him completely, cross-legged.

"Damas. Take your crown off."

Relieved that she was speaking to him, he did as she asked, sliding the crown from his head and setting it carefully beside them. He watched as she gently undid the hood on her own head and set it beside her. He blinked as she ran her fingers through her hair. It was cropped short, in feathery spikes as white as snow.

"Weird to see you without your hood on," he commented. "I didn't realize your hair was so short."

Ionna ignored his attempt at small talk. "For the next ten minutes, you're not a king and I'm not a monk, understand? We are two friends, speaking frankly."

"Okay." Damas raised an eyebrow in confusion, but played along. Ionna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "What is it?"

"You need to stop this." She exhaled and opened her eyes again. "You're going to end up turning people against you."

Damas frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're pushing away all your advisors." The wind rustled her hair and the grass. "You can't just make unilateral decisions for the city, not if you want to be an effective ruler."

"But my job is to speak up!" he objected. "I'm the king, I have to advocate for the city."

"Advocate, yes. But you're ignoring all the advice of your comrades." She leaned forward on her elbows. "You need to be careful. Loyalty...it only lasts as long as people trust you. Be mindful that you don't break that trust and end up alone."

Damas pursed his lips. "You're right," he said thoughtfully. "I should probably be more open to hearing advice...but I still have to be the one to make the decision." He glanced down at the crown that sparkled in the moonlight. "I'm the king. I take everything, good and bad. All the blame and all the praise." He tilted his chin up towards her. "I'm the one who holds all the responsibility."

"But you're not the only one who faces consequences." She gestured out towards the city, where the lights shone brightly. "Think about something, Damas. Really think about it. Suppose you're right, and the metal head nest can be broken open. How many soldiers will have to die to do it?"

"How many will die if we don't?" he countered.

Ionna scoffed, humorless laughter on her lips. "So that's the game we're playing? Whose idea is worse?"

Damas hung his head, a smirk on his face. "Alright, then," he said. "I suppose there is compromise in every disagreement. What do you think we should do?"

"Oh, so now you care what I think?" She raised an eyebrow, and though her words were bitter, her tone was teasing. "I thought you were the king! The man who made all the decisions!"

Damas winced. "I already apologized. Can't I just live it down already?"

"Not for another few years," she mused, before her expressions sobered. "But Damas, if you really want to know what I think, you have to actually consider it."

"I will," he promised. She looked skeptical, so he quickly added, "I will, I swear!"

Ionna nodded at his assurance. "Yasir is right. If we can find the Precursor Stone, or some other method of powering Mar's gun, then we can break open the nest without as much risk."

"But that will take too much time," Damas argued. "We could spend years, even decades, searching for it!"

"Then put a time limit on it." Ionna folded her arms. "Give me a year to search for it. If I come up empty, then we can attack the nest like you want."

Damas leaned back on his hands. "A year? No way." He pondered for a second, then said, "A month. That's reasonable, I think."

"A month?" Ionna's laugh echoed across the chasm. "You want me to find the Precursor Stone, Mar's greatest treasure, Haven's lost secret, in a month? You're insane."

"And you're stalling," he bit back. "As if I don't realize you're just trying to push the deadline back so that you can convince me not to attack the nest."

"Guilty, I suppose." Ionna sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "How about we split the difference? Six months. That way, I can try to find the Precursor Stone, and you can plan an attack. By the time six months has passed, either we'll be in great shape to attack the nest, or…"

"Or we'll be doing it anyway," Damas finished. "Alright, I'll compromise. I agree to your terms." He narrowed his eyes. "But don't spend the next six months trying to convince me otherwise. It'd just be a waste of your time."

"Fair enough." Ionna picked her hood back up, but didn't put it on yet. "But don't you dare try to pull that 'I am king, I make the rules' nonsense again."

"Agreed." Damas hesitated, then reached into his pocket. "So...back to normal?"

He held out her Krimzon Guard pin, the torn cloth still attached. She stared at it, almost sadly, for a moment, then took it gently from his palm.

She didn't pin it onto her tunic though. Instead, she turned it around in her fingers, then sighed heavily and looked at him.

"...Damas, I'm your friend. I'll always be your friend, even when you do something foolish. But the rest of the city doesn't have that loyalty."

"Are you saying the city is going to turn on me?" he asked, his tone light-hearted. "I like to think I'm not that bad of a king."

Ionna didn't look amused. "Just...be careful, Damas."

Damas laughed as he stood up, twirling his crown around his finger. As he placed it on his head, he smirked at her.

"I always am."

Ionna had always been an early riser.

She blamed it on her time as a monk: all during her formative years, she had to get up at dawn to complete prayers and rituals. Nowadays, dawn woke her for nothing but chores.

She got dressed quickly, forgoing the armor she'd been wearing recently. No reason to, since Jak was going to be out on a mission today. Apparently, he was helping to put the new communication satellites up. She tied her hair back in a braid and reached into the dish on her nightstand.

It was an old artifact, one she'd found and shined up years ago in the Wasteland. She'd liked it because it reminded her of all the tribute dishes that Onin had in her chambers. She hadn't had much of a use for it, but it made her smile when she saw it. She'd opted to just throw her odd trinkets there for safekeeping.

She didn't wear any of the old jewelry: the bangles and earrings that Onin had given her, symbols of her sagehood, lay unused in the dish. But she did wear her headband everyday; it kept her bangs out of her face.

As she picked it up from the dish, the seaglass scraped against the ammo shells she kept there. Her old Krimzon Guard pin, rusted and faded, was there, too, a reminder of a past decades away. Straightening the headband, she headed out to the infirmary.

To find Seem, sitting patiently on a stool, waiting for her.

"Sweet stars above," Ionna said, clutching her chest. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack? I'm not as young as I used to be."

Seem didn't smile. "We have a problem."

Ionna sighed and sat down beside her. "Oh, dear. What is it?"

"Four of my monks were travelling back to Spargus." She closed her eyes. "They were attacked."

Ionna's face fell. "Are they…?"

Seem shook her head. "Dead, all of them."

"Seem, I'm so sorry." Ionna reached out and gripped the monk's hand. "If there's anything I can do…"

Seem shook her head, but didn't pull away. "It's…fine. We will mourn when we have the time to do so. Right now, we need to focus." She sighed and slid her hand out of Ionna's. "My monks were on their lizards. The lizards are either dead or ran off, but the packs they were carrying were torn to shreds. The items inside were scattered all around, as if…"

"As if someone was looking for something." Comprension dawned on Ionna's face. "The Dark Makers. They're being more aggressive trying to find the Eco Sphere."

Seem nodded and Ionna continued thoughtfully, "Strange. They haven't attacked anyone from Spargus. Well, except for Jak and Damas," she added wryly. "But those two went looking for trouble."

"If they're only attacking those going from the Temple to Spargus, then it proves one thing."

"The Eco Sphere is definitely in the Monk Temple," Ionna confirmed. Her frown deepened. "You took quite a risk coming here. They could have attacked you, too."

"I teleported," Seem explained. "But I do want to be clear: we need to find this sooner rather than later."

Ionna leaned back against the counter. She put her hands on the back of her head and tapped the headband nervously. "Yes," she said vaguely. "Yes, we do."

"Ah, parting is such sweet sorrow. When will we see each other again? Who knows, in such uncertain times! Such a bittersweet time us friends spent together, out here in the—!"

"Daxter, shut up!" Despite the growl of the Slam Dozer's engine, the protests of Jak, Keira, and Sig could still be heard over it. Daxter stuck his tongue out and was rewarded with a mouthful of sand.

Jak, Keira, and Daxter were in the back of the buggy, clinging to the crossbars. Damas was driving, of course; Sig was in the passenger's seat, aiming the gun as they went. None of them spoke as they drove.

Which was strange, in and of itself, Jak thought. Damas hadn't said word one to any of them this morning, just waiting for them all to pile in and letting Sig talk for him. His hands gripped the wheel a little tighter than was necessary, his eyes a little more focused than normal.

And it wasn't just Jak who noticed, either. Daxter, always able to read people well, had shot a look at Jak when they'd started driving. He could see it, too.

Now, as they approached the transport to Haven City, Daxter spit sand out of his mouth. "Eh, you guys just don't like my wonderful poetic narration," he sputtered.

Keira jumped out of the back of the buggy, Jak following suit. Daxter hopped onto Jak's shoulder, still grumbling about their lack of culture. Sig turned around to Keira.

"Well, cherry," he said, "it's been a ride. Take care on the other side of the wall, got it?"

Keira smiled. "Thanks, Sig. And thank you, too," she called to Damas. He simply nodded at her. "King of Conversation, as always."

Daxter snickered as the hatch to the transport opened with a rush of air. Keira headed for it, then stopped to turn to Jak.

"Remember to bolt those satellites securely," Keira said, putting her hands on her hips. "All four bolts, and I put in extra in case you lose any."

Jak gave her a sheepish grin. "Come on, I'm not that bad."

"I remember you always losing my tools back home," she said dryly, while Daxter laughed. "Oh! And I upgraded your JetBoard while you were training." She pulled it out of her pack and handed it to him. "I altered the power element so that it can use thermal power to improve its energy efficiency and increase the force exerted on its frame."

"Um...thanks." Jak turned the JetBoard in his hands. "What does that mean?"

Keira rolled her eyes, but she had a fond smile on her face. "It means it'll work better when it's hot. It'll take in the excess heat and use it to go faster."

"Wait, really?" His eyes lit up at the idea. "Keira, that's amazing!"

"Yeah, I know."

There was an awkward silence as the conversation faltered. Jak rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, um...thanks for coming out here. Seriously."

Keira suddenly threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. "Be careful, Jak. I'll come back and visit soon." She let go of Jak quickly and ruffled Daxter's fur. "And you, too, Daxter. I'll tell Tess you said hi."

"Tell her that I can't wait to get back and see my beautiful cutie pie with the golden—mmmph!"

Jak slapped his hand over Daxter's mouth, rolling his eyes. Keira laughed, then glanced over at the buggy. "You better go. I don't think Damas is very patient today."

"Yeah. Tell…tell everyone I said hi, too." Jak watched as Keira climbed into the transport and got comfortable. They waved as the doors closed and the transport took off, above the horizon and off towards Haven.

Neither Damas nor Sig said anything about Keira's departure as they returned to the buggy. Instead, Damas just hit the gas and sent them across the sands.

Chapter Text

The ride through the desert was awkward.

Damas drove with a strange sort of concentration, his knuckles tight on the wheel. Every once in a while, Sig's good eye flickered to the king, concern on his face.

They drove to the ruins in a tense silence. Jak racked his brain: had he done or said something that made the king upset? Or was Damas just preoccupied with the oncoming danger?

The Slam Dozer skidded to a stop near the ruins, a few feet from an easy to climb spot on the mountain. Jak squinted up at it, trying to judge just how high it was.

"Aw, c'mon!" Daxter grumbled loudly in Jak's ear. "We have to climb all the way up Mount Son of a Bitch?"

Sig glanced over at Damas, as if waiting to see if he would say anything. When he didn't, Sig replied, "Yeah. Damn thing's gotta go straight to the top."

"It's not that bad, Dax." Jak shielded his eyes and pointed to a cliffside. "Just up that ridge and along the path. We'll be up there in no time."

Daxter grimaced, but Sig gave a deep chuckle.

"Now, I know you cherries aren't afraid of a little climb." He reached out and ruffled Daxter's fur with one hand. "Where's that Wastelander spirit you're always braggin' about?"

Jak hopped out to get the satellite. As he strapped it to his back, Daxter said, "Puh-lease. This ain't Wastelander nothin'! This is all Orange Lightning, baby!"

While Sig laughed at Daxter's antics, Jak slid to the driver's side of the buggy. "Hey," he said quietly, watching as Damas' eyes widened in response. Jak shifted uncomfortably.

He wasn't really great at emotions. In fact, emotional conversations were so far out of his wheelhouse, they might as well have been a foreign language. But he couldn't just let Damas stew in whatever was bothering him.

"Um…are you okay?" Jak rubbed his arm anxiously. "You just seem kind of…quiet."

For a moment, Damas just stared at him, which didn't make Jak feel any less uneasy. Finally, the older man gave a snort of laughter. "I hope you haven't been driving yourself mad worrying," he said, his voice surprisingly lighthearted. "I have…just been thinking."

Before Jak could ask what he was thinking about, Damas gestured for Sig's attention. Daxter swung onto Jak's shoulder as Damas looked at them all in turn.

"I owe the three of you an apology."

"Apology?" Sig furrowed his brow. "Huh?"

Jak just blinked, unsure of what to say. Daxter, however, said, "About time! I accept foot rubs and monetary compensation."

Jak glared at his friend, but Damas wasn't even fazed. "When you refused to fight each other in the arena, I considered it an act of rebellion, when it was really an act of loyalty. And loyalty should be praised, not punished." He pursed his lips. "Please accept my apology."

"Aw, hell!" Sig clapped the king's shoulder. "That's water under the bridge! Never even bothered us."

"Yeah," Jak echoed. "No problem."

Daxter, however, seemed to think about it. "Weeell…it did suck to fight in the arena…but I guess I'll be nice this once."

"How considerate of you," Damas said dryly. He had relaxed a bit, Jak realized. This was what had been bothering him. "Now get moving. I'll send a green flare whenever Sig and I are in place. If you are ready, send a green flare back. Once I send a red flare up, count ten seconds and press the button."

Sig gestured towards the desert. "We'll be in the northwest," he said. "Keep an eye out for the flare over there. Sun should be at your back, so you should be able to see it, no problem."

Jak nodded. "Got it. Be careful out there."

"You, too, cherry." Sig gave him a thumbs up. "Don't go lookin' for trouble, hear me?"

With that, Damas drove away, a trail of sand kicking up behind them. Jak and Daxter watched them for a moment, then headed towards the mountain.

Jak clambered up the cliffside, pulling himself up onto a ridge. The satellite wasn't as heavy as he expected; he found it surprisingly easy to carry.

"We need to start charging for these kinds of missions," Daxter grumbled. "I bet we'd be millionaires!"

Jak snorted as they stared up at the path. It wasn't the worst thing Jak had ever climbed, but it wasn't the best, either. It was narrow and steep, and probably not at all safe. He glanced at Daxter, who looked skeptical. "Well, let's get going."

And with a groan from Daxter, they began their ascent.

Damas always kept his word.

His father had taught him that his word was only as good as his actions. People trusted what a leader did, not what he said.

So he did as he'd promised Ionna: he spent six months helping her search for the Precursor Stone.

Which, actually, was a lot more fun than he anticipated. He'd expected them to spend their time combing through dusty old books, searching for something that would lead them to the Stone.

Well, they were definitely searching, alright. Though they weren't finding anything.

Every hymn and psalm that the monks had records that told of doors. Doors that opened to new places, doors that hid secrets kept for centuries, doors that led where no one in living memory had walked.

Doors that were kept locked behind an ancient seal, one that only Damas had.

"According to the map," Ionna said, tilting her head, "there should be a chamber just east of here."

Damas glanced over the cliff they were standing on, watching pebbles scatter down into the dark chasm. The trees around them seemed to grow their roots along the cliffside, wrapping and winding around each other. They trailed down into the seemingly endless darkness.

"How sure are you about that map?" he asked.

Ionna frowned, mimicking his gaze. "Less sure than I was fifteen minutes ago. Onin said these were the maps Mar made, but…"

"I should probably break it to you now." Damas gripped her shoulder in mock sorrow. "Mar is dead."

Ionna stifled a chuckle. "Yes, but his work remains. Now, come on. Let's see if we can find a spot for you to climb down."

"Down?" Damas peered down into the darkness. "I don't know if I like that idea."

"Well, do you have a better one?"

"...I guess not." Damas grabbed one of the tree roots and swung around gracefully. He carefully lowered himself off the edge. "You know, I don't have a pair of those pretty wings to save me. If I fall, you better catch me."

Ionna clapped her hands, letting the ethereal white spread over her. Her wings fluttered around her, letting off little sparks of eco. "Or what? You'll haunt me for the rest of my days?"

"Or until I get bored of it." Damas eased himself down, his boots scraping against the rock on the way down. Ionna moved just below him, a hovering light in the darkness. "Do you know how far down this goes?"

"Let me check." She swooped down, a bright streak following her, and stopped on the ground below. "It's probably about fifty feet," she called up to him.

"Great," Damas grunted, using the rocks to slide downward. The roots had ended, leaving him to climb down using only the cliffside. Dirt fell loose beneath his fingers. "Why did Mar put a room down here? No one can reach it!"

"Actually," Ionna said, "that's probably exactly why he put it down here. Mar went through great pains to hide the Precursor Stone. It would hardly make sense if he left clues where everyone could see."

Damas glanced down. He was close enough to the bottom now; he dropped down, landing on his feet and springing upright. He scanned the area around them.

It was pitch black; the only reason he could see at all was because Ionna was still glowing with light eco. He gestured to her. "Lead the way, nightlight."

She smacked the back of his head as she passed him, heading along a dirt path. "Oops. My hand must have slipped."

Grinning, Damas followed her. They were still outside: he could see patches of grass and ferns as Ionna passed by them. It was strangely still as they walked. No animals or wind rushing by. No water sounding or crickets chirping.

"Do you see anything?" he whispered to her. She glanced back at him.

"Why are you whispering?"

"I don't know, it just…seemed like what I should do." Damas peered over her shoulder, but he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him. "Why is it so dark down here?"

"If I had to take a guess? Dark eco crystals." She swept her hand to the side. Under the glow, Damas could see the glint of tiny purple crystals, lined along the side of the path. "They must have been put there to keep people from exploring down here."

Damas didn't bother asking the obvious question of who put them there. Instead, he just said, "Well, it worked."

They kept walking for a few minutes, going deeper into the darkness. Eventually, Ionna stopped, her hand outstretched in front of her.

"Here we are." Beneath the light of her hand, Damas could see the orange of Precursor metal. He stepped forward to look closer. "You can take it from here."

The Seal of Mar was emblazoned in the center of the door. Damas reached around his neck and took out his seal.

The door swirled apart, its pieces spreading to make way for a circular doorway. It was just as dark inside the chamber as it was outside. He glanced at Ionna and gave her a wry smile. "Your turn."

She stepped forward into the chamber. It was a round, empty room: Damas could see the etchings of Precursor symbols on the walls, the idols that seemed eerily alive in the light. He followed her cautiously, his boots echoing in the hollow chamber.

"You sure there are no metal heads down here?" he asked, his voice back to a whisper. "Maybe some of them thought Mar's little hidey-hole was a nice place to take a nap?"

"If there were," she replied, "I think they would have attacked us by now." She was looking around, frowning. "But it doesn't seem like there's much else here, either."

"What do you mean?"

She gestured to the center of the room. "It's empty. I expected…well, I don't know what I expected. Nothing wasn't it, though."

They kept walking, towards the edge of the room. Damas leaned down to examine one of the idols. It was shaped like a Precursor statue, with its long nose and depthless blue eyes. He tilted his head as the shadows flickered over it.

"There's writing on the wall." Ionna's light faded as she walked to the other side. Damas took one last look at the idol and then followed her. In the empty chamber, her voice seemed to reverberate over and over.

From the mists of time,

Mar's light would shine

Upon the tests

Where he lay rest.

Ionna frowned. "I have no idea what this means," she said quietly. Damas wasn't sure if she was talking to him or to herself. "It's…it's talking about his tomb, but not anything specific."

"There's more over here," Damas said, pointing a few feet away on the wall. Ionna moved there, her palms out and lighting the wall.

From a tower in the sky,

A beam that passes by.

Three pieces can be found

Upon this holy ground.

"Here!" Damas jogged a few feet away, his hand brushing the wall. "It looks like there's writing all the way down."

Ionna followed, using her hands to illuminate the wall. "This one's just a couplet," she said curiously.

The workings of a tower

A gear to give it power.

"You'd think the Precursors could be a bit more helpful," Damas joked. He walked along the wall to the next set of couplets. "Maybe they could give us a map next time."

Ionna held her hand up and read the next set.

A shard to create light

This ray will pierce the night

Damas picked up seamlessly, reading the next set aloud.

A lens to lead the way

To the tomb where Mar lay

"So three things," Ionna mused, "that make a light tower, that will show us how to find Mar's tomb."

"Great." Damas slumped against the wall. "Now, if only we knew where those three things were."

"They've got to be somewhere in the city." Ionna unfurled the map she'd been using and examined it again. "Mar would have kept them close, just in case."

Damas continued pacing the room, his fingers brushing against the idols and carvings.

"Maybe Onin knows something about it," he suggested. Ionna's face twitched and she frowned. "What's with that face?"

"...Onin doesn't want me looking for the Precursor Stone."

Damas spun around abruptly. "Wait, why not?"

She sighed, her head hung heavily over the map. "She says that it isn't time. That Mar's tomb can only be opened by a hero chosen by the Precursors."

"Then I'm guessing that hero hasn't shown his face yet," Damas said teasingly. "Pity. We could use one of those right now."

Ionna didn't laugh. The only thing she did was fold her arms. "I don't suppose," she said quietly, "that you'd give me some extra time to find these things."

Six months. That was what Damas had promised, six months. Now here they were, at the end of the line. Only eight days left.

But Damas always kept his word.

He turned his head away, not wanting to face her. He didn't get a chance to answer, because she just said, "I didn't think so. I suppose a king shouldn't make exceptions."

"Sorry," he mumbled. Ionna shook her head.

"Don't be. I agreed to six months." She rolled up the map and put her hands on her hips. "Besides, if Onin is right—and she usually is—then I could have all the time in the world, and it wouldn't matter." She sighed. "No hero, no Precursor Stone."

They headed back towards the doorway, quiet. Damas could have said a million things: that it wasn't personal, that he was having second thoughts about attacking the nest, that he wished they could have gotten ahold of the Precursor Stone.

Instead, all he could do was grin and say, "Personally, I'm a bit offended. I think I'm pretty heroic."

