Chapter 40! Geez, I can't believe this fic has gone on this long. Thanks for all the support!

It was time.

With the Heir of Mar missing and General Praxis proclaiming himself the new ruler, It was time for the Precursor monks to leave Haven City. To start anew.

Onin watched Ionna and Seem stare out over the dimming lights of the city, feeling a bittersweet sense of loss settling in her chest.

These were her children. Regardless of blood or powers, she had raised them as her own. She had rocked Seem when she was just a baby, she had squeezed Ionna's hand as they bustled through the city. She had scolded them when they explored the Mountain Temple without permission, praised them when they excelled in their studies. She had taught them, raised them, loved them.

And now they were leaving, grown into the roles time had made for them. She could see, clearly, what sort of troubles awaited them. In her mind's eye, Onin saw the tears and anger, the hurt and betrayal.

But she also saw the comfort and love they would have. The friends they would surround themselves with, the family they would make.

That was the price of happiness. A sadness that ran just as deep.

Ionna settled her arm around Seem's shoulders. "I'll miss this place," she soothed. "But it'll be alright, Seem. You'll see."

Seem was quiet, but her eyes reflected her feelings clearly.

Haven had not been kind to Seem. She showed it no kindness back. No doubt the younger sage hoped to carve a better life out in the stone of the desert.

Half the monks were leaving with Ionna and Seem; the other half, mostly older members, were remaining with Onin in Haven City. They would stay here to protect the temple, which would surely be one of Praxis' first targets.

Ionna turned to gather her pack for the journey. She glanced over at Onin and hesitantly went to her side. "Are you sure you won't be able to come with us?" she asked quietly. She took the old woman's hand in her own and squeezed it. "I could carry you, you know. It's not that far of a journey."

Onin squeezed her hand back. "No, child," she whispered hoarsely. "My place is here."

Ionna nodded solemnly as she let go. "Then…this is goodbye. For good."

"Perhaps." The future was a fickle thing. It changed in an instant, it was altered between breaths. "Perhaps not."

"Always vague, you are." Ionna made the sign of piety and bowed. "I don't know how I'm ever going to lead them."

You won't, Onin thought. Out loud, however, all she said was, "You will do what is needed. I have faith in you."

"...Stay safe here." Ionna slung her pack over her shoulder and sighed heavily. "I hate to leave you behind."

"Safe journey ahead." Onin gestured to Seem and the other monks, who were waiting. "Now go."

And she watched, one last time, as the girls she had raised walked through the threshold of the Mountain Temple. They walked, as young women, ready for what would come. They walked into the light of the morning sun.

And into the future.

The sandstorm passed over Spargus in two days. On the third morning, just as he had promised, Sig appeared at Jak and Daxter's doorway and told them they were heading out.

It was just before dawn, which meant they had both been asleep, and neither was keen on waking up. Sig, however, poked and prodded and shoved until they were driving across the desert, following the map Zy'air had marked.

By the time the sun was up, Jak was awake and on the gun, while Daxter curled in the shade beneath the dashboard. Sig took them to the first settlement, a group of people who'd set up camp in the ruins of an old city.

The Nomads, as Sig called them, were wildly different than Wastelanders.

"Nomads aren't fighters," he explained as they stopped the buggy. "If anything attacks, they run for safety. Stay out here and keep an eye out, will you?"

Which left Jak and Daxter to sit at the buggy and stare out at the desert.

"Ugh, this is so boring!" Daxter was hanging upside down on the roll bar of the buggy, making faces at the wildlife around them. It reminded Jak of the years they spent hanging from tree limbs. "We've been to four of these stupid Nomad places, and nothin'!"

Off in the distance, a few Marauders zoomed by. Jak aimed his blaster at them, making sure none came near. Daxter blew a raspberry at a kangarat and watched it scamper away in fear. "You know, when we find this kid, old Sand-Butt better give us a medal or something."

Jak glanced up at the sky. No clouds, just blue sky and sun. And, luckily, no Dark Makers. "If we find this kid," Jak said darkly. "Sig hasn't seen any sign of him. And the Wasteland's not exactly the safest place, you know?"

"At least we haven't seen any of those Dark Makers around," Daxter commented. "And I gotta tell ya, he's probably a lot safer out here than in Haven."

Jak had to admit, his friend was right. With Haven City being the mess that it was now, Damas' son was probably better off closer to home. Before he could respond, though, he was distracted by Sig's return. They waited expectantly.

"Well," Sig said grumpily, "that's all, folks."

Jak frowned. "No sign of him?"

"Nothin'." Sig climbed into the driver's seat. "Everyone I've talked to said they haven't seen any lost kid around."

Jak flipped his morph gun away. "Sorry," he said awkwardly. "Where to next?"

"We're heading back to the city now, but that doesn't mean I'm giving up. If I make another run at this, will you two help me out again?"

"Yeah." Jak hopped up onto the gun that was perched on the back. "Just come find us."

