As usual, I got carried away with this chapter. I had to cut it in half, so expect more of that sweet, sweet Dadmas soon.

I hope everyone is doing okay! Stay safe out there, wherever you are.

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."