Listen, the only way I will accept a live-action version of Jak and Daxter is if Gol is played by Dee Snider himself.

(Haha, just kidding, I'd definitely watch any JND content that comes out. I love my babies too much.)

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."