Surprise! It hasn't even been a week.
This chapter is a bit shorter than the other ones, but I promise, good stuff is coming up. Happy reading!
Something had shifted.
Onin slowly lifted her head. She couldn't see the bright lights of the Freedom HQ, but she could hear the buzzing of them. Somewhere in the center of the room, Torn and Samos were having a tense conversation.
She straightened her back. Pecker was dozing nearby, no doubt enjoying his time back in Haven City. That was fine. Onin didn't need him right now.
She reached out slowly and gripped an iron bar on the wall. Her fingers, thin with skin clinging to the bones, wrapped around it and she pulled herself up. She could barely walk anymore.
But barely was enough.
By the time Samos and Torn noticed her movements, Onin was already on her feet. The steel floor was cold against her bare skin. She shuffled past them at a snail's pace.
"What the hell…?" Torn's voice trailed off, unsure of how to handle this. "Where's she going?"
"Onin? Onin, do you need something?" Samos hovered over her, anxious and concerned. "Onin?"
She ignored them both. With careful steps, she made her way to the elevator. Samos clicked his staff on the floor.
"Is it a vision?!" he asked, alarmed. "Have you seen something? Quick, Torn, go find that useless bird!"
She kept walking, right past Samos, into the elevator. Samos called her name as the doors closed. It came to life and began its descent, the wind rushing past her ears. And when it opened, she found herself in Haven City.
There were the sounds of battle, but Onin paid it no mind. Enemies never bothered her; something about her powers kept her safe. She skirted around metal heads, slowly but surely making her way through New Haven.
Onin was not a sage. There had been no Awakening, no moment where her powers came to her. She had always seen visions, ever since her childhood. Visions of the past and present and future. Visions of other times, of loops and changes, of all the outcomes.
Recently, the future had become murky. Uncertain. And just now, in the Freedom HQ, she'd felt it shatter.
There was no future. Whatever had happened, it had changed something so dramatically, that she did not know what was next.
She stopped in front of a generic building. Once, not so long ago, it had been a little shack that she had set up. Filled with candles and tapestries and ancient artifacts.
That building had been demolished. There was a new building, a storage that Ashelin had ordered built. The room held a variety of objects: guns and broken vehicle parts, stacks of boxes filled with papers, dozens of old red Krimzon Guard armor. Relics of the past.
In the center was the Precursor statue, its eyes still glowing, still ready if needed.
Onin entered, careful as she made her way. She sat down in front of the idol and put her hands together, making a sign of piety.
"Greetings, seer." Its voice was somehow both booming and soft. "You are here searching for answers."
Yes, Onin thought. Answers.
"You are afraid," it continued. "You fear that the world is lost. You can no longer see the timeline, so you fear it will be over."
The oracle's voice was calming and deep, a salve over her fear and anxiety. She sat, stock-still, waiting for the answer.
"Do not fear, seer," the oracle said. "You have done well to ensure that this world survives. Now, you have only one last task."
Onin waited patiently, obedient. She would do whatever was required.
"Trust in your hero." The statue's words rang in her ears. "His choices will be what decides the fate of this planet. If you have truly done your duty, and have prepared him for his role, he will make the correct choices."
A beat of silence, then it spoke again.
"When the time comes, you will feel that something is wrong. You will warn your hero, though he may not listen. You must believe that he will save you. If you trust him, he will."
She waited until the statue's power had faded. For a moment, in the calm darkness, she considered their words.
Trust. In the hero. Trust in Jak.
She could do that.
The fact that Daxter was quiet was unnerving, Sig thought.
He was used to the ottsel chattering nonstop, shrieking and shouting and bragging. To hear none of that as Daxter sat in the passenger's seat was…
Well, Sig didn't like it one bit.
"Damas ain't that mad," Sig assured him awkwardly. "You saw him after the arena thing. All bark and no bite with this kinda stuff."
Daxter folded his arms. "Yeah, well, he shouldn't have yelled at Jak! Unlike you and me, Jak's sensitive."
Sig snorted. "Sensitive, huh? Last thing I'd ever call Jak."