"The Precursors don't know what they're missing," Ionna said dryly. "By the way, how do you intend to get back up that cliff? As clearly heroic as you are, I doubt you could climb it."

"About that." Damas folded his arms as they walked along the path. "You know, every good hero needs someone supporting them. Someone who has their own unique set of skills. Like…flying."

"I think you have it backwards, Your Highness," she said with a smirk. "The one who flies is usually the hero."

"Mmm, I'm not sure about that." He shook his amulet. The orange-red seal reflected some of Ionna's light on the ground. "Sacred lineage? King of the city? Those are usually heroes in all the old stories."

"Oh, really?" Ionna tilted her head up as they approached the cliff. Slowly she started to rise, her wings flapping gently around her. Damas jolted his head to look up at her.

"H-hey! Where do you think you're going?"

"You've got the seal and the crown!" she laughed. "You'll figure a way out, hero."

Damas jumped up and grabbed onto her ankle. Though she swayed in the air, off-balance, she kept rising. His feet dangled off the ground, the both of them laughing as they slowly made their way up.

The trip up the mountain wasn't as bad as Daxter made it out to be.

"I hate the desert!" he complained in Jak's ear. "I hate the heat, I hate the sand, I hate the sun!"

"Yeah, yeah." Jak reached up towards a ledge. They were near the top of the mountain now, the sun beating down their necks and the wind twisting their hair. "It beats the sewers, though."

"Ugh, don't remind me." Daxter gagged exaggeratedly. "I still have nightmares about the smell. Worse than hanging around Kleiver on a hot day."

Jak hauled the two of them up onto the rocks. The summit of the mountain was fairly flat. He went over to the edge and balanced the satellite on it. A few minutes later, it was securely bolted to the rock.

"Not bad, buddy." Daxter skittered around it, kicking it with his foot. "Keira'd be proud of you. A regular ol' grease moncaw!"

Jak chuckled and shook the satellite. "I guess we just have to wait for their signal."

He sat down on the edge of the mountain, his feet dangling off the rocks. From all the way up here, he could see the entire Wasteland: the beacon of Spargus glowing, the Marauder stronghold and its winding bridge, the curved road that led up towards the Monk Temple. The desert was spotted with little green cacti, and a river cut through with a blue-green sparkle.

"So, Moody Judy, what'cha thinkin' about?"

Jak glanced over at Daxter. His friend was stretched out on his stomach, his chin on his paws. It reminded Jak of all the lazy afternoons spent on Sentinel Beach, skipping rocks over the water and chasing after birds. Before Jak could answer, Daxter guessed for him.

"You're thinking about Damas." Daxter gave him a crooked grin when he nodded. "I knew it. That was, uh…weird, right? Sand King doesn't seem like the kinda guy who apologizes that often."

He wasn't wrong, Jak thought. Damas had a strong sense of pride, one that shone through in every word he said. The fact that he was able to set his pride aside to apologize for something was both unexpected and heartening.

"I guess not." Jak looked over the horizon again. He could see the Marauders' buggies zooming by. "It's not like he had to apologize. We were the ones who broke the rules."

"Ha! Yeah, we broke his totally not crazy rules." Daxter rolled his eyes. "If you ask me, His Sandliness needs a vacation. He takes everything a little too seriously."

"He has to. He's the king, isn't that what they do?"

"Listen, bub," Daxter replied, "only one of us here is royalty, and it ain't me. Do I look like I know what kings do?"

Jak snorted. "Do I? C'mon, Dax, I'm about as high class as the Naughty Ottsel."

"An insult! You, sir, are rude." Daxter flipped over onto his back and stretched. "The Naughty Ottsel is a classy establishment. We even have coasters for the beer. Now, the Hip Hog? That place had all the class of…well, of Krew."

Jak laughed, but before he could respond, a green streak lit up the sky. He stood up and fumbled with his pack. "That's Damas' signal!"

"Time to rock, baby!" Daxter clung to his shoulder as he raised the flare gun. With a whistling shriek, they let off a green streak across the sky. Jak knelt down to put his finger on the button Keira had pointed out. A few seconds later, a red flare streamed across the desert.

Daxter, of course, counted down from ten with his usual flair. At zero, he shouted, "It's all over! Blast off, into the wild blue yonder!"

Which made it very anticlimactic when Jak hit the button and nothing happened.

"Uh…did it work?" Daxter tilted his head and Jak shrugged. "Maybe we need to turn it on and off again."

"Keira said we needed to test it." He pulled his communicator off his belt and clicked the button. "Damas, Sig? Are you guys there?"

The communicator crackled to life. "...Jak? Daxter? Can you two hear me okay?"

Daxter swung over on Jak's shoulder. "Hey, Sig baby! How ya doin'?"

"Just peachy. Looks like we got everything all set up." Sig paused, then said, "Damas and I will come get you two. Just hang tight and we'll swing by."

Jak started down the cliffs, careful to avoid the rocky ledges. "We'll be here," he said firmly. He landed on his feet and looked out one last time over the desert.

"Huh?" Behind Sig's voice, they could hear another, gravelly and stern. "Yeah, and Damas says to be careful. Don't do anything reckless."

"Yeah, yeah." Jak rolled his eyes at Daxter. "Tell him I'll be fine."

A pause, then Sig said, "He says he doesn't want you to be fine, he wants you to be careful."

"Geez!" Jak jumped down another overhang. From the communicator, Sig's laugh echoed in his ears. "Okay, okay, I'll be careful!"

He set the comm back on his belt. Daxter leaned against Jak's head. "Looks like Mr. Sandman's back to normal."

Chapter Text

Keira's return to Haven City was oddly anticlimactic. As she stepped off the transport and gazed around the Port sector, she felt an odd sense of…wistfulness, she supposed.

Spargus had been a nice change.

Not that she wanted to live there, of course. Keira was a city girl at heart; zoomers and technology, metal and electricity, those were her great passions.

But it had been a nice change.

She hoisted her bag over her shoulder and started for the Naughty Ottsel. Her father was probably in New Haven, at Freedom HQ. She wasn't quite sure she was prepared for the tongue lashing she was about to get from him.

The Naughty Ottsel was as normal as ever. Metal head trophies looming over them, pictures of Daxter and Tess staring down. Torn sitting at a booth, glaring at his papers.

Just as she left it.

"Hey, Torn," she greeted as she walked to the bar. For a moment, Torn just grunted, then he did a double take. "What's up?"

"Now you show up," he grumbled. "Samos has been pestering me for a week to send someone out to the Wasteland to find you. Forget the fact that anyone who goes out there is signing their own death warrant."

Keira felt annoyance flare. "No one seemed all that worried about Jak going out there."

"Yeah, well, Jak's not exactly normal." Torn bent his head back over his paperwork, signaling the conversation as over. Keira rolled her eyes and headed for the bar.

"Tess? Tess, you here?" Keira leaned over the bar and peered into the back. "Tess?"

"Keira! You're back!" Tess popped out of the backroom, her hands full of bottles of alcohol. "How was the trip? How are the boys?"

"They're fine." Ever the same, Tess was. Nothing ever changed around here. "Daxter says he misses you, and some other things I'll never repeat."

"Oh, I miss my Daxxie so much!" She picked up a glass. "You want a drink? You'll probably need it before your dad gets here."

Tess didn't wait for Keira's answer, pouring some wine into a glass for her. Keira picked it up and toasted the bartender. "Thanks." She sipped it and sighed. "So, how is everything around here?"

"Same as always." She glanced at Torn and lowered her voice. "But I think the shit's about to hit the fan, if you want to know the truth. There's something going on in the Guard, and we're pretty sure Veger's behind it."

Keira made a face as she sipped her drink. "Isn't he always."

They chatted some more as she finished her drink, mostly talking about Jak and Daxter and their adventures in the Wasteland. She was in the middle of explaining how she'd managed to put a heat shield on the satellites—Tess was sometimes the only one who understood her inventions—when Torn stood up. He walked towards the bar and leaned casually against it.

"On your six," he said to her. Keira turned around, just in time to see Samos walk in.

"Keira! There you are!" He moved quickly towards her, staff in hand, as if ready to heal her. Just like in Sandover. "We need to have a talk, young lady! You shouldn't have gone into the Wasteland, it's dangerous out there!"

Keira inhaled slowly. "Daddy, I'm fine," she said, spinning around on her stool. "I was never in any danger."

"I doubt that," he said firmly, planting his staff on the ground. He shot a glare at Torn. "And someone should have told me the minute you arrived in the city."

Torn dug around in his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Don't get mad at me," he complained, flicking a lighter. "I didn't run away to the desert."

"I didn't know you smoked," Keira commented. Torn took a drag of the cigarette and sighed contentedly.

"He quit a few years ago," Tess supplied. "I haven't seen him fall off the wagon since."

"Hanging around Jinx made me crave it again." He blew a puff of smoke into the air. "I'll quit when the war is over."

Samos frowned and pointed a finger at him. "That's not good for your health! Heart and lung damage, increased risk for strokes, even—!"

"Samos." Torn exhaled smoke through his nose. "Why don't you parent your actual kid instead of me?"

"Er…right." Samos turned to Keira and tilted his chin up. "You should never have gone into the desert, especially without telling me."

Keira ran her thumb over the amulet Damas had given her. "Daddy, that's enough," she said loudly. He looked taken aback by her sharp tone. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I did it for two years, you know."

Samos clenched his fists. "I-I know that," he admitted. "But you're my daughter, and I worry about you."

"I know that," she said, softer this time. "But I'm not a little girl anymore. You can't keep me behind walls and locked doors."

Samos sat down beside her with a sigh. "Oh, Keira," he murmured. "I know I can't. I never could, even when you were a little girl. But…old habits are hard to break." He smiled at her. "I'm sorry, dear."

"It's fine, Daddy." She leaned over and hugged him. "I should've told you, so I'm sorry, too."

"Aww!" Tess clapped her hands together. "That's so sweet!"

Keira laughed and let go of Samos, who leaned back and adjusted his glasses. "So, then," he said lightly, "I suppose I should ask how everything was. How are Jak and his, er…furball doing?"

"They're great!" Keira launched into the tales of the Wasteland, of how Jak and Daxter were living, of how she'd helped the city by building satellites.

All the while, Samos watched her, a strange sort of sad pride in his eyes.

Jak and Daxter were waiting when Damas pulled up in the Slam Dozer. As he slowed to a stop, Jak raised his goggles.

"Taxi? Follow that…uh, city!" Daxter hopped up onto the back of the driver's seat as Jak climbed into the back. "Go fast and we'll give you a good tip."

"I'm not sure you can afford my rates," Damas said with a smirk. "Any injuries, either of you?"

"Nope." Jak pulled his scarf down and grinned. "Still in one piece."

"Good." Damas started to drive, heading for Spargus. "Sig, stay on the gun. We're almost home."

There was something wrong.

Damas couldn't explain it; perhaps it was just anxiety or paranoia. But he had old warrior instincts, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong in his desert. That there was something, someone, playing in a sandbox that Damas just didn't want to share.

It only took a few minutes for his feelings to be validated.

"Stop!" Sig's voice was a harsh bark, and Damas slammed on the brakes. Daxter went flying with his usual shriek, bouncing off the dashboard. Jak leaned forward, following Sig's gaze. "What is it?"

Damas followed his sight line. "Up on those cliffs. Those look like…"

Jak pulled his goggles down and then growled. "The Dark Makers."

The Dark Makers.

Damas hadn't seen the actual creatures so close before. There were a dozen of them, at least. No doubt there were more out of sight. They were huddled around a Marauder vehicle, one of the spiked and striped buggies they drove. The Dark Makers had flipped the damned thing over. Precursors only knew what had happened to the driver.

As Damas watched, the Dark Makers moved around the buggy. They were grotesque, a strange hybrid of machinery and biology. They moved too smoothly to be robots, but they were certainly not human. Dark tendrils that whipped through the air, glowing purple eyes and dark eco dripping from their very bodies.

Metal heads were one thing: animalistic and feral, most were more beast than man. But these creatures…

As they watched, the Dark Makers seemed to be communicating in a series of strange tones. One of them reached into the overturned buggy and started to growl.

"They're looking for something," Damas whispered. Beside him, Sig frowned. "It must be another artifact."

"Yeah, well, we better get outta here, before they come lookin' for us!" Daxter waved his paw at Damas. "Drive, drive!"

"We can't. We're too close." Damas leaned forward a bit to get a better look. "If they spot us, they'll attack, and we're heavily outnumbered. We can't risk it."

"So, what, we just sit here until they leave?" Sig looked towards the east, where the ocean slammed against the cliffside. "What we oughta do is backtrack a bit, and go another way."

"Wait." Jak grabbed the crossbar and leaned forward. "I have an idea."

"Ears open, cherry." Sig leaned back to listen. "What do you think?"

Jak hesitated. "I…Seem's been teaching me how to use dark eco. And one of her powers is…invisibility."

Sig gave a broad smile. "Alright! Jak saves the day again. Remind me to buy you a drink when we get back."

Damas, however, frowned at him. "I've seen Seem use her invisibility. She can't make an entire vehicle invisible."

"But I can." Damas looked at him. His skepticism must have shown on his face, because Jak grimaced and added, "Look, I have different powers than she does. I'm pretty sure I can…I don't know, share my invisibility."

"You truly think you have more powers than the acolyte of dark eco?"

"Uh, he said different powers," Daxter butt in. "Which is true. I'm pretty sure Seem doesn't grow fangs and claws."

"Fair enough." Damas hesitated, then turned back to Jak. "Are you certain that you are capable of this? Sig is right, we could backtrack and find another route to Spargus."

"I can do it," Jak replied firmly. Damas eyed him up.

Trust was crucial on the battlefield. They might not be in a typical war, but the fact still remained. If you couldn't trust your comrades, you were doomed to lose.

He nodded once, approvingly. "Very well. Let's do it."

Jak's grin, boyish and proud, almost made him smile back. No time, however, since Jak was focused on the task at hand. "We need to move fast. I can't keep us invisible for long."

"Their range of sight is pretty limited," Sig told them. "It looks like they can't see any of the Marauders over there." He gestured to where a group of Marauders were zooming around, half a mile away.

"At the very least," Damas added, "the Dark Makers aren't concerned about them. We can blend in with them." He adjusted his hands on the wheel. "We'll go straight north. Jak, the second you're ready, I'm going forward. Sig, stay on the gun and keep a look out. If those things notice us, we're in for one hell of a fight."

Jak nodded. He stood up in the back and braced each of his hands on the crossbars. Damas waited, listening closely for Jak to say something. He exhaled slowly.

Like a blanket, the power of dark eco fell over them. Dark and deep, almost chilling them. As Damas watched, the vehicle around them rippled in the sunlight, then flickered away. He glanced around and saw that Sig, Jak, and Daxter were all cloaked, too. Judging by Sig's face, so was he.

"Go." Jak's voice was raspy and guttural, but Damas paid it no mind. He hit the gas and they zoomed forward. They flew across the sands, with Sig watching the Dark Makers intently.

A moment later, and they were on the other side of the cliffside, near the group of Marauders. By then, Jak's powers appeared to have reached their limit. They flickered back into view, and though the Marauders attacked them, there was no sign of the Dark Makers. Damas breathed a sigh of relief.

"Ahh! Man overboard!" Daxter leapt from Jak's shoulder with a shout. The teen had slumped to the side, almost falling out of the buggy, his eyes half-closed. Sig quickly grabbed the ring on his chest and hauled him back in.

Jak fell back against the back of the buggy, groaning. He was pale and shaking, but the grin on his face was triumphant. Daxter cheered from beside him.

"Oh, yeah! You the man!" He gave Jak a fistbump, which the boy weakly returned. "See, having dark eco floating around ain't all bad."

"You doin' alright there, rookie?" Sig leaned back, concern on his face. "You don't look so great."

Jak grunted, but Daxter answered for him. "He's fine! Just needs a little nap. You know how cranky he gets when he's tired."

Damas reached back and patted Jak's calf. "Rest, son," he said reassuringly. "You did good work today."

Jak gave him a sleepy thumbs up and tilted his head back. He closed his eyes and slid an arm under his head, rolling onto his side. Damas gave a rough bark of a laugh and turned back around. He drove towards the fiery beacon, high in the afternoon sky, that lit the way home.

Ionna was waiting.

She stood in the garage, arms folded, staring at the doors and waiting for them to open. Beside her, Seem pursed her lips and tapped her foot anxiously.

They were both waiting, actually. For Damas to return to the city, hopefully with a newly upgraded communications system. And hopefully not with any injuries or missing parts.

The garage door opened and both women straightened, uneasily readying themselves. The buggy skidded to a stop several feet from them. Damas slid out of the driver's seat, but Sig was the one who called out her name.

"Hey, Ionna! We could use some help over here." Sig climbed out of the passenger's side and went to the back. "Jak's, uh…he's a little out of it right now."

"He overdid it with the dark eco," Daxter said, as Sig pulled Jak out from the buggy. The teenager was conscious, though he was clearly struggling to stand. Sig slung one of Jak's arms over his shoulder and helped keep him upright.

"Let me see." Seem stepped forward, her hands outstretched. She tilted his head up and took his pulse, checking his eyesight with a careful, practiced ease. She frowned and directed him to squeeze her hand. "He's weak. What happened?"

Daxter started in on the story with his usual gusto, but Ionna paid him no attention; with Jak being cared for by Seem, she set her sights on Damas. His eyes, violet and sharp as ever, met hers. She jerked her head towards the corner of the garage.

They met there, their backs toward the group, their voices low and hushed. Ionna folded her arms and frowned. "You didn't happen to run into any Dark Makers out there, did you?"

Damas glanced back at Jak. "As a matter of fact," he said slowly, "we did. Am I to take it that you've seen others?"

"Some of the monks were killed by them. Seem said the Dark Makers were looking for the Eco Sphere." Ionna sighed and clasped her hands together. "They're getting bolder."

"I've already stopped all non-emergency movement in the Wastes," he said. "I'll put Kleiver at the garage, to ensure everyone stays in the city."

"Good plan. But we have a bigger issue." She glanced behind her again, then lowered her voice even further. "Sooner or later, they'll launch an attack. On Spargus, on the Temple, on Haven…it doesn't matter where, but they will attack us directly."

Damas frowned; clearly, he didn't like that idea. "We'll fortify the city. In the meantime, perhaps it would be best if Seem and the monks were to stay here."

"I doubt Seem will agree," Ionna told him. "The Monk Temple has its own protections, not the least of which is her own powers. They'll be fine."

Damas didn't argue. Instead, he just asked, "And what about Jak's training? You were adamant that he needed to continue."

Ionna hesitated. "...Seem can teleport from the Monk Temple. We can keep him here, in Spargus, while he trains."

Damas glanced over at the group. Daxter was now shadowboxing, making a show of knocking out imaginary enemies. Seem appeared to have helped Jak to his feet, while Sig was standing by, waiting for the boy to fall over again. Damas looked at Ionna. "He'll argue. He doesn't like being told what to do."

"Mmm." Ionna snorted. "Who does he sound like?"

Damas raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying that I'm obstinate?"

Ionna rolled her eyes, but didn't answer. Instead, she turned back to the group. "Is he alright?" she asked Seem. The monk nodded. "Good."

"I'm just a little tired." Jak was standing on his own now, and though he swayed a bit, he was much more alert. Seem turned to Ionna.

"He channeled too much dark eco at once," she explained. "Something he was warned not to do," she added with a chiding look. "But he'll be fine after some rest. He won't be able to channel eco for several days."

"Do you hear that?" Damas called over. "You are not to channel eco until Seem allows you to do so, is that clear?"

Jak looked disgruntled, but evidently his exhaustion won out. With a sigh, he mumbled, "Fine. No eco."

"Eh, it's no big deal. Now we can have a little stay-cation, right, buddy?" Daxter didn't hop onto Jak's shoulder, probably because he had the suspicion that Jak might fall over. Instead, he just casually leaned against his friend's boot. "Chill out at home, watch the Wasteland babes go by, eat some o' that delicious fruit…"

"So our boy's gonna be fine?" Sig squeezed Jak's shoulder. "I knew it. It'll take a lot more than that to take out Jak."

Jak gave him a laugh, but Ionna's face was still as serious as ever. "There's another issue at hand," she said. "Jak, it's no longer safe to cross the desert. You've seen what the Dark Makers are doing, how unpredictable they're being."

"Yeah, yeah," Daxter said breezily. "Don't go out if we don't have to, yadda yadda."

"No." Damas came from behind, his hands clasped behind his back. He made sure Jak was making eye contact before continuing. "Don't go out at all. You need to remain in the city."

For a brief moment, Jak and Daxter shot each other a look. Finally, Jak said weakly, "But what about my dark eco lessons?"

"It's not safe for you to go to the Mountain Temple right now," Ionna said firmly. "We'll work something out."

Seem made a noise of agreement. "I can travel here, to Spargus, to continue our lessons. Provided we can use the arena?" she asked. Damas nodded.

"This is not something to take lightly." Damas' voice was stern as he addressed Jak. "You saw those creatures, Jak. We were fortunate this time, but it would be foolish to press our luck too far."

"But…" Jak looked around at them all. "I have…I have to find the Eco Sphere."

Ionna blinked. "No, Jak," she said calmly. "Seem will find the Eco Sphere. You need to focus on your training, on making sure you're ready to take on Erol and the Dark Makers."

Jak gave Damas a desperate look. "No…no, I'm the one who has to…"

"You don't have to do anything." Damas' voice was surprisingly gentle. "Jak, you are a Wastelander now. That means you are not alone. We all must work together, and sometimes that means you must let others do what they need to do."

Jak didn't look particularly happy, but Ionna got the feeling he was too tired to put up a good fight. She took advantage of his fatigue and glanced at Sig. "Now is not the time to discuss this. Jak needs his rest. Would you mind making sure he gets to bed safely?"

"Sure thing." Sig reached down and picked up Daxter, plopping the ottsel on his own shoulder. "C'mon, rookies, it's past your bedtime. You need a cup o' warm yakow milk, it'll put you right out."