"You know we've always got your back, baby." Daxter clung to Jak's shoulder as he settled himself. "This kid doesn't stand a chance of not bein' found! You've got Orange Lightning on your side!"

"Thanks, both of you." Sig turned the engine over. "Alright, let's head home."

They started the journey back to Spargus, Jak jostling as the buggy went over dunes. He was keeping one eye on the sky for any more of the Dark Makers, but they were surprisingly absent. In fact, besides the occasional Marauder, their route was clear.

As they passed the river and got closer to Spargus, Jak spotted a Marauder buggy coming up to them. It wasn't very fast; he was actually pretty surprised, considering the Marauders usually valued speed over power.

Jak aimed the gun at the buggy, but stopped before he hit the trigger. He recognized that buggy, and it wasn't a Marauder. It had the spikes that Marauders liked, but it was built different. Bigger, sturdier, and by the time Jak realized it was the Slam Dozer, they were almost on top of each other.

"Shit." Sig's voice was grim as he turned the wheel slightly, so that the buggies weren't head-to-head anymore. "How pissed off does he look?"

Jak raised his head above the gun just in time to see Damas, glaring directly at him as they drove past each other. "Uh…"

"If looks could kill, we'd be buried." Daxter waved cheerfully at the king. "I wouldn't stop."

"Ah, hell." Sig slowed the buggy, while Damas' Slam Dozer came skidding to a stop. "Well, chili peppers, guess we better go face the music."

Damas didn't last long before he passed out.

The heat was intense, and he'd been dropped off in the morning, the coolest part of the day. It only got hotter as the hours passed, as the sun rose high and the clouds cleared. Soon the sand itself seemed to be reflecting the sunlight, burning Damas' skin as he walked.

He stayed in the shade when he could, but with the sun's movements, the shadows moved as well. Caves were often filled with metalheads, and without a weapon, Damas wasn't foolish enough to take them on. There were a few creatures scurrying about, and plenty of dry cacti, but nothing he could eat or drink.

There was no water. He hadn't expected there to be any.

The wind picked up as the day went on, the sand scouring against his skin. It almost felt as if he were being cleansed: the grit and dirt and filth from Haven's prison was stripped off of him, leaving nothing but raw skin beneath.

He lost track of himself by midday. It was as if his conciousness kept going in and out, until eventually he found himself lying on the ground with no idea how he'd gotten there and no desire to get back up. And then darkness fell over him, and he woke up in a different place entirely.

He blinked his eyes open, his back on something hard and clearly not sand. He tried to remember where he'd been last, where he was now, anything at all.

"Well, well," a voice mused from somewhere behind him. "Fancy seeing you here."

Damas' eyes refocused on the world around him. He was in a building, he thought, somewhere cooler and shaded from the sun. As he sat up and groaned, the voice continued, "I can't believe he didn't kill you."

"Antwon?" Damas' heart leapt into his throat and he spun around. "Antwon!"

The man was standing there, holding a rough-hewn staff instead of his cane, a grim and twisted smile on his face. Damas was on his feet in seconds, which was a mistake, because he immediately felt dizzy. Antwon grabbed his shoulders as he stumbled.

"Hey, can someone get some water, please?" he called out, and Damas realized there were others around them.

A lot of others.

Soldiers and citizens he'd seen in the prison, people who had been captured by Praxis during the coup, who he'd thought dead, were standing around him. They were sunburnt, and definitely looked worse for wear, but they were alive.

"I'll be damned," Damas muttered deliriously. "He kept his word."

Antwon led Damas back to a sitting position, patting his back. Someone came forward with a clay cistern full of water, and Damas was so thirsty that he didn't even say anything before drinking. He felt his stomach heave as he drank, and Antwon yanked it away from him.

"Hey, hey, don't forget your first aid, soldier! Small sips." Antwon placed the cistern to his lips again and let him take small drinks. "There we go. No reason to make yourself sick."

When Damas had finished drinking, he exhaled shakily. "Thank you."

Did he really sound as weak as he felt? Every word, every movement, every breath seemed to take a herculean effort. However, no one around him noticed.

Antwon sat down next to him with a thump. "Let me tell you," he said, his voice light, "everyone here thought you'd be dead by now. Well, everyone except for Ionna. But you know how she is."

"Ionna?" Damas sat up a little straighter. "She's here?"

"Yep. She and some of the other monks apparently left Haven and came out here to wait for us." He leaned back on his palms. "Onin told them to search, so they searched. Took us up here, nursed us back to health."

"...Where are we?" Damas asked, looking around for the first time. The building they were in was huge, he realized, made of stone and bricks. There were strange-looking idols and Precursor imagery carved into the walls. The strangest thing of all, he noticed, was the Seal of Mar that featured so prominently in the decor.

"Another temple. Ionna said it's older than the one in Haven, but I don't know if that's true. Sounds a bit far-fetched to me." Antwon stood up and held out his hand. "Come on. She'll be happy to see you, she's been worried since they brought you in."

Antwon helped Damas up. The world spun for a moment, but his vision righted itself quickly. He gripped Antwon's hand to keep himself steady.