"It's true!" he insisted. "Listen, you didn't know Jak when he was a kid, but we've been best friends since forever. He's used to bein' everybody's golden boy."
Sig raised an eyebrow at that. Daxter couldn't be talking about Jak, the kid who ignored Torn's orders just to see if he'd have a rage stroke. The same Jak who gave Krew nothing but sarcasm and sass? Jak, who had rolled his eyes at every authority figure in a fifty mile radius, was not anyone's golden anything.
Daxter must have sensed what he was thinking, because he said, "You just don't know him like I do. When we were kids, we used to live in this little village called Sandover."
"Never heard of it," Sig grunted.
"Yeah, I know," Daxter said breezily. "Anyway, Jak was always helpin' everybody and their grandmother there. The farmer needed his roof fixed one time, and bam! Jak's up on the roof with a nails in his mouth. That crazy bird lady wanted to catch a baby bird she saw hangin' around the jungle? Jak's right there, chasing after our feathered menace. Samos needed anything, literally anything?! Better call up Jak!" Daxter huffed and slumped back on the seat. "Then he gets shoved in a prison cell, and suddenly he's different. Everyone still needs him to do stuff, but it's not like it used to be. He's different, he's changed, he's damaged."
"I don't think that," Sig said quickly.
"Yeah, but Jak does," Daxter explained. "And he doesn't like bein' that way. Never has." Daxter eyed Sig warily. "...Mind if I tell you a story, Sig buddy?"
"I mean, does it matter if I say no?" Sig asked teasingly. "I've never known you to stop tellin' stories."
Daxter rolled his eyes. "So, you know, I wasn't always a furry little stud like I am today. I used to be human, just like everyone else."
"Huh." Sig tilted his head. "Didn't know that."
"No one does. Well, Tessie does, but I don't really tell everyone I meet." Daxter shrugged. "Doesn't come up much. Anyway, I used to be human. Taller than you, and twice as built! But then Jak and I went to this creepy little island, and then I fell into some of the dark stuff, and now I look like…well, this," he said, gesturing to himself.
Something clicked in Sig's mind. "It was Jak's idea, wasn't it?" he said slowly. "To go there. That's why what Damas was sayin', about Jak putting you in danger…that's what upset him."
"It was an accident!" Daxter burst out. "Jak didn't mean to do it, we didn't know what was there! And Jak felt so bad, he went all over the damn world to find a fix! I'll bet if you told him today there was a way to change me back, he'd fight through a whole arena full o' Dark Makers to find it."
Sig didn't doubt it. If there was one thing he knew about Jak, it was how much he valued his friends. The arena was proof of that.
Now that he thought about it, it made sense. Explained why Jak always seemed to glow like a skull gem anytime Damas complimented him.
And why he freaked out whenever Damas reprimanded him.
Out loud, however, Sig just said, "So, you were human, huh? Bet you looked like a skinny version of Krew."
"Ugh!" Daxter clutched his heart dramatically. "And here I thought we were friends, Sig! I was gorgeous! I couldn't keep the ladies offa me! Of course, I still can't."
"Must be your charm." Sig rolled into the garage of Spargus. "Or all that fuzz."
"Hey, you'd get chicks too if you grew a beard." Daxter hopped up onto Sig's shoulder as he got out of the buggy. "You, uh, think those two'll be okay out there by themselves?"
Sig glanced out at the desert. "They'll be fine," he said.
Silence for a second. Then, Daxter added, "We better wait for 'em, just to be sure."
"You got it, Daxter. We'll wait for them."
Damas caught up to Jak at one of the oases. It was close to the city wall, a place where parents would take their children out sometimes. A good destination for a first trip into the desert.
He'd never taken Mar out here. A shame, but his son had been too young to go into the desert. The rule of thumb, as Sig always said, was that if you couldn't fire a gun, you stayed in the city.
Jak was sitting at the edge of the water, his arms resting on his knees, his head in his hands. Damas came up and sat quietly beside him. Jak didn't lift his head, but he saw the boy's ears twitch; Jak knew that Damas was there.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Jak finally lifted his head. He stared out over the water, almost as if he wanted it to swallow him up.