Sig kept talking, cheerfully leading an exhausted Jak back into the city. Ionna glanced at Damas and Seem, who were both watching them go.

"We will find the Eco Sphere eventually," Seem assured them. "Don't forget what the Precursors told us."

Damas raised an eyebrow at Ionna, who didn't need him to say anything. They both knew that Seem, the pious monk, would always have faith in the Precursors.

But the exiled king and the Wasteland medic? Faith would always be a gamble to them.

Not that it mattered. As Seem teleported away in a bruise-purple haze, Damas turned to Ionna. He hesitated, then asked, "Do you think we can defeat the Dark Makers?"

Ionna gave a bitter laugh. "You've never been one to give up. Does it matter if we can or not? We're still going to try."

"...You're not wrong." Damas put his hands on his hips and gave her a smirk. "I suppose we only have one choice."

Ionna nodded and started to walk into the city. Damas fell into step beside her as they entered. "Keep pushing forward."

Chapter Text

"Geez, cherries, why don't you unpack and stay a while?"

Sig glanced around the little building that Jak and Daxter lived in. It was sparse and empty, with all the personality of a port-section warehouse. A nest of blankets and clothes on the floor, food thrown haphazardly near the cooking pot, random empty boxes scattered around the place.

And literally nothing else.

Wastelanders were notoriously minimalist: they firmly believed that everything was useful, and if it wasn't, it wasn't worth keeping around. But Sig, at least, had a few things: his old stuffed bear, a photo of his mama, even a cactus he'd transplanted from the desert a few years ago.

He helped Jak into the house. "Alright, let's get you to bed," he said. "Where's your bunk?"

Daxter hopped down and gestured to the blankets that were piled up on the floor. "Uh, you're lookin' at it."

Sig sighed as Jak lurched towards it and fell into the pile with a thump. "You can't be serious," he grumbled. "You don't even have a mat?"

Jak mumbled something into the blankets, but Daxter said, "Hey! We don't go into your house and judge your sleeping arrangements!"

"Geez…" Sig pointed at Daxter and went for the door. "Stay here and watch over him. I'll be right back."

He went to the market, to a stand off to the side. It was small and didn't seem like much, but Sig had learned a long time ago that looks were deceiving. He approached and rang the bell.

The man who came to the stand was older, a well-respected Wastelander. He'd been Damas' right-hand man at one point, and though Sig had taken his spot when he left it, there was still a kind of kinship between them. He walked with a limp, from an old war wound, and had his graying hair done in short, tight braids against his scalp.

"How you doin', Antwon?" Sig leaned against the stand and smiled. "I know you're the guy who's always selling random stuff. Got a bedroll anywhere?"

Antwon frowned as he thought. "No," he said finally. "Unfortunately, I'm out of bedrolls. I have a hammock, though."

"I'll take it." Sig pulled out some skull gems as payment, while Antwon started digging out the hammock. "Thanks."

"You trying out some new sleeping arrangements?" Antwon asked. "You'll have to be careful. Hammocks are comfortable to curl up in, but you're not small. Might cause some back problems."

"Nah, it's not for me." Sig took the folded up cloth and handed over the gems. Antwon didn't even bother counting them. "A friend of mine is sleeping on the floor."

Antwon laughed. "Well, well, that's not good for the back. Hope he gets a good rest on this."

"Let's hope." Sig started to walk away, but Antwon called his name. He turned around. "Yeah?"

Antwon nodded across the market. "What's going on with those two? I think this is the first time I've seen them together in…well, it's been a while."

Sig followed his gaze. Damas and Ionna were walking by. It was hard to tell if they were walking together: they were in lockstep with each other, but they both seemed to be pointedly avoiding looking at each other. Damas was observing everything around him, craning his neck to look at the city. Ionna, meanwhile, was staring straight ahead as she walked.

"With those two? Who knows." Sig shrugged. "My guess is they have to get along right now to deal with the Dark Makers and everything."

Antwon snorted. "Let me tell you, I knew them when they were kids. I'd never have guessed they'd be avoiding each other like the plague nowadays."

Sig never would have, either. Instead of saying that, however, he just shrugged. The two of them watched as Ionna split off from Damas, heading for the infirmary. For a brief moment, they looked at each other, before giving a salute and heading their separate ways.

Antwon shook his head and glanced at Sig. He lowered his voice and asked, "Any luck on Mar?"

Sig hesitated. Only the council knew about Sig's mission in Haven City; everyone else knew he'd been sent there, but not the reason why. He glanced around to make sure no one was close, before he answered, "Nothing. There was a rumor a while back about some kid who was the heir to the throne, but after the Baron was killed, there was no sign of any kid. I think it was just some tall tale the Havenites made up."

"Figures." Antwon sighed and patted Sig's shoulder. "Good talking to you. We'll have to get a drink sometime, catch up."

"Yeah." Sig gave the old man a salute and headed back to Jak and Daxter's place. "Stay safe, Antwon."

With the hammock in hand, it didn't take long for Sig to get back to Jak's place. He opened the door and said, "Alright, chili peppers, I don't wanna hear no arguin'." He shut the door and turned around.

Only to find that both Jak and Daxter were dead asleep.

Jak was out cold, curled up like a babe, with Daxter snoozing in his own makeshift bed. Sig felt a rush of affection for the kids; no matter how tough they both acted, they were still too young to be caught up in all this crap. They deserved a rest every once in a while.

Sig strung the hammock up quickly. It was made of soft cloth, padded with fur from some kind of animal. Warm and comfortable. Perfect for a kid who didn't know that the floor wasn't a good sleep spot.

With the hammock set up, Sig stooped down and picked up Jak. He shifted in Sig's arms, but didn't wake up. Sig settled him gently into the hammock, watching him curl in on himself in his sleep. He reached down and grabbed one of the blankets from the floor.

Damn kid still had his boots on. Sig untied them and slid them off his feet, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Wastelanders never smelled good, least of all after a hard day's work. He set the boots aside and spread the blanket over Jak's sleeping form, carefully tucking it around his shoulders.

He checked to make sure Daxter was okay—at least he knew the value of comfort, wrapped up in enough blankets to make any animal jealous—and then dusted his hands off. As he closed the door, he heard Jak let out a snore in his sleep. Sig chuckled.

"Sweet dreams, rookies."

By the time Sig reported back to Damas, the sun was setting.

Damas was standing beside the water wheel, staring out into the Wasteland. It was strange, he thought, to look up at the sky and see the Day Star. It seemed beautiful, in a terrifying way. In the sunset, it seemed to streak the sky purple and pink, mixing with the orange over the sands.

Sig stood beside him, arms behind his back. Damas glanced at him. "How is he?"

"They're both knocked the hell out. Busy day, I guess." Sig folded his arms. His eyes flickered to the Day Star out the window. "So…now what?"

"Now?" Damas gave a bitter scoff. "I suppose we just have to wait. Defend the city and hope that the Eco Sphere is found quickly."

"You just tell me what needs done, I'll get it done." Sig had always been reliable. It didn't matter if it was beating back Marauders or babysitting: Sig would do it, no questions asked.

"We need to prepare for an attack. It's coming, sooner or later." Damas turned around and started back towards the throne. "I'll send out the order for all citizens to do an arms check. If anyone needs anything—a modification, a repair, anything at all—make sure it gets done."

"Right." Sig followed Damas to the stone steps. "We oughta remind them to check their armor, too."

Damas nodded approvingly. "I'll see it done. Warn your mother."

"Ha! When has my mama ever needed a warning?" Sig said, grinning broadly. "I'll just have to make sure she's got the supplies ready."

"We'll also need to make sure we're ready for sheltering. Have Jamera reinforce the school building. We should be ready to shelter the children there, just in case." Damas tapped his knee thoughtfully. "The infirmary, too. I'll tell Ionna to make sure she's ready."

There was a beat of silence. Sig raised an eyebrow at the king, but said nothing.

"I won't be foolish enough to think we won't have casualties. Tell any citizen with medical experience to contact Ionna. She'll need them if we face an attack."

"On it," Sig said firmly. "Anything else?"

"...Not at the moment." Damas met Sig's eyes. "Thank you," he added suddenly. "You've gone above and beyond in your duty to the city, and I am grateful for your service."

"Don't get all soft on me now, Damas," Sig teased. He stepped onto the elevator and gave a salute. "That's the last thing we need."

The evening before the attack on the metal head nest, Damas was sitting on the throne, listening intently to the radio.

It was one of Mar's oldest practices: a radio address given to the soldiers on a regular basis. Mar believed that those who fought for the city deserved to have transparency in their leaders. Over the years, the task had been passed to the Krimzon Guards, the leaders of the armed forces.

"This is Lieutenant General Noori." Yasir's voice was calm and steady as it came through the speaker. Damas listened intently as he continued his speech.

"As you all know, tomorrow is, perhaps, our most important military operation yet. For the first time, we will be attacking the metal heads directly, instead of simply defending our lands."

He paused, a tense silence of static. "...I know you are nervous. I respect all of you too much to deny that I, too, have my reservations. But our goal is clear. This is a momentous occasion, one that could bring peace to Haven City, for the first time in living memory."

"There is no denying that lives will be lost in this assault. But lives are lost in every battle, and if there was ever something to sacrifice your life for, peace in our time is it."

Damas shifted uncomfortably on the throne. Hearing Yasir's voice ring out in the empty throne room was chilling. Especially when he laid it out for all to see, a bleak proclamation of sacrifice.

Over the radio, Yasir cleared his throat and continued, "Peace for our families. For our children, and our grandchildren. For our dearest friends, for everyone we love. A sacrifice, I believe, made for the greatest of all goods."

Another pause, a deep inhale, as if Yasir were trying to steady himself. "...So, as a soldier who will be fighting beside you tomorrow, I ask one thing of you tonight. I sincerely hope you will listen, though this is far from an order."

"Tonight, spend time with your loved ones." His voice was soft and deep, but just as serious as ever. "Hug your children, kiss your spouse. Have a drink with friends, and be glad for tonight. Come tomorrow, though it may be a difficult fight, we will have a better future."

With that, the transmission ended, with the nightly music playing. For a moment, Damas listened absent-mindedly, then he clicked the radio off.

The silence was deafening around him. He stood up and sighed, stretching his arms above his head.

The buzz of excitement and fear hummed beneath his skin. Tomorrow. It would all happen tomorrow.

A little voice in the back of his head told him that it wasn't too late to call it off.

To calm down, Damas sat down on the steps and pulled his rifle out. He started to dismantle it, setting the pieces aside carefully. The familiar hollow sounds of metal against metal were a comfort. As he oiled the parts, the smell permeating the air, he heard the door open.

"State your business," he said without looking up. "I'm a bit busy at the moment, so you will have to be quick."

"Oh, don't worry," a light voice said teasingly. "I wouldn't want to interrupt such an important royal task."

Damas jerked his head up. Ionna was standing before him, a brown cloth bag in her arms. She sat beside him on the steps, stretching her legs out in front of her. Damas raised an eyebrow as he set his rifle aside. "What is this?"

"Dinner." She opened the bag and a wonderful smell wafted out. "There's this great kebab place in the bazaar. Onin used to take me there when I was a little girl. The yakow kebab is to die for."

"I meant," he said with a grin, "what are you doing bringing it here?"

She handed him a wrapped kebab, but didn't answer. "They also have the best sauce," she continued. "It's almost like a sour cream sauce, or something? I don't know." She handed him a cup of said sauce.

"..." Damas chuckled and unwrapped the kebab. "You don't have to babysit me. It's unnecessary."

"I'm not babysitting you. I'm doing what Yasir said." She pulled out another kebab and started to eat. "Spending time with my friend." She swallowed a bite and sighed contentedly. "Excellent, as always. Anyway, I figured you probably wouldn't mind the company."

Damas started to eat, dipping a chunk of meat into the sauce. Ionna was right; if he was going to have a last meal, this was a pretty damn good one. "I suppose I don't mind. As you can see, everyone else has left."

Ionna glanced around the empty throne room. "Where is everyone, anyway?"

"Praxis took his daughter to watch tonight's race." Damas tossed one of the peppers from the kebab into his mouth. "Ali and Yasir are treating their mom to some fancy restaurant in Main Town. I think Antwon said he was going to a party with some other Guards."

Ionna grimaced and threw a napkin at his face. "Please don't talk with your mouth full, that's disgusting."

"Sorry." He covered his mouth and swallowed. "So, why aren't you hanging out with Seem? I would think the two of you would rather be spending your time with each other, considering…well, tomorrow."

"Seem is in seclusion for the next several days. Besides…" Ionna hesitated, then sighed. "She doesn't know about the attack on the nest."

"What?" Damas swallowed another bite, then added, "Why didn't you tell her?"

Ionna set her kebab down and frowned. "If I told Seem, she would just be upset until I left. This way, I was able to spend time with her without it…hanging over our heads."

Damas finished his kebab and set aside the skewer. He watched her for a moment, then said, "You know, you don't have to fight with us. I mean…you're a Precursor monk. If anyone has an excuse to stay out of this battle, it's you."

Ionna was quiet, her gaze faraway. Damas tilted his head to watch her for a few moments, then reached for her unfinished kebab. She snapped out of her reverie to slap his hand away.

"There's another one in the bag!" She gestured to wave his hand away with a laugh. "You're impossible."

He pulled another kebab out and started to eat. "I know. So I take it you're not going to sit this battle out?"

"Not a chance." Ionna picked her kebab up again. "You know, I've always lived in the Mountain Temple. Sheltered and hidden away, trained to be a sage. I've spent my entire life being prepared to take over as the Monk's leader. And then suddenly…" She twirled the kebab in her fingers. "Suddenly I'm a Krimzon Guard. I'm fighting beside you, a soldier and a monk at the same time. And I…well, I don't think I want to go back." She gave him a bittersweet smile. "I like being a Krimzon Guard. I don't think I want to get shoved back into the temple."

They were both silent after her proclamation, until Damas suddenly asked, "Is it difficult?"

"Hmm?"

"Being a sage," he elaborated. "Your powers are incredible, but I doubt they got that way by accident."

She smiled as she finished her kebab. "No, they didn't," she agreed. "I don't know if I would call it…difficult. It was always something I just did. I was told all my life that I would gain incredible powers, that I had to train and practice and grow."

"But it's more than that," Damas pressed.

"...It's more than that," she admitted. "It's…all the responsibility. Everyone expects great things from the sacred sage."

"But sometimes you just want everyone to be quiet and sort out their own problems," Damas murmured. Ionna looked over at him. "I understand."

"Why am I not surprised?" she said wryly. "I suppose if anyone would, it would be a king. I'm sure my responsibilities are nothing compared to yours."

"Let's just agree," Damas said wisely, "that both of us have responsibilities that are overwhelming at times."

"Agreed." Ionna toasted him with her kebab, and he did the same. "So, what are the rest of your plans for the evening?"

Damas leaned back on his palms. "Well," he said, "after I put my gun back together…I don't really have any." He grinned at her. "What about you? Off to do some sagely business?"

"I," she said, with an air of importance, "am going to read a book."

"Hmm, thrilling," Damas replied. "Well, I wouldn't want to impose, but you're welcome to stay here. We can play some card games."

"Wow, what an offer." Ionna's deadpan voice made him laugh. "I only play one card game: gin rummy."

"I have no idea how to play that." Damas folded his arms over his chest. "Well, since I'm likely to die tomorrow…"

"Damas. Don't talk like that."

"...I may as well die knowing gin rummy."

Ionna rolled her eyes and pulled a deck of cards out of her pack. "Fine. Though I'm only teaching you if you stop being so morbid."

They turned to face each other. Ionna shuffled the deck and spread the cards out in between them. "Alright, so it's not that hard. The cards each have a value, and your goal is to get to 100 points…"

Damas listened, but he found that he didn't quite have the focus for a lengthy explanation. Still, he nodded along to her words, grateful for the company and the distraction.

Besides, he thought, as Ionna took a card, it was better than sitting in the throne room alone, waiting for tomorrow to come.

People tended to underestimate Tess a lot.

Torn was one of the only people who saw value in Tess. He saw just how well she blended in. How she could insert herself into any situation, flawlessly, as if she'd been there all along. How she knew, almost innately, when to be the center of attention, and when to be a wallflower who just listened. That was why he'd sent her to Krew's bar, hoping to have another ear out for secrets.

And it was why he sent her on this mission tonight.

"It's some kind of secret meeting," Torn explained. "Not sure what it's about, but there are a ton of rumors going around. I think it might be Veger trying to stir up the wumbee's nest again."

He'd given her the address—some abandoned warehouse in the slums—and a brand new set of Freedom League armor, which she'd scoffed at.

"C'mon, Torn, why don't you just put a sign around my neck that says, 'Spy'?" She handed the armor back. "Nobody who's been fighting metal heads all day has pretty armor like this."

He smirked. "Always keeping me on my toes, eh, Tess? I'll get another set."

Once she was dressed in the old, beaten up Freedom League armor, she headed off to the meeting. It was right at sundown, when the shifts changed. Which was great, she thought as she walked in, because it meant that plenty of people were still wearing their helmets. She found a spot against the wall and sat down, her gun across her lap. Snippets of conversation met Tess' ears.

"...sister's kids are sick. Probably from the water…"

"...side hustle, selling soap, I think. Can you believe…?"

"...not sad he's gone. But his daughter's no better. Same shit, different day…"

"...happened to that kid the Underground kept spouting about? The heir of Mar or whatever…"

"...dead or something. Or he never existed…"

Tess shifted to get comfortable as more guards wandered in. A few were in plain clothes, but most were still dressed in their armor. There were a lot of them, at least a hundred in the warehouse.

"Hey there." Tess looked up to see a pair of guards looking down at her, a man and a woman. The woman cleared her throat. "Mind if we sit here? I've been on patrol all day and I'm dead on my feet."

Tess debated how to act; in the end, she decided quiet and neutral was probably best. She shrugged, so the couple sat down.

"Thanks," the man said gratefully. "I can't believe it's so packed in here. I figured only a few folks would show up."

Interesting. Tess considered it, then grunted, "Same here. It's not like they put up flyers about it."

The couple laughed and the woman took off her helmet. She had dark curly hair that was plastered to her face with sweat. "Whoo, I'm glad to take that off. Bet you know what that's like, eh, soldier?" She nudged Tess and laughed again.

Great. Tess had to get the chatty ones. As Krew would say, oh, well. "My hair's short," she said bluntly.

"See, Vi? I told you, you oughta go for the pixie cut." The man kept his helmet on and held out his hand. "Name's Nolan, and this is Via."

"...Kim," she lied, shaking his hand quickly. "So how'd you two hear about this?"

"Jasper," Via replied. "Wouldn't shut up about it. But I'm not convinced," she added. "I don't trust any of the guys in charge anymore."

Tess had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but she nodded sympathetically.

"I like Commander Torn a lot more than Erol, though," Nolan interjected. "He seems okay."

Via pulled a face. "Ech, Erol was such a sleeze. I mean, I like Torn just fine, but I don't trust him as far as I can throw him. And I definitely don't trust this Veger guy."

Aha. So Torn had been right. Tess folded her arms over her chest. "I'm not so sure about him, either," she said. "But I guess we should hear him out anyway, right?"

"Guess so." Nolan leaned against the wall. "Man, I just hope we can get rid of the metal heads soon. I can't wait until racing starts back up!"

Via rolled her eyes. "It'll be a while," she said. "They have to rebuild the whole stadium. Besides, you think it'll be the same without the two best racers?"

Nolan shrugged. "I don't know about that. Erol might be dead, but I swear I've seen Jak hanging around the city since he got banished. I mean, how would anyone even know? We're too busy with the war to worry about some kid who got banished."

Via frowned. "We should care. You know that kid used to work for Krew?"

Tess tensed her shoulders. It was hard not to jump to Jak's defense, especially considering her own history with Krew. But it didn't matter, since Nolan did it for her.

"Oh, please! Everybody worked for Krew! Hell, half the guards here worked for Krew!"

Via looked as if she was going to say something back, but silence fell over the crowd. Tess craned her neck to see Veger, standing in the center of the warehouse.

"Good people, if I may have your attention please!" He sounded a lot more pleasant than he did when talking to Torn or Ashelin. Tess realized he was doing exactly what she was: trying to blend in so that they would trust him.

Sneaky bastard.

"I have called upon you today to ask for your consideration. My name," he said haughtily, "is Count Veger."

A murmur buzzed through the crowd. Veger held his hand up for silence again.

"We are in tumultuous times," he continued, "and as the protectors of our grand city, you are at the frontlines every day. You have seen this war and its horrors. However…I have come to inform you that something much worse is coming."

Tess glanced around. All the guards were staring at him with rapt attention, engaged by his spectacle of a speech.

"Up in the sky, a star blooms." Veger gestured above him. "It brings to us monsters more dangerous than any metal head you've seen. And they are headed right for us."

Via rolled her eyes. "Puh-lease. Like this guy would know a metal head if it bit him on the ass."

Nolan laughed and leaned closer to whisper back. "Yeah, I'm not worried about what's coming. Little more concerned with what's already here."

Tess smiled beneath her helmet. At the very least, not every guard was on Veger's side. Still, as she looked around, quite a few of them were still focused on him.

Veger had paused dramatically. His eyes flickered from face to face, before he said ominously, "The Dark Makers."

Maybe he expected the guards to be intimidated by the name, or be cowed by the sinister tone in his voice. Either way, no one even flinched. Still, that didn't deter him.

"These creatures are beings of pure dark eco," Veger continued. "They are the antithesis of our glorious Precursors, sent to destroy our planet. But there is hope!"

He lifted his staff and gestured grandly towards the sky. "The Precursors have left a weapon, to be used only by the most worthy hero. And the Precursor monks have gifted me the knowledge to use it."

He paused again, gauging their reaction; they were still watching him. "I will save us," he said firmly. "But there are other concerns, as well. While I work tirelessly to save our planet, our politicians ignore the problem. Instead, they choose to align themselves with criminals, hoping to keep control of the city."