"Careful," the man warned. "The last thing we need is for you to take a tumble."

Antwon led him down a winding hallway made of stone. Thankfully, there were no stairs, because Damas was worried he might actually go falling down them if he tried. He could hardly walk straight.

"Damas!" He heard her shout before he saw her, and before he could register that she was in front of him, she had slammed into his midriff. He staggered back, but Antwon had his hand on his back to steady him. "You're alright!"

"Hi, Ionna," he gasped, trying to pry her arms from around his chest. "Can you loosen up a bit? I can't breathe."

She did so, stepping back and exhaling with relief. "You certainly took your time getting here! We've all been out here for almost a month waiting for you!"

"I was imprisoned!"

"No excuses."

He rolled his eyes. "My apologies, next time I'll tell Praxis to get a move on."

There was a beat of silence, and then they both grinned at each other. Ionna laughed and said, "Come on, let me show you around."

The Monk Temple was a huge, expansive building, just like the one in Haven City. It was older than that one, Ionna explained, and it seemed as if it had been used for the first monks when they formed the order. At least, that's what she thought.

"A lot of the artifacts here were lost to time," she said. "Supposedly, these things were left behind outside the shield wall when everyone took refuge in Haven City."

Although the artifacts were fascinating, it was the maps that interested Damas the most. Maps of the catacombs, of the subrails and technology and robots that were lurking beneath the city. Maps of the Wasteland itself, that showed what had once been here.

Old, dilapidated ruins of ancient cities dotted the desert. It was sort of like looking at an old graveyard: there were skeletons everywhere, the remains scattered, but nothing left of the original being.

"We're going to have to find somewhere else to go eventually," Damas told Ionna one day, weeks after he'd arrived. He'd been bored, so she set him to work in a makeshift infirmary. He had a calling from the Precursors, she told him, and that calling was reaching things on the top shelf. He was currently putting away jars of medicines and herbal remedies.

"We can house people for now," he continued, "but the temple isn't set up for long-term living. The garden can feed a dozen people, but we're almost up to one hundred. This isn't sustainable."

Ionna was grinding clove into a fine dust. She swirled it before dumping it into a glass jar and tossing it to Damas. "Hmm, you're not wrong, but it's all we have right now. Unless you plan to go back to Haven City?"

Damas made a face. "Hell no. They banished me. Do you really think I'd have a chance to survive in Haven, with Praxis doing…whatever he's doing right now?"

"I suppose not." She shrugged. "Well, what's your solution, then?"

Clearly, Damas had been waiting for her to ask. He pulled out his pack and spread a map out on the counter, ignoring her protests as he slid her tools to the sides. The map was ancient, so old that the paper was thin and torn on the edges.

"There are some ruins around the desert," he explained. "I matched them up to old maps I found, and figured out what they used to be."

He pointed to the map. "These three were villages, before the metal heads got to them. We could build one of them into a proper city."

Ionna cocked her head. "That's a lot of work."

"So? What, do we have to go to school on Monday morning?" Ionna bit her lip to hide her snicker and Damas grinned. "We have plenty of people to help build. And we're not starting from nothing."

She examined the map. "This one is near the river that runs through the Wasteland," she mused. "Access to fresh water, plus it's close to the temple itself."

"But it's very exposed," he replied. "No protection from metal heads or the elements. We'd have to build something to keep everything out, and I'm not sure we have the resources for a shield wall."

Ionna hummed to herself. "Let me see." She nudged him out of the way with her hip and leaned over the map. Her thin fingers moved along it fluidly, until finally she tapped it. "Just as I thought. This is your best bet, if you're looking to rebuild."

Damas looked at the spot she pointed to. "It's the furthest from the temple," he commented. "All the way on the other side of the desert."

"But," she explained patiently, "it has a light eco vent."

Damas' eyes widened. "I thought the only light eco left was beneath the palace," he said.

"Well, there was an entire lake of it in the Mountain Temple in Haven." Ionna folded her arms and tapped her chin. "That's where all the eco vents were fed from. There's a reservoir of it at this temple, too, and it would appear…" She indicated a line that went from the temple to the city on the other end of the island. "...that it feeds another vent."

Damas considered the spot. "It's got natural protection," he remarked. "We might not even need a shield wall there. Mountains and cliffs around it. And it's on the ocean. Not much fresh water, but we can probably make some kind of filtering system."

"I'm sure it has a rainwater cistern," Ionna said. "The temple has one, too."

"I feel like Mar." Damas felt the hum of excitement in his blood. "We could do this. Haven might not be our home anymore, but we can make a new home."

"Well, it sounds like you've got your work cut out for you." Ionna waved her hands for him to clear off her counter. "What's the name of your new city, King Damas, heir of Mar?"

She said it in a teasing tone, but Damas just rolled his eyes. He glanced at the faded writing that was on the map, an old-fashioned script, but a modern language.

"Spargus," he sounded out. He beamed at Ionna. "I kind of like it."