The arena in Jak 3 is weird. It's just...it's a bad business strategy. If you're a scrappy king trying to survive, you don't make citizens go through murder pit tests. Do you want a revolution? Because that's how you get a revolution.

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 remember 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.