Now that got people talking. Evidently, some of the guards had been thinking something similar. Veger smirked at the mood shift. "While they hide the truth, I only wish to share it with you. Though I will abate the danger, I feel it important that all people know what we face."

He waited placidly as the whispers started up again. Via leaned over to Tess and Nolan.

"I mean, he has a point," she said quietly. "Have you guys heard anything about this?"

"Nothing official." Nolan folded his arms. "But when have they ever told us anything important?"

"Yeah, exactly." Via looked annoyed at his joke. "Commander Torn and Governor Ashelin haven't sent out anything about this."

Tess felt her heart drop. "Maybe they're already taking care of it," she told them. "I mean, we got enough to worry about with the metal heads."

Nolan shrugged. "True. But I still feel like they're hiding stuff."

Veger raised his hand for silence again. "I will save us," he assured them, adjusting his coat. "For now, I simply wish to keep all of you informed. But remember," he added, "when the time comes, remember who worked with you and who worked against you!" With that, he nodded and turned towards the exit, leaving the guards behind.

Tess glanced around carefully. "So," she said casually, "what do you guys think?"

Nolan stretched as he stood up. "I don't know. Like Via said, none of those guys are trustworthy. Always a little shady."

"At least he seems like he's being honest with us," Via grumbled. "More honest than the Governor has been. But who knows?" She shrugged as they started towards the exit. "Hey, Kim, a couple of us usually go back to my place after our shifts. You want to come get a drink with us?"

It took Tess a second for her to remember that 'Kim' was the fake name she'd given. "Not tonight," she said curtly. "I got the kids waiting for me at home."

"Ah, well, another time, then." Nolan clapped her on the back. "Nice meeting you."

"Yeah, safe trip home." Via put her helmet back on and waved as they headed down the slum streets, laughing as they went. Tess waited until most of the guards were gone, then started back towards the Naughty Ottsel.

She couldn't wait to get this armor off.

Chapter Text

"Well, don't you look a sight better than the last time I saw you."

Jak grinned as he entered the arena. Ionna was leaning against the wall, waiting for him. "It's been, what, a week?" she continued. "You must be going stir crazy."

"A little bit, yeah." He folded his arms across his chest. "Seem gave me a clean bill of health. Said I could go back to channeling eco again."

"Good thing, too!" Daxter hopped off Jak's shoulder and onto the ground. "Our boy here isn't an 'inside activities' kinda guy."

"Oh, I'm aware," she replied dryly. She pushed herself off the wall and smiled. "Well, I'm ready to continue your training. That is, if you're up to it."

"Of course I'm up to it." Jak folded his arms and smirked. "I'm always up to it."

Ionna didn't look surprised. Instead, all she said was, "Excellent. Come on, then, let's get started."

She led them down to the arena proper, their boots echoing on the metal platform. There were several clay containers lined up waiting for him.

"Did you gather eco before you came here?" she asked. Jak nodded. "Good. I brought some extra, just in case. To start, I want you to go through each of your powers to make sure you are fully ready to use them."

Jak nodded and exhaled as he let the light eco loose. It felt wonderful to be able to channel like this again. Jak felt the eco fill his senses, blotting out any pain or exhaustion he'd ever felt. It tingled to his fingertips as he went through the exercises Ionna had directed.

"Whoo! My boy's still got it." Daxter gave Jak a fist bump when he was finished. "Ready to kick some doctor butt?"

"Oh, you won't be sparring with me today," Ionna interjected.

Jak tilted his head. "Why not?"

"Well, fighting me is hardly going to be a test of your skill," she explained. "I taught you. I know what you're going to do, I have an advantage. Very few people would volunteer to fight against someone with skills like you and I have." She smirked. "But...I did find someone."

Daxter leapt to his feet. "Oh, man, what crazy idiot would be stupid enough to let Jak pound on him like yakkow steak?"

"That would be me," a voice said from behind them. Jak turned to see the king of Spargus himself standing there, staff in hand and a fierce grin on his face.

"Er, as I was saying," Daxter quickly said, while Jak stifled his laughter, "what bold, noble man would be brave enough to face Jak in a fight?"

"Damas and I have sparred together for years. If anyone is prepared to give you a fair fight, it's him." Ionna folded her arms. "And a fair fight it will be. No guns, no staffs. Hand-to-hand only."

"Hmph." Damas met Jak's eyes and handed his staff to Ionna. He seemed to be almost amused. "I suppose I can teach this youngling a thing or two."

Jak's lips curled into a smile. He pulled the morph gun off his back and tossed it to Ionna. "Don't get ahead of yourself, old man."

Ionna slung both weapons over her shoulder, ignoring their boasts. "The fight ends when one of you either taps out or is pushed to the edge of the platform. Agreed?"

Jak and Damas both nodded. Ionna started towards the rising platform, then stopped. "Oh! I almost forgot." She held out her arm and nodded towards Daxter. "Fair is fair. It's a one on one fight, so Daxter just gets to spectate."

"Fiiiiiine by me," Daxter said, skittering up to her shoulder. "Too many spikes in this lava pit anyway."

As the two of them headed up to the throne above, Jak and Damas turned to each other.

"You'd better not give me any less than your best, warrior," Damas said, getting into a battle stance. It was almost a threat. "I expect a fight I can tell stories about for years to come."

Jak tilted his chin up haughtily. "I've never half-assed anything in my life."

Damas gave a rough laugh. "Well, don't start now."

From above, Ionna let out a sharp, shrill whistle, and the battle began.

Damas was fast, a lot faster than Jak anticipated. He was forced to practically dive backwards to dodge Damas' first strike, a blow directly to his head. "Whoa!"

"Come now, warrior," he said, in a voice that was both teasing and chastising. "Did you think it was going to be easy?"

He ran for Jak again, but this time, the teen was ready. Jak spun to the left, avoiding a well-aimed elbow to his ribs. He tugged on a thread of red eco and turned to strike back at Damas.

But the king was quicker: he grabbed hold of Jak's wrist and forced it down. With a ringing clang, his punch hit the platform, sending a painful, reverberating shock up his forearm.

Still holding his wrist, Damas smirked. "You should know better than to underestimate an enemy."

With a jerk, Jak slammed his elbow upwards and into Damas' jaw. The king grunted and staggered a few feet away, a wild smile on his face. Jak took advantage of the break in defense and attacked again, this

time pulling some yellow eco to his fingertips. He jolted forward, intending to hit Damas with a blast of eco.

But Damas seemed to expect that move. He gripped Jak's forearm tightly and yanked upwards, pulling the boy's arm up over his shoulder. The blast left Jak's fingertips and went off towards the walls of the arena, dissipating against the rocks. Damas gave a hard jerk and spun Jak around, still holding onto the teen's arm.

With a sharp pain, Jak felt his shoulder pop out of its socket. His arm hung limply at his side when Damas let go.

"Gah!" Jak stumbled back, gripping his dislocated shoulder tightly. He gathered green eco and it popped back into place, just in time for Damas to slam his fist into Jak's stomach. "Oof!"

He gathered blue eco and clapped his hands. Everything around him slowed, eerily blue with a stillness that still unnerved him. Damas had been in the process of pulling his fist back for another strike. Jak scrambled across the platform, putting some distance between the two of them.

The eco broke quickly, blue flecks dissipating from the area. Damas swung around and locked eyes with Jak. There was a split second between them, each considering their options, before Jak ran forward to strike again, red eco at his fingertips.

Damas moved with surprising fluidity, ducking and dodging as Jak tried to hit him. Each punch seemed to land just shy of where Jak wanted it to: an inch left of Damas' torso, a bit higher than his head.

Damas dodged another punch, then grabbed Jak's arm, throwing him over his shoulder like a rag doll. Jak landed on his back with a grunt, quickly rolling away and springing to his feet. Damas was on the offensive again, and now it was Jak's turn to dodge punches.

He brought his shield up around him, hoping to give himself a moment to counterattack. Damas, however, didn't seem fazed. He reeled back and punched the shield, then again, and again.

The shield shattered.

The next punch was straight to Jak's mouth, and he spun back to avoid any more. Wiping a trail of blood from his lip, he watched Damas. The king was breathing heavily, but there was a glint in his eye that was just as energetic as ever. He seemed to be considering his next move.

Jak gave a frustrated growl. Damas moved fast; he needed time to think. But as long as Damas was looking at him like that, Jak wasn't going to get any peace.

Looking at him…

Jak let out a laugh. He exhaled and pulled on the eco again, but this time, he reached for dark eco instead. It settled over him like a second skin, and suddenly Damas was looking through him.

While Jak carefully started to move, Damas narrowed his eyes. "Clever. Here I thought we were supposed to be testing your light abilities." He scanned the arena, careful as he did so. Jak kept his footsteps as quiet as possible as he crept behind the king.

"...But I should tell you, I'm rather good at hide and seek." Damas was standing completely still, searching for Jak. His eyes caught movement behind his back, but Jak was quick.

He slammed into the king from behind, sending him stumbling forward. Damas whirled around to face Jak, who punched him directly in the jaw, red eco tingling. Another punch, then another. Enough force each time to push Damas back, even as he blocked Jak's blows.

But each punch took a little more eco out of Jak, and his body seemed to be rebelling against him. His arms and shoulders ached, and he knew the fight wouldn't last much longer.

Maybe Damas could tell Jak was getting tired. Maybe he just saw an opening and took it. Either way, Damas suddenly ducked down and kicked up.

His boot slammed into Jak's stomach, knocking the wind out of the boy. As Jak tried to catch his breath, Damas grabbed the ring on his chest and bodily threw him across the arena.

Jak skidded across the metal platform, rolling until he came to a stop at the edge. He grimaced and tried to pick himself up. A sharp pain ran up his torso; broken ribs, he thought, probably from Damas' kick. The heat of lava prickled the skin on his arm. He could hear Damas coming over towards him, his footsteps rattling the metal.

A shrill whistle sounded, and the battle was over.

Jak glanced up. Damas had his hand outstretched. He took it, letting the king help him to his feet.

"You continue to impress me." Damas clapped Jak's shoulder, while Ionna and Daxter descended into the arena. "How badly are you injured?"

Jak's pride warred with his pain for a moment. Finally, he rubbed his midriff and grumbled, "I think you broke my ribs."

Damas laughed roughly. "It appears I split your lip, too."

Jak grinned. "I think I held my own pretty well."

"Ahaha, he kicked your skinny ass! Ahaha!" Daxter came barreling across the platform. Jak made a face. "Oh, man, it looks even worse up close. Somebody call a medic!"

"You're gonna need a medic when I'm done with you," Jak threatened. Daxter laughed nervously and hid behind Damas' boots.

"Hey, hey, take it easy! You know I'm just kiddin'."

Jak rolled his eyes. Ionna came up, a soothing aura of green eco around her. "Hold still," she ordered. "I'll heal you."

Jak felt his ribs shift back into place, the pain ebbing away. He nodded as she pulled away. "Thanks," he said.

Ionna turned to Damas. "Now you," she said. Damas tilted his chin up. "He got you pretty good across the jaw, didn't he?"

Damas grunted as she healed him. "Quite a fight, I will admit."

Jak straightened. "Um…thanks."

"It was very clever of you to use dark eco," Ionna told him. "I'm sure Seem will be pleased to hear your skills are improving."

She finished healing Damas and put her hands on her hips. Daxter grinned as he climbed up to Jak's shoulder. "Puh-lease. The closest I've ever seen Rubber Ducky get to a smile is a sneeze."

Ionna looked as if she was holding back a smirk. "Even if she doesn't show it, she'll be pleased."

"So, uh, you two used to fight each other, huh?" Daxter sat down on Jak's shoulder plate and put his chin in his paws. "When are we gonna see a few of your fists fly?"

Damas and Ionna looked at each other. Damas shrugged and Ionna replied hesitantly, "Maybe…another time. I need to get back to the infirmary, and I'm sure Damas has tasks to attend to."

Damas nodded in agreement. "Our priority is training Jak to use his powers to his full potential, not sparring with each other."

"I bet I could learn a lot from watching you two fight," Jak added quickly.

Ionna laughed. "Nice try. Maybe after the cataclysmic disaster has passed."

Daxter snapped his fingers. "Damn! So close."

"Go get some rest." Damas was smiling, but his voice left no room for argument. "You did an excellent job today. I'm…very proud of you."

Ionna glanced at him. "Yes. You've done well, Jak."

Jak looked between them, before he smiled. "Thanks."

He and Daxter left, heading up the elevator as Damas and Ionna watched them go. As they made their way into the city, Daxter leaned against Jak's head.

"I betcha," he declared confidently, "that those two fight all the time when no one's lookin'. I bet they're all watchow! Kapow!" He pretended to do karate poses. "Boom!"

"Maybe we'll get to see it some time." Jak stretched his arms above his head. "That'd be a sight to see, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," Daxter agreed breezily. "I bet it's a load of fun."

They say that a warrior is made, not born. Damas finds that he agrees with that sentiment.

He did not become a warrior in the Wasteland. He did not gain the courage and strength needed to survive while lost in the desert.

No, it was before that.

In a pitch-black cave, thick with the feeling of dark eco. Dead bodies littered around, skull gems glinting in the shadows. Outside, Damas could hear his soldiers being slaughtered.

There had been a lot more metalheads than Damas expected. His forces had been overwhelmed almost immediately, overrun by the sheer number of monsters awaiting them.

And they'd gone straight for Damas, who had decided to lead the soldiers himself.

In the chaos of the battle, Damas had been beaten pretty badly: claws had ripped across his stomach, his shoulders were cut and slashed by the metalheads aiming for his back, and he'd been slammed against the rocks so hard his head spun. Eventually, Praxis had forcibly dragged Damas from the battlefield, tearing the young man away despite his own injuries. Even as Damas resisted, Ionna pushed him along, too.

"No! No, I have to go out and fight!" He struggled, but Praxis pushed him back. He shoved Damas roughly into the cave and then collapsed himself, panting in pain.

"Praxis!" Ionna went for him immediately, the eco at her fingertips. Damas glanced over and was almost sick. "Hold still."

Praxis was missing half his face. It looked like a metal head had torn its claws against the man's skull, ripping open his flesh. As Ionna approached him, Praxis held up his hands, spitting out blood onto the ground.

"N-no. You will need to save your energy to get yourself out." He looked over at the king, a fierce anger in his eyes. "Get Damas out alive."

"Praxis, we're not leaving you," Damas said. He could feel his voice wavering, the dark eco in his wounds burning like fire. "We can still fight!"

"Stop your foolish nonsense!" Praxis snapped. "You dragged my men into this massacre, and now we might lose the city!"

"We'll come up with a plan," Damas said. "We'll think of something else—!"

"There is nothing else!" Praxis screamed. He slammed his fists into the ground, unable to stay upright. "Fool! This is the end of the line! Do you really think you can defeat all those monsters?!" He cried out in pain and collapsed, his head against the rocks. "I never should have allowed this to happen."

"We need to retreat behind the shield wall," Ionna said firmly. "Praxis…"

"Go." His voice was softer this time, seemingly unable to muster the strength to yell. "Soldiers...know when the end is near...and you don't heal dead men."

As Praxis' breathing deepened, Damas finally felt the weight of his injuries and guilt take over. He collapsed onto a rock and put his head in his hands. "This is all my fault," he whispered. "I should have listened to you two. All of you."

"I'm going to be blunt," Ionna said grimly, hands on her hips. "We don't have time for the pity party."

She was facing the opening of the cave, her eyes glimmering in the darkness. "...We need to salvage what we can," she continued quietly. "We need to retreat now, before the casualties get worse."

She turned to Damas, a fierce flicker in her eyes. "Damas. I think I can get most of the surviving soldiers back into the city. But you have to promise that you will listen and do what I ask. Can you do that?"

Damas swallowed. "...Yes," he said finally. "Yes, I'll do whatever you need."

Ionna straightened her back and reached for the clay jar attached to her belt. She uncorked it and raised her hand, leading light eco out into her body. It glimmered in the darkness, casting shadows along the cave walls.

"Alright." She exhaled softly. "We need to get every survivor behind the shield wall. That sort of retreat is going to require a lot of coverage."

"So how do we do it?" Damas reached for his rifle, but Ionna stilled his hand. "Hmm?"

"We don't do anything. I'm going to cover the retreat." She clapped her hands and transformed, her skin turning an eerie white-blue. "I'm going to bring up a shield around the area, and then you are going to lead the soldiers back to the transports. Once everyone makes it, I'll let the shield lapse."

"Got it." Damas hesitated, then asked, "Are you going to be okay? Won't you collapse if you use too much eco?"

Ionna was quiet, then she replied, "I'll be fine."

Damas nodded. "Alright. Give me a second."

He went to Praxis and hauled him up, throwing the man's arm over his shoulder. He checked for a pulse; Praxis was still alive, and barely conscious.

"You...what are you...doing?" Praxis groaned. "Leave me."

"No. I was the one who led us out here." Damas dragged Praxis to the entrance to the cave. "I owe it to you to at least try."

He glanced over his shoulder at Ionna. "Let's go."

"...I will stay and keep the shield up." Her voice echoed in a way that wasn't quite natural. "You must get out safely."

"Then…how will you get out…?"

She turned to him, but didn't answer. Damas felt a chill down his spine, ice flooding his veins. He shook his head. "No. No, no, I won't leave you!"

"You said you would do whatever I told you to." Ionna straightened her back and stared ahead. "You promised."

"I can't leave you," Damas argued. "You'll die out here, I can't do that!"

"We eco sages are guardians." She was looking directly at him now, her eyes blank pools of blue-ish white. "Our duty is to the world itself; our lives are not our own."

"I'm not leaving you behind," Damas began, but Ionna clapped her hands again. He felt the eco reverberate around him, his voice caught in his throat. "...You'll die," he whispered.

"Then I'll die." Ionna's face kept the blank, peaceful look that it always did when she was channeling eco. Still, Damas saw her hands shake as she spoke. "Listen to me, Damas, and listen well. My duty is to ensure that humanity survives. That our world, our city, our people, survive. If this is what needs to be done, then this is what needs to be done."

She didn't wait for him to respond. She clapped her hands again, and a shield spread out from her body. It slowly expanded, covering the cave and eventually leaving it.

Damas watched from the entrance as the shield hit the metal heads. They squealed and growled in pain, then were eviscerated from the light eco. As he watched, they began to retreat back to the nest.

"...You only have a few minutes." Ionna's voice was ethereal and calm, almost eerie in it's detachment. "I cannot keep it up for long."

Numbly, he pulled out his communicator and called for the soldiers. "Fall back to the city. Grab those who are wounded and retreat."

He set the communicator aside and shifted Praxis' now-unconscious body on his back. "...Being a martyr doesn't fit you well," he said finally. "I'm coming back for you, so I hope you're not too ready to leave this earth."

"No." Her voice echoed in the cave. "Damas, you are too wounded. Get to safety, and do not return." He opened his mouth to respond, but she interrupted. "Do not bother trying to argue. The only thing you can do…if you really want to respect my wishes…"

She turned to him again, her eyes still blank. Still, there was a sadness there, something deeper than tears.

"Survive. Get out of this place alive."

Chapter Text

Damas tried to go back.

He dropped Praxis' bleeding, prone body at the medic's transport and turned right back around.  He shoved his way past retreating soldiers, pushing back towards the nest. A few called out for him to stop, but he was far too focused on going back for Ionna.

He passed by the Krimzon Guard transport and felt someone grab his arm. He whirled around to see Antwon, his face pale and exhausted. He squeezed Damas' bicep.

"Damas. Get in the transport."

"No." He tried to yank himself out of Antwon's grip, but the man held fast. "Ionna's back there, I have to go back! I have to save her!"

Antwon pulled him back. "It's too late, you're too late!"

He suddenly gasped in pain, letting go of Damas to grab his own leg. Damas looked down and swallowed.

It looked like Antwon's leg had been chewed on by a metal head. There was dark eco mixing in the blood, and the flesh looked burned around the wound. Damas stooped next to him.

"You need to get a medic to check that out," he said, but Antwon shook his head as he straightened.

"The medics are dealing with serious injuries right now," he said tersely. "They're trying to keep everyone alive long enough to get them back to the city. I'm…I'll survive."

Damas stared at his leg for a moment, then said boldly, "I'm going back. I can't…I can't just let Ionna…"

"Ali! Get over here, please!" Antwon seemed to have reached his limit of strength. He limped back into the transport and Ali took his place. "Just…get Damas in here. We've already started retreating."

"You're not going to—" Damas began, but Ali abruptly grabbed the front of his armor and hauled him forward. "Whoa!"

"Get your dumb ass in here!" Damas was startled as Ali lifted him into the transport and slammed his back against the wall. "You stupid son of a bitch, don't go acting noble right now."

Damas blinked up as Ali kept him pinned to the wall. Ali was rough around the edges, often blunt and informal, but he'd never been flat out disrespectful. As the door closed, Damas tried to get out of Ali's grip.

"What's your problem?!" Damas shoved him away and ran for the transport door, but too late; it had already closed.

They were already taking off. He was too late.

Too late.

"Damn it!" Damas turned around to face them, ready to shout and scream and curse them out.

But he stopped.

He stopped because of their faces.

Antwon was sitting down, gripping his injured leg. He looked tired more than anything, weary and beaten. Defeated.

And Ali was glaring straight at Damas, hatred in his dark eyes.

"You dumb bastard! Don't you understand?!" Ali slammed a fist against the metal wall. "We lost! Praxis is half-dead, Ionna's probably being torn apart as we speak, and Yasir is…"

Ali's voice went high-pitched and faltered, his breathing heavy and ragged. He clenched his fists and sat down, his head in his hands. Damas felt a chill go through his blood.

"What happened to Yasir?" he asked. Ali glared up at him. "Guys, what happened to Yasir?"

"What do you think happened, you fuck?!" Ali snapped. "He's dead! He's dead, just like half the other people who walked into that damned nest."

