They stood, heads leaning against one another, gazing over the room from the vantage point that the door stood at. A grand stair case descended before them, and a pair of heavy footfalls were to be heard, echoing about the room as the taller of them walked down to the centre.

There, proud in its ancient glory, stood the last and greatest legacy of a long dead people. A small urn, no taller than a man's hand, sat on the polished stone. Archaic letters were carved around the widest point and a fierce white light streamed from beneath the tightly sealed lid, almost pulsing through the fine metal where the etching had been done.

Together, they stared at this tiny jar, then looked to one another.

In that jar was salvation for both.

"It was real. The old fool was right, it's real."

The taller said nothing, merely nodded once, eyes riveted on their prize.

The smaller leapt from his companion's shoulder and landed gracefully on the pedestal, slinking around the urn, for once not touching, merely staring. "It is real, ain't it, Jak? Pinch me, I think I might be dreaming."

Jak ignored the request for a pinch, knowing that he'd be bitched at the moment he actually did it. "It's real, Dax. Light eco, refined from the essence of green, blue, red and yellow eco." He forced himself to blink.

"Open it Jak, I'm too nervous to even try, anyway, knowing my fabulous luck I'd end up dropping it. You open it."

He nodded and reached out, closing one hand about the jar and the other on the lid. He gently twisted and a smell of sunshine and grass filled his nose as the seal gave under his fingers.

Almost numb, he pulled the lid off and light streamed outwards, blinding for a few seconds until they grew used to the brightness.

White, dancing with yellows and greens, the palest flicker of a blue dancing next to a bolt of pink and it was gone again, swallowed by the light.

"It's so pretty, Jak. Have you ever seen anything so pretty?"

Swallowing, Jak shook his head. "No, Dax. Never."

He looked down into the jar and sighed, almost silently. "This is it."

"Two years of agony and hate." Daxter's whisper sounded like someone else entirely. "Two years of never knowing when it'll get too much and the Dark eco is going to rip its way out again."

Jak nodded. "Four years since Misty Island. Four years of fur and being kicked and being stepped on and hiding on my shoulder. Four years with no pants." The last was definitely teasing.

"God I miss pants." Daxter agreed. "Stop drawing it out and get on with it. The suspense is killing me."

Jak nodded and picked up the urn, turning it in his hands. "How much did she say we would need?"

"As much as would fit in your cupped hands. Each."

Jak's hands trembled for a second and whilst he thought he betrayed nothing, Daxter's voice suddenly rose in sharp alarm. "Jak? What's wrong?"

Staring into the urn, Jak could clearly see the problem. The amount in the jar would fill his cupped hands, once and no more.

There was only enough salvation for one of them.