"...Ali. Ali, I'm sorry. I—" A lump in his throat stopped Damas' words.

Yasir. Yasir, who had always been kind and even-keeled, a voice of reason in every situation.

Yasir was dead. Ionna was dead.

"Shut the hell up," Ali whispered. "Just…be quiet."

Damas reached out and went to squeeze Ali's shoulder. To try and show some comfort.

"Damas." Antwon's voice was low and dangerous. "Don't. Just…don't."

"Ali," he said solemnly, "I'm so sorry. Yasir was—"

"I said, shut up!" Ali was on his feet in an instant, his hands gripping Damas' armor. He hauled the king a few inches into the air, his boots barely brushing the floor. "Don't talk about my brother! Don't say his name, don't apologize, just…shut up!"

"That's enough!" Antwon grabbed Ali's forearm and squeezed it tightly. "Ali, let him go. It won't do any good to fight right now."

Ali let go of Damas with a snarl. He sat back down and Antwon led Damas to the other side of the transport. "You sit here, no arguments. And just…stay quiet, please."

With that Antwon sat back down, wincing in pain. Damas looked out the window of the transport, where the metal head nest was getting smaller and smaller.

He told Ionna he'd go back for her. He gripped the Seal of Mar that hung around his neck, hidden in his armor.

He'd told her he'd save her, and he'd failed.

Now the only thing that could save her was the Precursors themselves.

"What do you mean, something came up?!"

Both Jak and Damas winced at Daxter's shrill voice. It didn't help that the throne room seemed to echo noises.

Including Daxter's rant about Seem.

"We spend all day walkin' around and gettin' our butts kicked, and she can't even show up?" He huffed and folded his arms, leaning against Jak's head. "I tell ya, Jak, we get no respect!"

Damas glared at him. "Seem is the leader of the monks, and her duties at the Temple take priority. You will simply have to accept that sometimes, a change in plan is unavoidable."

"So what came up?" Jak asked. Damas' eyes slid over to him. "Why'd she'd have to cancel?"

Damas eyed him cautiously. "...I didn't ask," he replied. "She didn't go into specifics."

"Does it have something to do with that dumb artifact we need?" Daxter asked. "'Cause we could really use that right now!"

"As I said," Damas repeated, "she didn't tell me anything more."

He was in no position to demand answers from Seem. He knew, better than anyone, that the monks only answered for the Precursors.

"How's your jaw?" Jak asked suddenly. Damas smiled slightly at him. "I mean, I did hit you pretty hard."

"...Not that hard." Damas' smile widened. "How are your ribs?"

"Ugh, I need to get some new friends." Daxter jumped down from Jak's shoulder and dove into the water. Spitting it out as he came to the surface, he sputtered, "Ones who don't like to beat the crap out of each other for fun! Ones who like to nap and read and chill out once in a while."

Damas chuckled. "Daxter is right," he said. "You've earned a rest, especially after today's training. Consider this an opportunity to relax a bit."

Jak shrugged. "I still want to know why Seem cancelled on us," he muttered. "Just wish people would keep us in the loop."

Damas was watching the two of them, almost suspiciously. "...Jak. My order still stands. You are not to go out into the desert, especially not because of curiousity. The Dark Makers are looking for people traveling between here and the Temple."

Jak folded his arms. "You already told us that."

"And I'll tell you again, until I am sure you understand." Damas stood up from his throne. "You've become much less reckless since you've come here, but you are still prone to rash decisions. I'm trying to caution you against another one."

"We hear ya, Sand Man." Daxter hopped back onto Jak's shoulder. "You don't have to worry about us, trust me. No desert for this ottsel!"

Damas stared at Jak, waiting. "...Well?"

Jak rolled his eyes and echoed his friend. "Dax is right. You don't have to worry about us."

Damas eyed him warily, then nodded. "You are dismissed. Take a well-earned rest."

Jak nodded back, while Daxter gave him a mock salute. They headed for the elevator, with Damas still watching them as they went down into the city.

Jak had never been good at listening.

Actually, he thought, as he spun through the desert on the newly-upgraded JetBoard, he listened just fine. But he always did whatever he wanted.

Just like when Samos had told him to stay away from Misty Island. Sure, Jak had listened when the old sage spoke. But the allure of the far-off island, shrouded in mystery and full of the bones of monsters, was louder than any warning he'd been given.

"Tell me again why we're doin' this?" Daxter grumbled in his ear. "Didn't the Sandman tell us specifically not to come out here?!"

"I need to get to the Monk Temple." Jak's voice was muffled through his scarf. "Aren't you curious, Dax? Why'd Seem suddenly just cancel on us? And why isn't anyone telling us why?"

"No!" Daxter said petulantly. "Well…maybe a little, but not enough to head to Death Mountain for it!"

Jak ducked and spun over a gap over the sea. "We'll never find out if we don't go up there," he argued. "Besides, maybe we can help Seem find the Eco Sphere."

"Ugh, fine!" Daxter gripped his shoulder plate tighter. "But next time, I'm picking our adventure. And I'm picking somewhere nice!"

It didn't take long for them to arrive at the Monk Temple. Keira had definitely improved the JetBoard: it zoomed across the sand and up the mountain without a problem. Jak hopped off of it and pulled his scarf down.

The Temple was empty, not that Jak expected otherwise. Seem was probably in the Atrium. As he started to head down, he grinned at Daxter. "See? No trouble at all. The Dark Makers are probably looking for vehicles, they won't bother with a single person's movements."

"You say that now," Daxter grumbled. "But we still gotta go back the way we came!"

"We'll be fine." He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, jolted by a loud voice.

A familiar loud voice.

"...such betrayal. You are my monks! Your duty is to serve me!"

Jak snuck a look past the pillar to see the source. He bared his teeth when he managed to get a good look.

Veger was there, towering over Seem, his staff whistling through the air. Seem glared at him as it blew air in her face.

"My duty," she said firmly, "is to the Precursors themselves. I have no duty to you."

"I am going to save the world!" Veger was practically apoplectic, his eyes bulging. "The Precursors have chosen me! I need to access the catacombs!"

"You have heard my words, Veger. I have no desire to help you further." Seem folded her arms. "You would do well to leave."

"How dare you order me around." Veger's eyes were shining with manic energy. "I gave you a chance to help save the world, but now you will face the wrath of the Precursors."

He pulled something out of his jacket. Jak automatically went for his morph gun, at the same time that Veger took out his own pistol. Seem hardly seemed bothered.

"I should put you out of your misery now," Veger said silkily. "It would be a mercy, you know. Dark eco eventually kills all living things."

He raised the pistol, and Jak got his blaster ready. All he need was an excuse...

One that never came.

Seem sighed in an almost exasperated way. Before Veger could make any kind of movement, she waved her hand towards her chest. With a flick of her wrist, dark eco shot from the vent nearby. It sparked and crackled into her outstretched hand, a jolt going through her arm.

"This temple is a sacred place."

Her voice had turned rough and low, guttural and raw. Jak could feel the swell of dark eco, powerful as it swirled around her hands. Veger took a step back, his eyes wide. A look that Jak had seen a thousand times.

"Your arrogance and cruelty go against the will of the Precursors. You will find nothing in our care."

The dark eco pulsed around her, a reflection of her own righteous anger. Veger scrambled backwards, all pretense gone. He gave a huff of breath through his snarl. "How dare you! You would use dark eco against me?"

"I would, and I will."

It wasn't like when Jak changed; there were no horns or claws, no teeth bared and no guttural groaning. It was just Seem, with dark eco flowing around her like shadowy chains. She hovered above the ground, similar to how Samos did sometimes, though Seem was much less relaxed about it. Purple orbs of dark eco gathered on her palms, a stark contrast to the white of her paint.

But Jak wasn't paying attention to any of that. He was looking at her eyes.

Black.

Pupil-less, completely blank, deep and dark, nothingness.

Jak pushed down the part of him that said to get away quick and kept watching the spectacle. Veger had backed up all the way to one of the doors, though he was still speaking to Seem.

"I wanted to work with you," he snarled. "I believed that you were an agent of the Precursors, and I would help to purify you of your curse."

"Leave." Seem's voice was strained and her words curt. "Before I make you leave."

Veger sneered at her, though Jak could see his hands were shaking. He gestured wildly with his gun. "I will rid the world of abominations like you, and flood our world with a glorious light!"

Seem pulled in more dark eco from the vent, streams of purple winding their way around her wrists. Jak could see that she was shaking with exertion; he flexed his fist, knowing just how hard it was to hold back dark eco.

She pulled her hand back and the eco crackled to life in her palm threateningly. Veger flinched and shuffled back a few steps, just as Daxter's voice echoed through the Atrium.

"Hey! Count Vulture! You gonna sic the Precursors on us, too?" He hopped down from Jak's shoulder and walked up to them, casual as always. "Because I, uh, I got bad news for you. They're kinda buddies of ours."

"You!" Veger was furious as he turned to Jak, who sauntered just as casually after his friend. "I should have expected this…birds of a feather, I suppose."

Jak glanced at Seem. "You should go back to the city, Veger," he said in a low voice. "Before you end up getting hurt."

"Yeah!" Daxter agreed. "Because Seem here's got the nice, pleasant dark eco powers. Jak? Our boy's got claws." He folded his arms. "And he ain't afraid to use 'em."

Veger looked between Seem and Jak. He moved to point his pistol at Jak, but seemed to think better of the idea. Instead, he simply scoffed.

"It matters not," he said darkly. "You can't hide within temple walls. My triumph will be seen across the world!"

"Yeah, yeah." Daxter rolled his eyes. "Precursors blah blah blah, light blah blah blah. When you decide to say somethin' worth listening to, give me a call, will ya?"

Veger glared at him, but between Jak and Seem, he appeared to realize he was outmatched. He turned around and quickly left through one of the doors, his coat tail swinging behind him. As it closed, Seem suddenly fell to the ground.

"Seem!" Jak whirled around and ducked to see if she was alright. She groaned, but was still conscious. "What happened?"

"Ugh…I haven't…used that much eco in…a long time." Jak helped her sit down properly. "It would appear you…are not the only one who goes overboard."

"Are you okay?" Daxter had scrambled to grab one of the cisterns, carrying it over with some difficulty. "Geez, take a break, chalkboard. You look worse than Kleiver after a week in the desert."

Seem took a drink of water with a grateful nod at Daxter. The boys sat beside her on the ground: Jak cross-legged and Daxter lounging against his friend's side. She sighed and set the cistern back down.

"So, does this mean you're not working with Veger anymore?" Jak asked. "You aren't going to help him?"

"I'd think that would be obvious." Seem glanced back towards the door Veger had fled through. "To be honest, I may have given him all the assistance he needs. He can already access the catacombs, he only requires the Eco Sphere."

"Us, too," Jak said dully. He shifted his weight and sighed. "So, is that why you didn't come for our lesson? Because Veger was here?"

"...You two should not have left Spargus," she said, completely avoiding the question. "Heroes always think they are invincible." She frowned, then turned to them. "Though, I owe you both my gratitude. If you were not here, I may not have been able to restrain myself."

"You seemed like you were doing alright," Jak commented. "Better than I would've, that's for sure."

"Yeah, ol' Velvet wasn't even hurt," Daxter crowed. "Might've pissed his pants, though."

While Daxter snickered at the image, Jak shifted to look at Seem. "You need to be careful around Veger. He's the one who attacked the palace in Haven City."

"Hmph. I assumed it was his doing once I heard about it," she told him. "Unfortunately, I know all too well what sort of man Veger is. I'm not sorry to see him go."

Jak hesitated. There were dozens of questions that were bouncing around in his head, but he couldn't bring himself to ask them. Not politely, at least.

Daxter never had that problem.

"How come you were even hangin' out with that creep, anyway?"

Seem was quiet at first, but Jak didn't get the feeling that she was mad. Just thinking. Finally, she said, frowning, "You would not understand." Daxter must have looked affronted, because she continued, almost kindly, "I mean no insult. It is simply that…we monks have a different view of the world than most people."

"Try us," Daxter challenged.

Seem chuckled. "Very well." She stood up with some difficulty, her legs still shaking. Jak followed suit, taking Daxter with him.

"Do you see these murals and carvings?" she asked, gesturing around them. "These are the ancient stories of the Precursors. Specifically, their mortal descendants."

"The sages." Jak brushed his fingers over one of the murals. It had an electric blue theme, with clouds and storms swirling around a lone figure. The murals seemed to flow into each other, changing color every few feet.

Seem nodded. "The sages are considered to be the surrogates for the Precursors. Each sage holds an…essential quality within them and their eco."

Daxter pantomimed yawning, but Jak batted his hand at him. "Knock it off," he muttered. "You asked."

Seem either didn't hear them or didn't pay attention. "To become a fully realized sage, we must have what is called an Awakening."

Something stirred in Jak's memory. "When you communicate with the eco, right?" Seem nodded, smiling slightly. "Keira and Ionna told us about that, remember, Dax?"

Seem didn't wait for Daxter to respond. "Awakenings come in different forms. Usually, they take the form of visions."

"Visions?" Both boys glanced at each other as they said it.

Seem nodded as she walked along the walls. "Visions. For me, they are visions of the future. Dark eco shows me…the end of things."

She inhaled slowly. "And that is why," she continued, turning around briskly, "I helped Veger. I saw a vision of our future crumbling, and a vision of myself assisting him. According to Precursor doctrine, my duty was to assist him."

"So, why'd you give him the boot then?" Daxter asked. "See another vision?"

Seem closed her eyes. "...There are times when I rely on the Precursors and their wisdom. But there are also times…when I must simply have faith."

"Faith in the Precursors?" Daxter blew air out of his mouth. "Yeah, right. I wouldn't trust those guys with anything."

But Seem was shaking her head. She clasped her hands together and eyed them both solemnly.

"Not faith in the Precursors. Faith in myself."

The first vision Seem ever had was of death.

In seclusion, in her prayer chambers, sitting amongst the idols and scriptures, Seem had no idea of the danger that Ionna was in.

She didn't know about any battle, or the fate of hundreds of dead soldiers, or that the metalheads had successfully defended their nest.

The sun had set. There was a single candle lighting her room now, its orange flame flickering in the room. She stood up from where she'd been kneeling; the smoke of the incense swirled around her head. A little bowl of dark eco sat on the altar.

She absorbed the eco and put out the incense. She moved in front of the candle, took a breath, and blew it out.

That was when a shock went through her body, something that took her breath away and slammed into her chest.

The world was plunged into darkness, the sort of darkness unique to dark eco. It was like she was being smothered by the eco, as if she were drowning in it, unable to breath, unable to speak, unable to see…

And just as suddenly, it was gone.

She was standing somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere dark and dank and cold. A cave, she thought, as she looked around. The place was saturated with dark eco, so thick she could practically taste it on the back of her tongue.

As she looked around, she realized it was too quiet for anywhere in the city. Even though Seem had no idea where she was, had never been here before, it was almost as though the eco supplied an answer.

Metalheads.

She was in the metalhead nest. She couldn't quite pinpoint how she knew that fact. After all, she had barely ever ventured into the city; she'd certainly never been outside of its walls.

Her eyes caught movement in the corner of the cave. A soft groan rang through the rock and then a cough. Seem looked over towards the movement.

"Ionna!" Her voice echoed and dissipated into the ether. Seem realized that Ionna couldn't hear her, and there was no indication that Ionna could see her, either.

Ionna was on the ground, struggling to stay upright. Her eyes had the dim glow of eco behind them, but it was fading. Fading, fading, into darkness, and even as Seem watched, they closed. Ionna dragged herself to the wall of the cave and collapsed against it, coughing and gagging.

Outside the cave was silence. The metalheads were gone. But they would return, Seem knew. There were crystal deposits of dark eco, pools of it sitting nearby. This was their nest, and they would never abandon it.

With the danger gone, it was only a matter of time. And once they returned…

The vision faded away into a bruise-purple haze. Seem opened her eyes, gasping as if she had just been dunked in water.

She was lying on the stone ground, the candle blown out, only a streak of moonlight through the window. She pushed herself off the ground and gripped the edge of the altar shakily.

She knew, innately, as if the eco itself had told her, that what she had seen was the future.

Seem straightened her back. She had been shown this vision for a reason. Ionna was in danger, and if this vision was anything to go by, she was alone.

Seem bolted out of her room. The Temple was silent; all the monks were secluded right now. The only sound was that of her own small footsteps. She considered, briefly, that she should go back to her chambers.

But the Precursors didn't give out visions like that for no reason.

In the lower levels of the Temple, the monks had an armory, one that was specifically to be used by the sages. Ionna sometimes went there to pick out armor for different missions. Seem had never had an occasion to use it.

Not until now, at least.

Ionna was the only person Seem had. Her only friend, her only confidant, her sister.

And no one, not even the Precursors themselves, would take her away.

Chapter Text

Seem was ready.

She stood tall, back straight, Precursor armor a little too big for her young body. Two gourds of green eco strapped around her waist, though no weapons. She had no dark eco.

She wouldn't need it where she was going.

With everything ready, Seem stared into the darkness ahead of her. She had only ever teleported short distances: a few feet here and there, across a room, down a flight of stairs. But this time…

She didn't even know where she was going, exactly. But she knew that she could use her dark eco to teleport, and she could almost…feel that the eco wanted to help her. It would guide her where she needed to be.

She hoped.

She inhaled slowly, trying to visualize the spot she'd seen in her vision. A cave, with dark eco littering the ground, the feeling of death surrounding her in a shroud.

With an exhale, she stepped forward. The familiar spinning, floaty feeling came over her; she felt like she was falling into an abyss. She kept her mind focused on the cave, ignoring the unsteady feeling.

Finally, her feet hit solid ground.

She glanced around. She wasn't in a cave, but she could feel the pressure of dark eco all around her. Crystalline dark eco spreading along the ground, pools of it in between the rocks. It seemed to hang in the very air itself, seeping into her bones and making her feel uneasy.

As Seem leapt over the rocks, her feet deft and solid, she felt her heart pounding in her chest. The metalhead nest was crawling with dozens of monsters, their claws and teeth ready to destroy anything that dared challenge them.

She could sense Ionna's energy, deep within some caves. A normally incandescent light, now dim and flickering.

But it was there.

Fighting would not do well for Seem; as much as she might wish she could, she didn't have the kind of power Ionna did, to pull the eco and use it as a weapon, raw and powerful. Instead, she chose a different method.

Seem let the dark eco spark over her skin, the familiar tingle settling in, staring at her hands until she could see through them.

Stealth and secrecy would always be her way. It was the way of dark eco, a deep and powerful shadow. She crept over the rough terrain and followed the feeling of light eco.

The beasts did not notice her. Occasionally, her foot would dislodge a rock, causing the metalheads nearby to look up in alarm or curiousity. However, they could not sense her; to them, Seem was just another monster made of dark eco.

Finally, Seem reached the cave where she'd sensed light. There, slumped against the rocks, was Ionna, her eyes closed. She was covered with blood and dark eco, her breathing labored. Seem could see some gashes across her torso and a nasty bite mark on her forearm.

"Ionna? Ionna, it's me." Seem reached down and pulled off one of the gourds. She uncapped it and poured it into a cloth. She shook her friend, hoping it would wake her. "Ionna!"

"S-Seem?" Her eyes opened, blue pools of light trying to focus. "Wh-where are you…?"

"Oh, right." Seem let the dark eco slide off of her skin, as easily as slipping a jacket off. "I'm here, Ionna. I brought green eco, to heal you."

Seem pulled her forward and brought the green eco to her pale skin. Ionna's injuries started to knit themselves back together, though the green eco only did so much. Deeper gashes still oozed blood, and there were still bruises everywhere.

"What happened?" Seem asked urgently. Ionna coughed a bit, then gripped Seem's shoulder. "Ionna?"

"...We were losing." Her voice was raspy and rough. "I told them all to retreat and then…I got the metalheads away."

Seem's eyes widened. "They abandoned you here?"

"No, I…" Ionna winced as she struggled to stand. Seem hooked Ionna's arm around her shoulders. "I made them leave. I didn't want anyone to die."

Seem gave her another bit of green eco, and she sounded stronger. "Ugh…Did Damas make it back to the city?"

"Don't worry about him," Seem said harshly. "You're injured, we need to get you back to the Temple."

"N-no." Ionna shook her head. "Take me to the palace."

Seem hesitated. "...We'll decide when we get out of here," she said finally. "I have to get closer to the city walls, I think, to teleport us both."

Seem pulled Ionna closer and tugged on the dark eco again. It was easier than usual, she realized, to make herself and Ionna invisible. She handed Ionna the bottle of green eco.

"Keep healing yourself," she whispered. "I'll get us out of here."

Ionna gave a weak chuckle. "I worked so hard to keep you in that temple," she said. "I never would have imagined that you left it on your own."

Seem didn't know how to respond, but it didn't matter. Ionna was applying the green eco again, and this time it seemed to help more. Seem led her out of the cave and along the path.

With every step, Ionna gained a little bit more strength.

And with every step, Seem absorbed a little bit more dark eco.

The minute the boys left the palace, Damas knew they were going into the desert.

He wasn't foolish. He knew disobedience like the back of his hand. He'd been a father once.

Once.

The thought slammed into his heart, like a knife twisting deep. No, he mentally corrected himself, he had not been a father once. He was still a father.

He paced along the throne room windows, his eyes flickering across the Wasteland. He could see most of the desert from up here, and he felt a rush of anxiety. He hadn't seen a vehicle leave the garage; had he been wrong about Jak and Daxter? Had he simply missed them?

The elevator behind him rumbled to life. With surprisingly soft footsteps, Sig came up beside him. "Enjoying the view?" he asked.

"...I'm keeping an eye out for Jak." Damas tilted his chin up. "I fear he and Daxter may have gone looking for trouble again."

"That sounds about right." Sig folded his arms and squinted out into the desert. "You want me to go out and get 'em?"

Damas hummed thoughtfully. "We'll wait. There is the remote possibility that Jak decided to actually listen to my words this time." He put his hands behind his back. "Kleiver says all the buggies are accounted for."

"I wouldn't put it past him to go walkin' around the desert," Sig commented. "Damn fool doesn't know when to quit. 'Course, that's why he's the hero, I guess."

Damas' lips quirked up. "As always, take the good with the bad." His expression sobered as he paced along the pool of water. "Which reminds me. What state is Haven City in right now?"

"A terrible one." Sig leaned against the water wheel. "There's some kind of power struggle going on. But while the big bosses are fightin' over who gets to run the place, everybody and their mother is trying to tear it down." He raised an eyebrow. "Why do you care? Thought you wanted to stay the hell away from the city."

They'd talked about it at one of the council meetings, right after Praxis was killed. Kleiver had pointed out that Damas was the rightful heir to Haven's throne, to which the king had made it clear: he had no desire to rule Haven again. And that was that.

"Hmph, trust me," Damas snorted, "I do. But once we get the Eco Sphere, we'll have to go down into the catacombs. I'd like to know what the fight will be like."

Sig nodded in understanding. "Well, it's not gonna be easy, I can tell you that. The catacombs are under the palace, which is currently fallen and it ain't gettin' back up. There's a metalhead nest forming in the agricultural district—"

Damas' eyes widened. "Inside the city?" he interrupted.

"Yep. They took over the farmland in the western side." Damas gave him an incredulous look, so he added, "I guess they never managed to get the shield wall back up after Kor brought it down. Left them as sitting ducks."

Damas closed his eyes and shook his head. "Absurd. They should have…well. I suppose it doesn't matter now." He opened his eyes and nodded. "What else?"

"Still some KG bots floating around," Sig continued. "But they're easy enough to take care of. And who knows what the hell you'll find if you go down into the catacombs." He snorted. "Probably a lot of Precursor garbage. Uh, don't tell my mama I said that."

Damas rubbed his chin, thinking. "...Jak is insistent that he be the one who goes down there. I'm not sure I like that idea, if only because he is a newcomer and so young."

"I think you're underestimating Jak," Sig said slowly. "He is the one who took out Kor, after all."

A fact that both bolstered Damas' confidence and wounded his pride. "I'm aware. But this isn't just about protecting the city. It's about the entire planet."

They lapsed into silence, before Sig shrugged. "Well, you're fighting a losing battle trying to keep Jak out of the fray. The smart thing to do would be to send some folks with him." He grinned and clenched his fist. "Hell, send me! I'm always up for a run with those kids."

Damas smiled slightly. "I'll think about it. I was thinking…I could also—"

His musings were cut off by a purple streak falling across the sky. Both he and Sig immediately went to the window, eyes scanning the desert.

"It landed somewhere over there," Sig said, pointing. It wasn't far from the city; near the first range of volcanic mountains. "You see anything?"

Damas narrowed his eyes. All he could see was the ship that had crashed onto the sand, nothing but a purple dot.

"There's another one!" Sig exclaimed, gesturing towards the sky.

Damas looked up. It was heading straight for the same place, and there was a third behind it. Sig whistled. "Damn."

Damas couldn't see much, but all three of those ships were landing in the same area. Whatever they were doing, it was intentional. These were not just random scouts.

His chest tightened. There was no way that was a coincidence. He knew, he just knew, that Jak and Daxter were somewhere in that flood of Dark Makers.

Sig seemed to have the same idea, because he quickly said, "What do we do?"

Damas exhaled. "What do you think we do? We go after them."

"That's it! We're not friends anymore!"

Jak rolled his eyes and then fired his scattergun again. These Dark Makers took a lot more bullets than metalheads, and already there were five or so surrounding them.

"I mean it!" Daxter shrieked, continuing his rant in Jak's ear. "Our friendship is over! We are now mortal enemies!"

Jak ducked behind a rock and switched to the grenade launcher. He fired at one of the Dark Makers. The explosion shattered the creature's shield, but did no actual damage. Jak swore.

"You're not gonna be the best man at my wedding, you're not gonna be the godfather of my kids, you're not gonna be a cosigner on any of my loans! And no more taggin' along on any of my adventures, got it?!"

"Dax, you said the same thing the last time we played poker together." Jak switched to the blaster, hoping it would do a bit more damage. No such luck, since all it did was chip away at the shield again. "And every time we go through the sewers, and when we used to collect shells on Sentinel Beach."

"That was my conch shell, you jerk! I saw it first!" Daxter let out a loud yelp. "Behind you!"

Jak quickly ducked and shot behind him, running forward. He didn't bother to worry about whether his shot had connected or not.

"You just had to go visit Mount Prays-A-Lot, didn't you?!" Daxter didn't even slow down in his complaints. "We coulda been taking a nap, or swimming, or drinking, but now we're going to die out here!"

"Would it help if I said I was sorry?" Jak shouted irritably.

"No, not really!"

Jak switched to the vulcan barrel as he ran. The Peacemaker could take these guys out for sure, but with such limited ammo, it was better to save that for last.

Jak took aim and shot at one of the Dark Makers. The rapid-fire bullets shattered the shield and took out the monster. It evaporated into dark eco, quickly zooming into Jak's body. "Oh, yeah! The vulcan's the winner."

Daxter scoffed. "Yeah, until you run outta ammo!"

Dax had a point. Rapid-fire was great, but it came at a cost. He definitely didn't have enough bullets to take out all the Dark Makers. And the five that had been surrounding them had quickly ballooned to two dozen.

Jak shot another one, feeling the zing of dark eco as it fell and dissipated. He shuddered at the feeling, raw and powerful, but kept shooting. Another Dark Maker down, another round of dark eco.

The Vulcan clicked empty. So much for saving the Peacemaker for last.

Jak spun around and, with a thundering boom, the Peacemaker blasted into one of the Dark Makers. It destroyed that one, and the arc of the lightning spread to two other ones.

More dark eco sliding over Jak's skin.

He emptied the Peacemaker, taking out two or three with each shot. By the time he was out of Peacemaker ammo, he thought there had to be only a few left over.

He was wrong.

"Really?!" Daxter shrieked. "How many of these guys are there?"

By Jak's estimate, there were now about 10 left. He glanced down at his morph gun and then flipped it to put it away.

Time to put his training into action.

Jak exhaled slowly and reached inside himself for some light eco. He clapped his hands and changed.

The eco sparked inside of his chest, warm and fuzzy, and he reached for a thread of yellow eco. It crackled up his arm and burst out of his fingertips. The blast disintegrated the shield and the Dark Maker it hit.

Daxter cheered, but Jak didn't waste his time celebrating. Shooting took a lot of eco; he would run out long before they destroyed all the Dark Makers. He glanced behind him and bit his lip.

"Dax. You should use the JetBoard and go back to the city." He shot another one of the Dark Makers and winced as he absorbed the dark eco. Daxter frowned at him.

"Puh-lease. Like you'd ever survive without me." His claws gripped Jak's shoulder tighter. "Let's get 'em, partner!"

Jak nodded and cracked his knuckles. "Alright. Let's do this!"

He pulled on red eco this time, letting it pulse through his muscles. He flung himself at the nearest Dark Maker, shattering the shield with a single punch and slamming the creature aside with a kick. It dissipated with a shriek, and Jak moved onto the next one, dark eco blobs trailing after him.

He took another one out the same way, watching its body go flying across the sand. He shot a blast of eco at the next one. He growled, a sharp pain shooting up his side.

Well, Ionna had warned him not to overdue it. He should've learned by now.

Instead of stopping, Jak slammed his fist into yet another Dark Maker. The shield cracked, but by now, there wasn't enough eco to strengthen his hit. Jak spun around and ducked behind another rock, breathing heavily.

Time's up, he thought. Daxter glanced down at him worriedly. "Got any brilliant ideas?" he asked nervously. "'Cause, uh, we could use one of those right about now."

"I…I don't know, Dax." Jak shot the blaster from behind the rock, but he knew it wouldn't do any damage. "Maybe we should run for it."

Not that it would do any good. Those things could outrun him, even on the JetBoard. But with no ammo, and no light eco, the only option would be to use dark eco.

It wouldn't work. Those things were made of dark eco; they were resistant to it. Jak could tell it wouldn't be enough to take them all out. He debated turning invisible, like he had before, but he got the feeling they'd figure out the ruse. They'd already seen him; it was too late for that.

The loud roar of an engine interrupted his thoughts. "Damas," he breathed, letting his head fall back in relief. Daxter whooped.

"The Sand King comes through again! If only the folks in Haven were this reliable."

The Slam Dozer skidded to a stop, spraying sand up into the air. An electric blast from Sig's Peacemaker crackled above Jak's head and slammed into three of the Dark Makers. Jak ran for the buggy, the dark eco from their bodies right on his tail.

"Hey there, chili pepper," Sig greeted, firing another round. "You seemed like you were in a tough spot."

"Take the gun," Damas ordered shortly. Jak and Daxter both grimaced at his tone of voice. Clearly, he was not happy that they'd decided to go against his orders. "Now."

Jak didn't argue, instead just hopping up into the back and taking the controls for the gun. He shot down the rest of the Dark Makers, while Damas hit the gas. They spun around and headed back towards Spargus.

"Man, did you guys show up at the right time!" Daxter leaned forward on Jak's shoulder. "Our boy here got us into a nasty spot. You know how he is."

"Yes," Damas replied tersely, jerking the wheel, "I do."

With the Dark Makers no longer chasing them, Damas hit the brakes. Sig swayed forward with the force, while both Jak and Daxter went toppling over. The king got out and beckoned them to do the same.

"Oh, boy," Sig muttered. "You're in for it now, cherries."

Seem tried to convince Ionna to head back to the Mountain Temple, but Ionna insisted on heading for the palace.

"I have to check in with Damas," she explained. She was still exhausted, but definitely better than she had been an hour ago. "That battle was… rough."

"That's why you should go home and rest," Seem argued, but Ionna would hear none of it. She went to the palace, still gripping Seem's shoulder for support. The elevator rattled to life as it took them up.

The palace was unusually empty. No guards or soldiers, no servants or citizens. Just empty halls. The pair went to the throne room, despite the air of unease that surrounded the place.

Damas was sitting slumped on the throne, staring ahead with unseeing eyes. He wasn't wearing his armor anymore; instead, he was wearing the simple tunic that he wore underneath. His crown sat lopsided on his head, and he had made no attempt to straighten it.

Ionna stepped forward, her bloody boots squeaking against the stone floor. Seem followed, though she was much quieter.

"Ionna…?" Damas jolted up in his throne, astounded. "Ionna! You're alive!"

"Of course I'm alive," she replied with a weak smile. "I'm made of stern stuff, Damas."

Before she could say anything else, he had launched himself across the room and engulfed her in a bear hug. "I'm so glad you're okay," he said. "You have no idea...Yasir's gone, we almost lost Praxis...I thought you were dead, too."

"Damas," she gasped, "that's very sweet, but I can't breathe."

"Sorry." He let her go, stepping back and beaming. "How did you…?"

"Seem." Ionna gestured behind her, where the smaller monk was standing, her hands at her sides and looking at her shoes. "Praxis wasn't kidding, Seem's powers are something else."

Damas went to Seem and put his hands on her shoulders. "Seem, I can't believe—ugh!"

Before he could even say a full sentence, Seem's hand shot out and gripped his neck. He gave a raspy gasp of air as she squeezed, her fingers burning his skin with dark eco. She was glaring at him, teeth bared, eyes a violent red. Her voice rang out, clear and dark, guilt personified.

"You left her there to die."

She squeezed his windpipe even harder, cutting off his air. He grabbed at her wrist to pry her off of him, but she was strong. Unnaturally so.

With a single movement, she threw him across the room, into the wall opposite them. He slammed into the wall and landed on the floor in a heap. He rolled over and started to stand up, but Seem was quick. She dove for him, and he felt the crackle of dark eco swirl around her.

She pinned him to the floor, eco at her fingertips, and Damas just barely managed to seize her wrists and keep her away. But he wouldn't be able to hold her off for long.

Her eyes were dark and empty, reflecting his face back at him. He swallowed as he struggled to keep Seem away, trying to avoid looking into his own eyes.

He'd left her there to die.

He'd left them all there to die. Could he really blame Seem, when he had hurt so many people?

Why should he survive, when so many others hadn't?

Damas was spared having to make the decision on whether or not to fight back. A blast of light hit Seem from behind and sent her toppling over Damas' head. He sat up, blinking away the brightness.

Ionna was panting, leaning heavily against a pillar. As Seem stood up, Ionna said, "Go back to the Temple. Siphon off the eco and then go rest."

Seem blinked at her, and her eyes were back to their normal red. "I…I…"

"Say nothing," Ionna said firmly. She reached out and gripped Seem's bicep. She led the girl to the exit of the throne room. "It's no one's fault, no apologies are needed, but you must go back to the Temple. Quickly."

Seem nodded shakily. Ionna watched as she headed through the empty corridors, hurrying out to the city. Ionna gripped the door frame and sighed.

There was a sudden, metallic clatter. She turned around to see that Damas had torn the crown from his head and hurled it across the room. He buried his face in his hands, leaving the crown lying abandoned on the floor.

"What did you think you were doing?"

There was something in the tone of voice that Damas used that made both Jak and Daxter flinch. Practiced from a lifetime of ruling and a short time as a father, he supposed. At least he hadn't lost his touch.

"What did I tell you earlier? Sometimes, you have to wait, or you'll never win the fight." He eyed them up, as if trying to decide how best to punish them. "You were explicitly told to remain in Spargus. Disobeying an order can have devastating consequences."

"Dax and I are fine." Jak straightened his back defiantly. "I told you, you don't need to worry about us."

"It seems that's all I ever do regarding you two," Damas snapped back. "You were told to stay put, you should have stayed put!"

"I'm not an animal," Jak shot back. "You can't just set me down somewhere and tell me to stay."

"Listen, kid," Sig began, but Damas held up his hand, silencing him. The king glared at them.

"You were nearly killed." Sometimes, foolish children needed a stark reminder of what was at stake. "If Sig and I had not arrived when we did, you would be nothing more than corpses in the desert."

Jak rolled his eyes. "We can take care of ourselves. We've been doing it our whole lives."

"You are no longer just yourselves." Damas folded his arms imperiously. "I thought I made this clear! You are a Wastelander, one under the protection of Spargus. Out here, we do what we must to watch out for those in our care. And we do not put others in danger with our actions." He gestured towards Sig, who looked very much like he didn't want to be involved. "What if Sig or myself had been injured? Or what if your foolish actions had gotten Daxter hurt?"

Jak's face blanched and he swallowed. "...I…I'd never hurt Daxter…"

Damas had hit a nerve, and like any good warrior, he recognized that fact. "Oh? Are you so sure? I recall a bet between yourself and Kleiver that had your friend as stakes. Be honest with yourself."

Jak's fists clenched and he looked away. "That was…"

"Hey!" Daxter grabbed Jak's scarf and swung forward so that he was inches away from Damas' face. He pointed a furry finger at the king. "Don't talk about stuff you don't know about, you hear?! Jak's my best pal, and he'd never, ever hurt me!"

Damas blinked in surprise. Daxter almost seemed angry, actually angry, something he'd never seen before. He recovered quickly from his shock. "Really? He's never put you in situations that are dangerous? He's never tried to—?!"

"Damas," Sig said tersely, "shut the hell up."

Damas stopped. Sig was looking directly at Jak.

Jak, who was shaking, fists clenched, eyes on the ground.

Jak, who seemed to be radiating dark eco.

The boy looked up and Damas saw his eyes. Dark and empty, nothing left of the blue he knew.

Burning fingers wrapped around his throat, blank eyes still filled with hatred.

Automatically, Damas stepped back, eyes wide.

"Jak." Sig gently gripped the boy's shoulder and squeezed. "You okay, Jak?"

"Jaaak!" Daxter completely forgot about Damas and jumped down to the ground to look up at his friend. "Aw, c'mon, buddy, we're all friends here! Right? Of course right!"

Jak blinked, and the darkness was gone. He stared, horrified, at Damas. For a single, tense moment, they just watched each other, waiting for the first move. Damas opened his mouth to ask if he was alright, all arguments forgotten.

And before Damas could speak, Jak turned around and bolted.

"Jak, wait!" He was off into the desert so quickly that Damas' words disappeared into the sands. "Jak!"

Daxter groaned. "Aw, c'mon!" he complained. "Now I gotta go out and get 'im!"

"No," Damas ordered severely. Daxter opened his mouth to argue back, but the king shook his head, his tone softening. "Please. I'll go get him, we just…we don't need anyone else in danger. You and Sig need to get back to Spargus, before more of the Dark Makers appear."

Daxter gave him a glare that was so very human-like, Damas almost commented on it. "Fine," Daxter snapped. "Only 'cause you know I hate the desert. And if anything happens to Jak, I'm taking it out on you!"

"Unless you plan on killing me, don't make such threats." Damas eyed Daxter carefully. "...Are you planning on killing me?"

"You'll wish you were so lucky," Daxter grumbled, climbing up to Sig's shoulder. "You'll live a nice, long life, Mr. Sand King, with me on your shoulder for every second of it. So you better bring Jak back safe, you hear?!"

Damas set his jaw. "You have my word," he said firmly. With that, and a nod at Sig, he turned and headed to find Jak.

Chapter Text

Something had shifted.

Onin slowly lifted her head. She couldn't see the bright lights of the Freedom HQ, but she could hear the buzzing of them. Somewhere in the center of the room, Torn and Samos were having a tense conversation.

She straightened her back. Pecker was dozing nearby, no doubt enjoying his time back in Haven City. That was fine. Onin didn't need him right now.

She reached out slowly and gripped an iron bar on the wall. Her fingers, thin with skin clinging to the bones, wrapped around it and she pulled herself up. She could barely walk anymore.

But barely was enough.

By the time Samos and Torn noticed her movements, Onin was already on her feet. The steel floor was cold against her bare skin. She shuffled past them at a snail's pace.

"What the hell…?" Torn's voice trailed off, unsure of how to handle this. "Where's she going?"

"Onin? Onin, do you need something?" Samos hovered over her, anxious and concerned. "Onin?"

She ignored them both. With careful steps, she made her way to the elevator. Samos clicked his staff on the floor.

"Is it a vision?!" he asked, alarmed. "Have you seen something? Quick, Torn, go find that useless bird!"

She kept walking, right past Samos, into the elevator. Samos called her name as the doors closed. It came to life and began its descent, the wind rushing past her ears. And when it opened, she found herself in Haven City.

There were the sounds of battle, but Onin paid it no mind. Enemies never bothered her; something about her powers kept her safe. She skirted around metal heads, slowly but surely making her way through New Haven.

Onin was not a sage. There had been no Awakening, no moment where her powers came to her. She had always seen visions, ever since her childhood. Visions of the past and present and future. Visions of other times, of loops and changes, of all the outcomes.

Recently, the future had become murky. Uncertain. And just now, in the Freedom HQ, she'd felt it shatter.

There was no future. Whatever had happened, it had changed something so dramatically, that she did not know what was next.

She stopped in front of a generic building. Once, not so long ago, it had been a little shack that she had set up. Filled with candles and tapestries and ancient artifacts.

That building had been demolished. There was a new building, a storage that Ashelin had ordered built. The room held a variety of objects: guns and broken vehicle parts, stacks of boxes filled with papers, dozens of old red Krimzon Guard armor. Relics of the past.

In the center was the Precursor statue, its eyes still glowing, still ready if needed.

Onin entered, careful as she made her way. She sat down in front of the idol and put her hands together, making a sign of piety.

"Greetings, seer." Its voice was somehow both booming and soft. "You are here searching for answers."

Yes, Onin thought. Answers.

"You are afraid," it continued. "You fear that the world is lost. You can no longer see the timeline, so you fear it will be over."

The oracle's voice was calming and deep, a salve over her fear and anxiety. She sat, stock-still, waiting for the answer.

"Do not fear, seer," the oracle said. "You have done well to ensure that this world survives. Now, you have only one last task."

Onin waited patiently, obedient. She would do whatever was required.

"Trust in your hero." The statue's words rang in her ears. "His choices will be what decides the fate of this planet. If you have truly done your duty, and have prepared him for his role, he will make the correct choices."

A beat of silence, then it spoke again.

"When the time comes, you will feel that something is wrong. You will warn your hero, though he may not listen. You must believe that he will save you. If you trust him, he will."

She waited until the statue's power had faded. For a moment, in the calm darkness, she considered their words.

Trust. In the hero. Trust in Jak.

She could do that.

The fact that Daxter was quiet was unnerving, Sig thought.

He was used to the ottsel chattering nonstop, shrieking and shouting and bragging. To hear none of that as Daxter sat in the passenger's seat was…

Well, Sig didn't like it one bit.

"Damas ain't that mad," Sig assured him awkwardly. "You saw him after the arena thing. All bark and no bite with this kinda stuff."

Daxter folded his arms. "Yeah, well, he shouldn't have yelled at Jak! Unlike you and me, Jak's sensitive."

Sig snorted. "Sensitive, huh? Last thing I'd ever call Jak."

"It's true!" he insisted. "Listen, you didn't know Jak when he was a kid, but we've been best friends since forever. He's used to bein' everybody's golden boy."

Sig raised an eyebrow at that. Daxter couldn't be talking about Jak, the kid who ignored Torn's orders just to see if he'd have a rage stroke. The same Jak who gave Krew nothing but sarcasm and sass? Jak, who had rolled his eyes at every authority figure in a fifty mile radius, was not anyone's golden anything.

Daxter must have sensed what he was thinking, because he said, "You just don't know him like I do. When we were kids, we used to live in this little village called Sandover."

"Never heard of it," Sig grunted.

"Yeah, I know," Daxter said breezily. "Anyway, Jak was always helpin' everybody and their grandmother there. The farmer needed his roof fixed one time, and bam! Jak's up on the roof with a nails in his mouth. That crazy bird lady wanted to catch a baby bird she saw hangin' around the jungle? Jak's right there, chasing after our feathered menace. Samos needed anything, literally anything?! Better call up Jak!" Daxter huffed and slumped back on the seat. "Then he gets shoved in a prison cell, and suddenly he's different. Everyone still needs him to do stuff, but it's not like it used to be. He's different, he's changed, he's damaged."

"I don't think that," Sig said quickly.

"Yeah, but Jak does," Daxter explained. "And he doesn't like bein' that way. Never has." Daxter eyed Sig warily. "...Mind if I tell you a story, Sig buddy?"

"I mean, does it matter if I say no?" Sig asked teasingly. "I've never known you to stop tellin' stories."

Daxter rolled his eyes. "So, you know, I wasn't always a furry little stud like I am today. I used to be human, just like everyone else."

"Huh." Sig tilted his head. "Didn't know that."

"No one does. Well, Tessie does, but I don't really tell everyone I meet." Daxter shrugged. "Doesn't come up much. Anyway, I used to be human. Taller than you, and twice as built! But then Jak and I went to this creepy little island, and then I fell into some of the dark stuff, and now I look like…well, this," he said, gesturing to himself.

Something clicked in Sig's mind. "It was Jak's idea, wasn't it?" he said slowly. "To go there. That's why what Damas was sayin', about Jak putting you in danger…that's what upset him."

"It was an accident!" Daxter burst out. "Jak didn't mean to do it, we didn't know what was there! And Jak felt so bad, he went all over the damn world to find a fix! I'll bet if you told him today there was a way to change me back, he'd fight through a whole arena full o' Dark Makers to find it."

Sig didn't doubt it. If there was one thing he knew about Jak, it was how much he valued his friends. The arena was proof of that.

Now that he thought about it, it made sense. Explained why Jak always seemed to glow like a skull gem anytime Damas complimented him.

And why he freaked out whenever Damas reprimanded him.

Out loud, however, Sig just said, "So, you were human, huh? Bet you looked like a skinny version of Krew."

"Ugh!" Daxter clutched his heart dramatically. "And here I thought we were friends, Sig! I was gorgeous! I couldn't keep the ladies offa me! Of course, I still can't."

"Must be your charm." Sig rolled into the garage of Spargus. "Or all that fuzz."

"Hey, you'd get chicks too if you grew a beard." Daxter hopped up onto Sig's shoulder as he got out of the buggy. "You, uh, think those two'll be okay out there by themselves?"

Sig glanced out at the desert. "They'll be fine," he said.

Silence for a second. Then, Daxter added, "We better wait for 'em, just to be sure."

"You got it, Daxter. We'll wait for them."

Damas caught up to Jak at one of the oases. It was close to the city wall, a place where parents would take their children out sometimes. A good destination for a first trip into the desert.

He'd never taken Mar out here. A shame, but his son had been too young to go into the desert. The rule of thumb, as Sig always said, was that if you couldn't fire a gun, you stayed in the city.

Jak was sitting at the edge of the water, his arms resting on his knees, his head in his hands. Damas came up and sat quietly beside him. Jak didn't lift his head, but he saw the boy's ears twitch; Jak knew that Damas was there.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Jak finally lifted his head. He stared out over the water, almost as if he wanted it to swallow him up.

Damas frowned. "Jak. Look at me."

Jak was still resolutely staring at the water, unwilling to turn his head. Damas followed his gaze and stared at the oasis, letting silence fall over them. A few moments passed before he finally spoke.

"When my son was first learning to walk," he said quietly, "he loved to look out at the ocean."

Jak's eyes flickered to Damas for a moment, but he kept his head towards the water. Damas continued, his voice heavy and serious.

"It was the waves, I think, that he loved to watch. I used to take him to the shore near the turret and we'd watch the water together. He was never allowed in the water without me. He was too young then, too little." Damas gave a soft, fond laugh. "He was…always moving. I would turn my back for just a moment, and suddenly he would be halfway across the city."

Without Daxter on his shoulder, Jak seemed even less inclined to speak. Damas gave him a moment, just to see if the boy would respond. When he didn't, Damas kept talking, filling the silence.

"One day, I took him for a walk to the shore. Someone stopped to speak with me, and when I turned back, he was gone. He'd run straight for the water, and before I knew it, he was waist-deep."

"...Sea monster," Jak grunted, still avoiding Damas' gaze. He didn't complete the sentence or thought, but it was something, Damas thought wryly.

"One of the many reasons I didn't let him in the ocean. I ran for him, practically dove into the sea myself. I grabbed his arm and pulled him back, and…" Damas closed his eyes. "Well. As I said, he was little. I was not. I must have pulled him too hard and twisted his arm. I…broke it."

Almost reflexively, Jak grabbed his own forearm and winced. He was still listening, though, Damas could tell. "Ionna healed him and he was fine, physically at least. But for almost two weeks, he was terrified to wander too far from my side. And he refused to go near the shore."

"Not your fault," Jak said quietly.

Damas raised an eyebrow. "That's very kind of you to say, but it was. My job was to keep my son safe, and instead I caused him pain. Unintentionally, yes, but pain nonetheless."

Finally, finally, Jak spoke a complete sentence. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

Damas sighed. "Because I want you to understand. My anger isn't just because you disobeyed me."

"...It's not?"

Damas almost laughed. "Jak, disobedience is practically baked into Wastelanders' skin. It's the reason we're all out here in the desert. If I got upset every time someone disobeyed some small order, I would spend my entire life upset. The truth is…I was worried, Jak. Worried that something would happen to you and Daxter, and in the process of trying to pull you back to safety, I unintentionally caused you harm."

"It's not your fault," Jak repeated. "I'm the one who broke the rules, I should've listened." He put his head in his hands. "I always do this…"

Damas didn't pry into what Jak meant by that. It wasn't important right now. Instead, he just said, "Jak. Look at me."

Jak lifted his head, but didn't meet Damas' eyes. He reached over and pressed two fingers to the boy's jaw, forcing him to turn his head. "Look at me."

Jak's eyes finally met Damas', and suddenly the king was thrown back in time. Wide blue eyes, full of anguish and confusion and hurt. He could still hear the echo of the bone snapping, the way Mar wailed in pain, the thudding of his own heart as he realized what he'd done.

And without thinking, Damas pulled Jak into a hug.

The boy stiffened in his arms, unsure of how to react. Damas patted his back and settled his chin on Jak's shoulder. "You're not a bad person, no more than I am," he said in a low voice. "Please forgive me my mistakes, but before you do that, forgive yourself."

Jak relaxed and awkwardly set his hands on Damas' back. "...I'm sorry, too," he said. His voice was muffled; he seemed to have pressed his face against Damas' shoulder. "You were right about the thing with Daxter. I'm always screwing things up and that's why he's…"

Jak trailed off, but Damas just kept holding him like a child. It felt strange, and almost nostalgic, to comfort someone like this.

Had it really been so long? He still seemed to have a knack for it.

After a moment or so, Damas let go, a bit reluctantly. "Now," he said firmly, "are you ready to go?"

Jak looked down and flexed his hands. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I just…don't like being reminded of all of my screw ups. Are you sure you're not mad?"

"No. A mistake is a mistake." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Believe me, I've made my fair share of them. Some of them were even my fault."

Jak finally smiled, the tension on his face gone. Damas returned a smile and stood up, holding his hand out. Jak took it and pulled himself up.

"Come on." Damas put a hand on Jak's back and gestured to the entrance to Spargus. "Let's head back, before Daxter burns down the city in our absence."

Jak folded his arms, the grin still on his face. "I'll bet he threatened you to get you to go after me, didn't he?"

"With a fate worse than death." Jak laughed, and Damas squeezed his shoulder before letting go.

They walked together, towards Spargus. Towards home.

In Spargus, with no warning, Ionna's hands began to shake uncontrollably.

"Dammit." She set the bottle of medicine she had been working on aside. The last thing she needed was to have to clean up a mess.

Of course, she thought, eyeing the rattling bottles of light eco, it looked as if she might have to do so anyway.

She had such a love-hate relationship with her visions. On one hand, she hated the feeling of being pulled into someone else's head, into their feelings, into their being.

But the visions were ultimately good. The visions were a sign of life.

You couldn't have visions of dead children.

Before she could think any more about it, there was a bright flash of light, and she collapsed onto the floor.

Chapter Text

"There they are! All in one piece, just like I told ya, Sig!"

Jak grinned as he walked into Spargus, Damas beside him. "You weren't worried about us, eh, Dax?"

"Puh-lease!" Daxter took a flying leap off Sig's shoulder onto Jak's. "You're a big boy, I trust ya. It was the old man over there I was worried about." He dropped his voice to a stage-whisper. "You never know, one fall and he's got a broken hip."

While Jak and Sig tried to hide their snickers, Damas led them into the city. "If you're done mocking me," he said, "let's go. I had tasks to do before you two got into trouble. Now, I suppose, you get to spend the rest of the day helping me catch up."

Daxter groaned. "Oh, no, more work!"

Damas continued walking, leading them all towards the palace. "There is inventorying to be done," he stated. "Plenty of spare weapons and armor that need to be tested and counted. It's important, but boring work." He gave them both a smirk. "Admittedly, I was not looking forward to it. It's a good thing you're here to do it instead."

Daxter wailed into Jak's hair, while Sig chuckled. "Better or worse than havin' to go clear out metal heads?"

Jak said, "Worse," at the exact time Daxter said, "Better." Damas gave a bark of laughter as they stepped onto the elevator.

"It won't take that long," he assured them. "All four of us will work on it together."

"Who's us?!" Sig quickly protested. "I didn't go trapsin' around in the desert!"

"Consider it punishment from your mother," Damas said, "for something you've gotten away with."

Sig groaned as they stepped out into the throne room. Damas and Sig first, then Jak and Daxter behind them.

Damas stopped so abruptly that Jak almost ran into him. Sig had frozen in place, too, all traces of humor gone from his face. Unsure what was going on, Jak peered over the king's shoulder.

Ionna was sitting on the stone steps, splashing water in her face. Her boots were off and her bare feet were in the water. She looked up at Damas when he entered the throne room, but didn't speak.

There was a frightening stillness in the room. Finally, Damas said, rather quietly, "Ionna?"

"I'm fine, Damas." Her voice was tired and strained. As he looked closer, Jak could see that she was paler than normal, and her hands were trembling so hard it was making the water ripple. He quickly moved so that he could see her clearly.

"You don't look fine!" Daxter said indignantly. "You look like crap!"

Damas glared at him, but Jak quickly said, "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"Jak." Ionna gave him a weary smile. "I left the infirmary quite suddenly. Would you and Daxter mind going to make sure I didn't leave a mess behind? I would appreciate it."

"Wait, what happened?" Jak looked between her and Damas, then to Sig, who simply shook his head. "Why did you have to leave in a hurry?"

The three older Wastelanders gave each other a look. Finally, Ionna said, "Jak. Please?"

Jak wanted to argue, but he frowned instead. "Yeah. Sure. Dax can stay here, in case you need anything."

"Both of you." Damas' voice was stern and commanding. He was still watching Ionna. "Consider it a mission."

"Ugh, I hate cleaning," Daxter said. "You remember how many times I had to clean the hut for Green 'n Gross? Blech."

There was still a tension in the air, despite Daxter's attempt at a joke. Jak slowly went back to the elevator. Ionna nodded tiredly.

"Thank you both. It's greatly appreciated." She winced and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Ugh."

As the elevator shook to life and took them down, the last thing Jak saw was the three of them, all watching to make sure he left.

It was hard, to watch a king crumble.

In the months after the attack on the nest, Damas seemed like a completely different person. Reclusive and quiet, he'd spend hours in the throne room just staring out at the city. Ionna sometimes tried to talk with him, but he only gave short, simple answers.

Even worse, he'd become cautious. Too cautious. The metal heads had become emboldened by their victory at the nest, and now they were attacking outposts with alarming regularity.

But Damas seemed almost…afraid to chase them out. He ordered the troops to focus on defense, which only extended the battles. No matter how much Ionna tried to convince him that he shouldn't be afraid, that a mistake was a mistake, he always ordered defensive strategies.

"It's something he has to work through on his own, Ionna." Antwon winced as he stumbled a bit, gripping her arm tighter. "You can't force it."

Antwon had made a remarkable recovery in the time since his injury. For a man who had almost lost his leg, he was walking fairly steadily. He'd asked Ionna to help him with his recovery, claiming that every other medic was too soft on him.

Still, the injury would never totally heal.

"I know," she said, sighing, "but he just…it's like he's lost." She glanced down at his feet. "Don't put so much weight on it. That's what you'll have the cane for, to support your weight instead."

"Easier said than done," Antwon replied dryly. "Look, Damas has to come to terms with a very harsh reality. He's realizing that reckless choices come at a steep cost. He'll be fine, but it will take time."

He grabbed Ionna's shoulder to steady himself. She held his hand and watched as his face twisted in pain. "Antwon, are you alright?"

"Fine," he said, his voice strained. "Just…get this flair up every once in a while." He smiled at her worried face. "Ionna, it's nothing to be concerned about."

He picked up his cane and started to limp over to his couch. He crashed onto it with a grunt and gestured for her to sit beside him. There was a brief moment of silence, not tense but not comfortable, before Ionna broke it.

"How's Praxis doing?" she asked stiltedly. "I heard he had his last surgery the other day."

"He's alright." Antwon stretched his arms above his head. "They put metal plates all over his face. You'd probably barely recognize him anymore."

Ionna fidgeted with her thumbs. "I heard he's still angry with Damas," she added quietly.

Everyone was still angry at Damas, to an extent. Ali spent their meetings stone-faced and silent, giving nothing back to the king he so despised. There were a lot of hateful glares shot the king's way whenever he addressed the troops, whispers behind his back. Even those advisors who worked outside of the military seemed to avoid interacting with Damas unless they absolutely needed to.

Antwon frowned. "...Honestly, I don't know. We don't talk about Damas when I go to visit him. It's mostly just…our recoveries, how the soldiers are doing. He had me send a gift to Yasir's mother, since he couldn't make the funeral."

Ionna winced. She'd been in the Temple during the funerals for the soldiers, recovering from her own injuries. "I should probably send something to her."

"Don't worry about it." Antwon's voice was soft and kind. "Ionna, you are the entire reason her younger son is alive. That's gift enough."

Ionna folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. "...It doesn't feel like it's enough," she replied in a low voice. "I fall far too short for my liking."

Antwon sighed. "I wish I could snap my fingers and make it easier for you two," he said. "But the world isn't kind to youth, unfortunately. It takes it and molds it into something sharper." He gave her a twisted smile. "It's why I never had any children of my own. You know, my mother and father were both killed by metal heads. I grew up in an orphanage in the slums. I never wanted that for anyone I loved."

Ionna grew quiet, considering his words. Antwon chuckled and slapped her knee. "Maybe that's a bit too morbid for a Monday afternoon. Listen, I'm going to get some cleaning done. You oughta get back home; I'll bet Seem is waiting for you, huh?"

Seem. It had been awkward ever since she'd attacked the king. Ionna and Damas had both agreed to keep it a secret; there was no reason for anyone else to know. Seem had been inconsolable for days after, claiming that she could no longer be a monk, that she would have to give it up and leave the order.

Even after Ionna had calmed her fears, she had also been cautious afterwards. Channeling less eco, using weaker powers, keeping herself in check. She'd been more studious, devoting any spare time to her meditations and scriptures.

Antwon walked her to the door of his apartment, a nice (if cramped) place in the Port Sector. His cane thumped against the carpeted floor.

"Don't worry about Damas so much," Antwon told her. "Like I said, he has some things he has to work through. He'll be perfectly fine."

Perfectly fine. Ionna gave him a smile as the door shut, but as she walked away, she sighed.

Perfectly fine. She wasn't so sure.

"What the hell was that?"

Daxter made no attempt to keep his voice down as Jak walked through Spargus. Not that anyone really cared, considering how loud he usually was.

"I don't know, Dax." Jak glanced back at the elevator. "Did you see Sig's face? He was worried about Ionna. Damas, too."

"Probably because she looked like she got into a tussle with a leaper lizard." Daxter shrugged. "Whatever it is, they ain't gonna tell us. Awful quick to get us outta there."

"Then let's go find out on our own." He gestured to the infirmary door. "Maybe we can get some clues while we're in here."

"While we're cleaning, you mean," Daxter griped. "Ugh, I am not scrubbing. I'll sweep and wash dishes, but no scrubbing!"

"Deal." Jak opened the door, the bell chiming above, and looked around.

Whatever had happened, it had left one hell of a mess. The normally immaculate beds were in disarray, as if a tornado had whipped the blankets and sheets around the room. Bottles had spilled all over the counter, the medicine dripping onto the floor. As Jak stepped in, his boot crunched on something hard.

The floor was littered with broken clay, pieces of jars that Ionna usually kept lined up on a shelf. Jars that Jak remembered, not long ago, trying to move without touching.

"Dax," he said quietly, "all the light eco is gone."

"What?" Daxter scrambled to peer over his friend's shoulder. "All of it? Geez, leave a little for the rest of us!"

"This…" Jak looked around, at the shattered jars and disarray. "Dax, I think she might have absorbed the eco. Like I do, when I lose control."

Daxter hopped off his shoulder onto the floor. "The both of you are a bunch of drama queens, if you ask me. Goin' around, freakin' out every time you get a little too much o' the stuff!" He kicked a shard of clay aside. "You two can't just be normal and turn into an animal, can you?"

"Well, sorry we can't all be like you, Dax." Jak rolled his eyes and picked up the piece of clay. "Well, I guess we better get busy. Grab the broom, will you?"

Daxter dragged the broom over to him, grumbling the whole time. And just like that, they were back in Sandover: two boys, forced to do chores while a mystery awaited them.

One hell of mystery, Jak thought. And he was going to solve it.

The throne room was silent and still after Jak and Daxter left. Sig kept glancing between Damas and Ionna, waiting for something to happen. Finally, Damas broke first.

"...What is it?" Damas asked, heart hammering in his chest. There was only one reason Ionna would come to the palace without being called. And he'd seen her looking like this before: haggard and tired, as if she'd just spent all her energy at once.

Ionna lifted her head and met the king's gaze. "I had another vision."

Damas' stomach twisted, though he wasn't surprised by her statement. Visions were good; visions meant he was still alive. "And?" he breathed.

Ionna exhaled slowly. "...He's here, Damas. In the Wasteland."

"Mar is here?" he whispered. He gripped his staff tighter. "In Spargus?"

Ionna shook her head. "No, somewhere in the desert. It's hard to pinpoint where, but...he's here."

Damas swallowed. He didn't like the idea of his son wandering the Wastes, and the fact that it was outside, instead of safe behind walls, made his chest ache.

But Mar had to be safe. Mar had to be alive.

"He's with someone," Ionna continued. "There was...this feeling of comfort. As if he was being looked after."

That had been a pleasant surprise. She was used to feeling negativity. Sadness, anger, loneliness, fear. But this time, Mar was…happy.

The tightness in Damas' chest loosened a bit at her words. "That's...heartening."

"Did you see anything around him?" Sig asked. Always the pragmatist, Sig cut right to the heart of the matter. "Landmarks, ruins or anything like that?"

Ionna shook her head. "Nothing. I never see much with these…I'm sorry."

Ionna's visions weren't like Seem's or Onin's. She got feelings and sensations, but she only ever got flickers and flashes of the where.

A huge towering building in Haven City, a dimly lit room that smelled of stale air, a barred door and a chair. Nothing concrete. This time, it was just sand whipping past.

"You sure you're gettin' visions of Mar?" Sig asked cautiously. She raised an eyebrow. "I mean…look, I turned the city upside down lookin' for the kid. Never found hide nor hair of him. I'm just making sure."

Ionna paused for a moment. She was staring off into the water, considering something, before she said quietly, "I'm certain. It's Mar, trust me."

This proclamation was met with silence, before Sig finally said, "Alright, then. I'm gonna go visit a few of my old Nomad pals. If Mar is with somebody, they might know who has him."

"Nomads?" Damas frowned. "You can't be serious. After what we just faced out in the Wastelands?"

"I'll be fine," Sig told him. "Look, we know what we're up against now. All I gotta do is take the right vehicle, bring the Peacemaker, and it'll be fine."

"No." It killed Damas, because if there was anything that would make him go out into the Wastes right now, it was Mar. But…

"I'm not sending you out there again," he continued. "When…when this is all over, when the Dark Makers have been taken care of, we'll find him. But right now, we can't risk more lives."

Sig shook his head. "This ain't up for debate. I promised I'd find him, and I will. I can take care of myself."

"I just had this conversation," Damas began, but Ionna interrupted.

"Damas is right." She put her head in her hands and sighed. "It's too dangerous. Right now, someone is watching over him. Now is not the time to risk his life and yours."

"I can't think of a better time," Sig said. "If these things are as dangerous as you say…don't you think you should see your son? One last time, at least?"

They glanced at each other, a silent conversation happening between the two. Finally, Damas said, "Keeping Spargus and its citizens safe takes priority. If Mar is alive…he will be alive until this is over."

Sig frowned. "...Fine," he said with resignation. "If you two are going to be stubborn, then you can be stubborn on your own. I'm going to go get some shut-eye."

He turned and left, the elevator rattling as he went down.

Deep inside of himself, he knew Damas and Ionna were right. It was one of the Wasteland rules: you didn't save others until you were safe yourself.

Still…

Sig also knew the other rules of the Wasteland, like that Wastelanders looked after their own, and that children were the future. He wouldn't be much of a Wastelander, or much of a friend, if he didn't do everything he could to find Mar.

Of course, Damas would be pissed. Ah, well, he'd get over it. He always acted like a hardass, but it was mostly for show. Had to act tough for the Wastelanders.

Sig stepped into the city, frowning as he walked. He didn't envy Damas his job; keeping everyone safe and happy was a nearly impossible job. Damas walked a fine line between his own wants and the city's needs. Sig didn't know how he did it.

It worried him, sometimes, because he was Damas' second-in-command. If anything happened to the king, then Sig took over. And boy, did he not have the skills that Damas did.

Well. No use worrying about that bridge until they crossed it. Damas had proven himself pretty difficult to kill so far. Sig would just have to hope that held true for a while longer.

The desert dust caked his boots as he wound his way through Spargus. The air was heavy, the makings of a storm hanging around them. Whatever Sig decided to do, he wouldn't be doing it anytime soon. He'd have to wait a few days until the storm passed.

That was fine with him. He needed a little bit of time to get ready, anyway. The Nomads were notoriously good at hiding; not a whole lot of folks knew where their camps were. Luckily, Sig knew at least one person with the knowledge.

Of course, knowledge wasn't enough. What he really needed was a good Wastelander to watch his back. Someone who was a crack shot and a quick thinker, and reckless enough to go into the Wastes with him. Unfortunately, Damas was not available.

But he knew someone who might be.

He opened the infirmary door to see Jak and Daxter, sweeping up broken jars from the floor. "Hello, chili peppers," he said, his voice booming in the small room. "Feel like disobeying a few more orders?"

Chapter Text

Every once in a while, Torn did do his own dirty work.

If he was being completely honest, this sort of mission wasn't one he really wanted to do. If he was completely honest, it was a little too insane, just a bit too stupid, for him to consider it a good idea.

As he pulled the hood up on his jacket and stepped into the drizzle, he tried not to think of all the consequences of getting caught breaking into a high-ranking nobleman's house. He'd be kicked out of the Freedom League for sure, not that he particularly cared about that. Prison time, probably. Precursors knew Veger would cherish the chance to throw Torn in a cell. Hell, if Veger was pissed enough, Torn might just find himself hanging out with Jak and Daxter in the Wasteland.

Usually, missions like this ended up on Jak's plate, but Torn really couldn't justify calling the kid back. According to Keira, he and his rat were fitting in just fine out there, better than they had in Haven. Torn couldn't blame him; after all, the city had turned its back on him. Why wouldn't he return the favor?

Torn's boots splashed as he walked. The rain had been going steady for almost three days, drenching every sidewalk, building, and person. A wet crocadog meandered past, barking at the droplets and bounding through puddles. His stomach twisted.

Torn had never been a huge fan of the Kid. Or…any kids, for that matter. Most of his interaction with the boy had just been the occasional shushing. Babysitting had begun and ended at, "Sit here and be quiet."

Still, with the knowledge in his head that the Kid had been Jak of all people, Torn couldn't help but feel shitty. This city, the Baron, the KG, even Samos himself, had taken this little boy and broken him down so bad he wasn't recognizable anymore.

Torn kept walking, ignoring as the animal lurched into a puddle, spraying water everywhere. He had to stay focused. Not the time for stupid, sentimental feelings.

Veger lived in a high-rise apartment building in New Haven, on the 25th floor. Of course the jackass would live on the top floor. Couldn't be on the ground level.

Currently, Veger was at an emergency meeting with Ashelin and the remains of the Haven City Council. She hadn't even questioned it when Torn said he needed Veger to be busy for a few hours.

"Just…promise me it's not something illegal," she begged faintly. "I have enough on my plate without you getting into trouble."

He'd just given her a dark chuckle, which was technically not a promise. He wondered how pissed off she'd be when she found out.

Well, no use worrying about it now. He stepped under the awning and looked at the panel on the side. Every apartment had a call button, neatly labeled with the name and number. Torn considered it for a minute, then reached out and hit all of them.

It only took a second for someone to buzz him up, probably expecting company. Disappointing for them, he supposed. The door unlocked with a heavy click, and Torn quickly stepped in.

The lobby was the most boring shade of gray he'd ever seen. There was nothing in the room but a lone metal bench and a stack of old magazines beside it. Considering how much the rent was in this place, Torn had expected something a bit…more.

In the back corner was an elevator and a door going to the stairwell. He quickly ducked into the elevator, keeping his hood up in case of security cameras. As it rattled to the top floor, muzak blaring over tinny speakers, Torn sighed.

Assuming he got out of here without his mug shot posted all over the damn city, he needed a drink. Some of that cinnamon whiskey that Tess kept on the top shelf. As grating as Daxter was on his nerves, the rat did know his alcohol. Pity that was about all he knew.

The elevator shuddered to a stop, the doors opening to a long hallway with three doors. Veger's door was the furthest down. Torn approached it apprehensively, careful to listen for any neighbors that might be about.

He pulled out a pass card. Veger's apartment building was new; its security system was completely upgraded, and Torn didn't have the technical skills to override it. Instead, he decided to use the old-fashioned method.

He slid the pass card into the gap between the door and its doorway. He slid it down, until he heard a sharp click and felt resistance. Bingo.

Torn maneuvered the pass card until it caught on the deadbolt of the lock. He pushed the bolt back into the door and it creaked open. He smirked. All the technology in the world couldn't keep a good thief out.

Veger's apartment was an elegantly hideous place. For starters, all of his furniture appeared to be a crushed velvet material, in a deep maroon color. Torn wrinkled his nose as he passed a marble bust of Veger's own head, lovingly placed on the mantle. As tempted as he was to shove it off, he opted to ignore it instead.

Torn was really looking for, was proof. Proof of…something. Of whatever Veger was planning.

He had no idea where that proof would be, or what it would be, for that matter. But he needed something, anything, that would prove that Veger wasn't the shining beacon of good he appeared to be.

People were fickle. From what he'd heard, the KG - Freedom League, he mentally corrected himself - was split on Veger. Some of them were totally behind the noble, hoping that things would get better under his rule. Others were a bit more leery, not quite willing to throw their support behind an aristocrat for fear that he would become an autocrat.

What Torn needed was something to change minds. Something that would convince them that Veger was a self-serving cockroach. He flipped the light on in the kitchen and started going through cabinets.

A lot of expensive pots and pans, fancy utensils, and gold-lined plates. Torn wondered if Veger even cooked his own food, or if he hired some poor chef to make it for him. Precursors help the soul who had to do whatever Veger said.

He passed by the garbage can and recycling bin. Of course Veger recycled. The city was literally on fire, and the guy cared about his carbon footprint. Not that it mattered, since recycling services had been suspended because, you know, the war.

Actually, Torn mused, it was probably more likely that Veger cared about his image. Gotta pretend like he cared about his carbon footprint. Heroes protect the environment, after all.

Torn folded his arms and surveyed the rest of the apartment. Okay, he hadn't expected to find anything in the kitchen, anyway. Who kept incriminating evidence in their kitchen? Torn headed down the hallway.

Besides the bathroom, there was a bedroom and an office. He hung a left and picked the bedroom first, flipping on the lights as he entered.

Veger's bedroom was just as awful as the rest of his place. Taking up the majority of the room was a four-poster bed, complete with enough red drapery to start a small fabric shop. The bed was so big, the only other thing that fit in his room was the wooden dresser.

Torn didn't linger too long in the bedroom: he quickly shuffled through Veger's clothes (Thank the Precursors the noble was so neurotic. Even his underwear was neatly folded). He checked through the closet and found nothing.

He checked to make sure nothing was out of place, then headed to the office, feeling a bit more hopeful. Plenty of incriminating documents in there, right?

As it turned out, Veger's office was more infuriating than Veger himself.

Everything was meticulously organized: financial papers in a file cabinet drawer, labeled by year and going all the way back to Veger's first job; his pens lined up by shade, from lightest to darkest; books organized alphabetically on his shelf, dusty with disuse. Just the sterile feel of the room made Torn's skin itch.

He frowned as he shut the file cabinet. It wasn't as if he had all night to search through these files. Ashelin had only guaranteed him two hours of Veger-free time, and the clock was ticking. Torn sat in the desk chair and leaned back, his hands on his head.

If he had something to hide, where would he hide it? The most obvious place would be that file cabinet, but practicality told Torn not to look there. If there was anything in there, he wouldn't find it tonight. Better to save that as a last resort.

Where else? Torn glanced around the room, exhaling slowly. Well, there was the desk, but when he checked inside, it was completely empty. Weirdo.

Torn stopped. That was weird, now that he thought about it. Weirder than Veger normally was. Why would the guy keep his desk emptier than Daxter's skull?

Unless the lack of evidence was, in itself, evidence.

Torn stood up, suddenly inspired. He dashed out of the office and skidded into the kitchen. His eyes hit the recycling bin and, without any hesitation, he tipped it over. Various items spilled out onto the linoleum floor, but Torn didn't pay them any mind. He sorted through it and, at the very bottom of the pile, found something.

Papers.

They had stains on them from the trash, but he didn't care. Hell, he'd dug through worse.

The papers were handwritten, in handsome script, addressed to the barracks of the KG. Torn recognized the name: one of the Guards, a mid-level officer. The letter didn't seem to have much on it; there was just a series of letters and numbers, none of which made any sense to Torn. A password, maybe? Or a cypher? He flipped to another letter.

This one was addressed, not to Veger specifically, but to the Haven City Council's Headquarters, with no name.

Suspicious.

The second letter only had one word scrawled hastily across the paper:

Done.

Torn frowned at the word. What the hell did that even mean? What was done? He flipped to the next letter.

Another incomprensible string of characters, though this one looked more like a mathematical equation than anything. Torn ground his teeth as he read the response, which only said:

Need more no. Too much oh.

"What the actual fuck?" Torn muttered. The KG hadn't exactly been the brightest bunch; the Baron had been more concerned with their ability to hold a pulse for as long as they could, but this wasn't even a normal language.

He started to flip through the papers again, but his communicator beeped. "Giving you a heads up: the meeting's over. Veger's back in action." Ashelin's voice sounded tense, so much so that Torn almost asked what was wrong. "Whatever you're up to, I'd wrap it up."

"Got it. I'll meet you at the Naughty Ottsel in twenty minutes." Ashelin was silent, so Torn added, "You sound like you could use a drink."

She still didn't respond, but the communicator clicked off. Torn shoved the recycling back into the bin and folded the papers up into his pocket. With everything back in place, he flipped the light off and headed for the door.

He kept his hood up as he snuck back into the hall, the electronic lock clicking behind him. One elevator ride later, and he was back on the streets, safe in the anonymity of the crowd.

Torn brushed against his pocket as he headed toward Daxter's bar. He had no idea what this was, but he held out hope that it would help.

And if it didn't, well…

At least he could make fun of Veger's decor.

Just as the sun was going down, someone knocked on Antwon's apartment door. He swore loudly and picked up his cane. He still wasn't quite used to having a permanent injury like this. He'd always been one to walk quickly, to run places. Now he could only hobble.

He reached his door relatively quickly. He was getting better, he mused to himself. Six months did a body good. He half expected to see Ionna at the door, chastising him for holding his cane wrong or pushing himself too hard. But when he swung open the door, he was greeted by a surprising face. Or at least, half of one.

"Praxis." Antwon blinked in surprise. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Praxis nodded in greeting. "Antwon. The new lieutenant general. I must congratulate you on your promotion."

One that Antwon hadn't really wanted. But with Yasir gone and Praxis out of commission for a while, Damas had wanted someone to lead the troops. Antwon was next in command, the next logical choice.

"Thank you." He let Praxis in, awkwardly setting his cane aside. "And I suppose I should congratulate you on your recovery. You seem much better."

Praxis sat down at the kitchen table, while Antwon began to make coffee, trying not to stare. 'Better' was a strong word for what Praxis seemed. He'd had metal plates grafted onto his skin, so now instead of an eyepatch and bandages, it looked like scrap metal had been attached to his face.

Antwon poured two mugs and sat down. "I'm sure you didn't come all this way just to congratulate me," he said. "I will admit, I'm surprised to see you up and about."

Praxis took a deep drink. "Ah. Medical grade coffee is weak. I need to readjust to normal society."

Antwon took a sip from his own mug. "You also didn't come here just for the coffee," he commented. "What's going on?"

Praxis nodded in approval. "This is why I think you're a good leader, Antwon. Always courteous, but always straightforward. To the point." He took another drink and added, "At least Damas made one good choice recently, the damned fool."

"Damas means well," Antwon reminded him. "Say what you want about him, but he cares about the city. He's just…young. Rash. He'll get there."

"Hmph. Not quickly enough, if you ask me." Praxis drained the rest of his mug and leaned forward. "We need to do something about it, before he forces another tragedy upon us. The nest was...unjustifiable."

Antwon frowned. "I disagree. As you often say, this is war, and in war people die. Tragic as it was, as misguided as it was, Damas assaulting the nest was a choice made with good intentions."

Praxis scowled. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."

"And the road to heaven isn't?" Antwon shrugged. "Regardless of how we feel, Damas is the king. We can guide him and advise him, but we can't override him."

"...Perhaps we can." It was as if the very air had shifted. Praxis' tone had turned dark, scheming, and Antwon felt his stomach twist. Praxis leaned forward across the table. "There is the old saying, 'Might is right.' We have might, Antwon, the might of Haven City behind us!"

Antwon was quiet for a moment, so Praxis continued, taking his silence for agreement. "The citizens of Haven are already tired of Damas' rule. His troops have been betrayed by him. Their loyalty lies with me, with us, Antwon, with the Krimzon Guard! We could teach that childish fool a lesson he'll never forget!"

Antwon stood up abruptly, his cane gripped tightly. "Praxis," he said tersely, "why did you really come here?"

"He must be stopped." Praxis stood as well, all pretense of a friendly cup of coffee gone. "We have a duty, not to Damas, but to this city! If we continue to support Damas, we aid and abet the destruction of Haven itself. He will be the end of it, he will allow the metalheads to eliminate the last stronghold of humanity. We must stop him!"

Antwon began to walk across his apartment. "Are you finished?" he asked curtly. He opened his front door and stood in front of it. "That was a very passionate speech, Praxis, but passion is a poor substitute for integrity."

Praxis followed him, blustering. "You know I'm the one who is right!"

Antwon laughed bitterly. "Though we don't always see eye to eye, I have the utmost respect for you. You've saved my life on the battlefield countless times. I've always believed that you were a good man, a good soldier." He met Praxis' eyes, tilting his chin up haughtily. "You should leave before I start to believe something else."

Praxis sneered at him. "So, this is what it comes to. Damas is clinging to his crown, and his loyal lapdog stays at his feet."

Antwon gave a humorless chuckle. "Well, better to be a lapdog than a snake, I suppose." His expression sobered. "You're talking of treason, Praxis."

"You're a coward," Praxis growled. "A spineless fool."

"I am—!" Antwon cut himself off with a sigh. "I am the same man who went into that nest with you. And if that makes me a coward, then so be it." He gestured out the door with his cane. "I remain, as always, loyal to King Damas. Goodbye, Praxis."

Praxis' face twisted into a snarl. He headed out the door, but before Antwon could shut it, he said, "Ali will support me."

"And Ionna will not," Antwon responded matter-of-factly. "I believe that makes us evenly matched."

"It's a damned pity that Yasir isn't here to break the tie."

"A pity indeed." Antwon narrowed his eyes. "But then again, I think we both know which side he'd be on…don't we?"

With that, Antwon shut the door in Praxis' face, his heart hammering as he locked out the general of the Krimzon Guard.

The silence of the throne room was stifling and awkward once Sig left. Ionna still sat at the edge of the water pools, splashing water on her pale face, avoiding looking at Damas. For a moment, he stared at her, not sure what to do, before he finally sighed and sat beside her.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. He had to keep his hands clasped together to stop himself from fidgeting.

She dipped her hands into the water again. "I'm fine, Damas, just a bit tired. These visions always take it out of me."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant." She took her shaking hands out of the water and stared at them. "No, I'm not alright. He's out there somewhere, with metal heads and Dark Makers and marauders, and who knows what else."

Damas stretched his legs out on the steps by the water. He could not, he refused, to let his mind entertain the what-ifs of the situation. Mar was alive, and being kept away from his family, and that was all Damas needed to know. Until that changed, that was all he wanted to know.

But Ionna was more pessimistic. More realistic, sometimes. Right now, she saw nothing but danger. Damas wouldn't allow himself to see anything but hope.

"He'll be alright." Damas tried to keep his voice soothing and comforting. "Mar is a survivor."

Damas had always said that he wanted Mar to be safe. To be happy. His son shouldn't have to become a survivor. As if she could tell what he was thinking, Ionna looked up at him. "I suppose it's better than the alternative," she mused lightly.

They lapsed into silence again, both looking into the water. Their reflections were distorted, warped by the ripples. After a few minutes, Damas said, "Do you think I should have sent Sig out?"

"I don't know." Her voice was honest, if conflicted. "I'd be lying if I said no. Sig's no pushover, I'm sure he'd be fine. But…"

Damas waited patiently. He'd always been good at this: giving Ionna the space to sort her thoughts into words. Finally, she continued, "It's no use putting Sig into danger for a maybe. We don't even know where Mar is. The desert is a big place."

"And Mar is being cared for," Damas added. "He is safe, for now at least."

Ionna didn't say anything, but she didn't need to. They were both thinking the same thing: safe was different than home, and home is where he needed to be.

To his surprise, Ionna suddenly leaned against him, her head pressed against his arm. She sighed heavily. "I'm tired," she murmured , so softly that Damas barely heard her. He awkwardly patted her knee.

"Me too," he told her. "Me too."

"Keep up, cherries, 'cause I ain't slowin' down."

Jak quickened his pace, Daxter bouncing as he jogged. He wasn't used to seeing Sig, usually laid-back and easy, moving with this kind of urgency. The man had come into the infirmary and, as soon as they finished cleaning, had hustled them out into the city.

Jak and Daxter had both asked, repeatedly, what the hell was going on, but the only thing Sig said was, "Just follow me, and don't ask questions."

"So, uh, what are we doin'?" Daxter asked, clinging to Jak's shoulder. "What's happening, big guy?"

"Well, that's a question, isn't it?" Sig led them through the bazaar, dodging and weaving around browsing Wastelanders. "Just keep your mouth shut and worry about it later."

Jak didn't look particularly pleased with that direction. It must have shown on his face, because Sig continued, his voice less urgent and more calm.

"Listen, cherries," he said, "there are some things that Damas keeps close to his chest. You two are alright, good friends who'll watch my back in the thick of it. I trust you, but this isn't about trust."

"Then what's it about?" Jak asked darkly.

"...Look, I don't go around tellin' everybody about what the Baron did to you, do I?" Sig eyed Jak cautiously. It was a touchy subject, he knew, but it was the best way to make Jak understand. "I won't go around tellin' Damas' business, either."

Jak was quiet for a moment, then he nodded, steel in his blue eyes. "Alright. What do you need us to do?"

Sig grinned broadly at them both and took them up a stairway to an unassuming house. "Just watch my back, like you always do."

Sig opened the door to the house and they followed him in. It was warm inside, almost stiflingly so, and it smelled like raw fire and coal. Jak was reminded of the Red Sage's hut, in the volcano, a lifetime ago. Sig glanced around, then called out.

"Mama? You awake, Mama?"

"Of course I'm awake," a voice called from another room. "It's not even sundown. I'm in the workshop, come on back."

Sig led the way through a cozy kitchen. Jak liked how it was set up: a cooking pot against the wall, a tiny wooden table with two chairs, a colorful clay pitcher nestled beside the water basin. It gave him a sense of nostalgia, a homey feeling that seemed to sooth him.

They walked into the back room, which was about ten times hotter than hell itself, by Jak's approximation. He was sweating after just a few seconds in there, and had no idea how Sig was walking around with his armor still on. They walked to a forge, where a woman was working with molten metal.

Sig's mother was so unlike Sig himself that Jak almost rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing her right. She was tiny, for starters, only coming up a bit past Sig's elbow. Still, as she set down her tools, there was something in the way she moved that made Jak think this was a woman he did not want to cross.

Her hair was braided in dozens of thin braids, colorful ribbons woven through them. The braids were tied up, but as she stepped away from the forge, she pulled them down. "What trouble did you get into now?" she asked Sig. He grinned sheepishly at her.

"You always say that," he replied. She, thankfully, led them back out into the front room, where it was comparatively cooler. "How come you think I'm gettin' into trouble?"

"Boys only come to their mamas when they've gotten themselves into some kind of trouble." Her eyes, a mirror image of Sig's good green one, fell on Jak and Daxter. "These those city boys you were telling me about?"

"Yeah, Mama. This is Jak and Daxter." He gestured to each of them in turn. "Guys, this is my mama, Zy'air."

She nodded at both of them in greeting. To Sig, she said, "You still haven't answered me, cherry. What are you doin' here?"

"Damas has us lookin' for something, and we think some Nomads might know where it is." Sig folded his arms over his broad chest. "You happen to remember where they settled down at?"

Zy'air frowned. "I thought Damas said no one was headin' out into the Wasteland. Too dangerous is what they're saying."

"That's why I'm takin' Jak and Daxter," Sig told her. "They're gonna watch my back out there."

She gave them a once over and nodded approvingly. "...Good. Don't go out there alone."

Daxter opened his mouth to ask something, but Jak nudged his shoulder and gave him a look. Stay quiet, it said. So Daxter shut his mouth and grumpily leaned against Jak's head.

"I don't like you goin' out there at all," Zy'air continued, walking to the table. "You hear about those monsters?"

"It's important," Sig told her. "Really important. Trust me, Mama, I'll be careful, but I gotta get it done."

Zy'air eyed him sternly for a moment, then gave a weary sigh. "Get your map out, baby. I'll mark them down."

Sig grinned broadly at her. "You're the best, Mama."

With the map on the kitchen table, Zy'air started marking X's around the Wasteland. "No promises," she added. "It's been years since I've visited the Nomads. They might have new settlements nowadays."

When she had about a dozen X's marked, she stood back and nodded. "There we go. I'd start with this one," she pointed at the most eastern mark. "Dessa lived down there. She's got a good pulse on the Wasteland, so if you find her, you might find whatever Damas needs."

Sig rolled up the map. "Thanks, Mama." He kissed her forehead. Daxter stifled a snicker and cleared his throat to cover it. "I really appreciate it."