Damas frowned. "Jak. Look at me."
Jak was still resolutely staring at the water, unwilling to turn his head. Damas followed his gaze and stared at the oasis, letting silence fall over them. A few moments passed before he finally spoke.
"When my son was first learning to walk," he said quietly, "he loved to look out at the ocean."
Jak's eyes flickered to Damas for a moment, but he kept his head towards the water. Damas continued, his voice heavy and serious.
"It was the waves, I think, that he loved to watch. I used to take him to the shore near the turret and we'd watch the water together. He was never allowed in the water without me. He was too young then, too little." Damas gave a soft, fond laugh. "He was…always moving. I would turn my back for just a moment, and suddenly he would be halfway across the city."
Without Daxter on his shoulder, Jak seemed even less inclined to speak. Damas gave him a moment, just to see if the boy would respond. When he didn't, Damas kept talking, filling the silence.
"One day, I took him for a walk to the shore. Someone stopped to speak with me, and when I turned back, he was gone. He'd run straight for the water, and before I knew it, he was waist-deep."
"...Sea monster," Jak grunted, still avoiding Damas' gaze. He didn't complete the sentence or thought, but it was something, Damas thought wryly.
"One of the many reasons I didn't let him in the ocean. I ran for him, practically dove into the sea myself. I grabbed his arm and pulled him back, and…" Damas closed his eyes. "Well. As I said, he was little. I was not. I must have pulled him too hard and twisted his arm. I…broke it."
Almost reflexively, Jak grabbed his own forearm and winced. He was still listening, though, Damas could tell. "Ionna healed him and he was fine, physically at least. But for almost two weeks, he was terrified to wander too far from my side. And he refused to go near the shore."
"Not your fault," Jak said quietly.
Damas raised an eyebrow. "That's very kind of you to say, but it was. My job was to keep my son safe, and instead I caused him pain. Unintentionally, yes, but pain nonetheless."
Finally, finally, Jak spoke a complete sentence. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked.
Damas sighed. "Because I want you to understand. My anger isn't just because you disobeyed me."
"...It's not?"
Damas almost laughed. "Jak, disobedience is practically baked into Wastelanders' skin. It's the reason we're all out here in the desert. If I got upset every time someone disobeyed some small order, I would spend my entire life upset. The truth is…I was worried, Jak. Worried that something would happen to you and Daxter, and in the process of trying to pull you back to safety, I unintentionally caused you harm."
"It's not your fault," Jak repeated. "I'm the one who broke the rules, I should've listened." He put his head in his hands. "I always do this…"
Damas didn't pry into what Jak meant by that. It wasn't important right now. Instead, he just said, "Jak. Look at me."
Jak lifted his head, but didn't meet Damas' eyes. He reached over and pressed two fingers to the boy's jaw, forcing him to turn his head. "Look at me."
Jak's eyes finally met Damas', and suddenly the king was thrown back in time. Wide blue eyes, full of anguish and confusion and hurt. He could still hear the echo of the bone snapping, the way Mar wailed in pain, the thudding of his own heart as he realized what he'd done.
And without thinking, Damas pulled Jak into a hug.
The boy stiffened in his arms, unsure of how to react. Damas patted his back and settled his chin on Jak's shoulder. "You're not a bad person, no more than I am," he said in a low voice. "Please forgive me my mistakes, but before you do that, forgive yourself."
Jak relaxed and awkwardly set his hands on Damas' back. "...I'm sorry, too," he said. His voice was muffled; he seemed to have pressed his face against Damas' shoulder. "You were right about the thing with Daxter. I'm always screwing things up and that's why he's…"
Jak trailed off, but Damas just kept holding him like a child. It felt strange, and almost nostalgic, to comfort someone like this.
Had it really been so long? He still seemed to have a knack for it.
After a moment or so, Damas let go, a bit reluctantly. "Now," he said firmly, "are you ready to go?"
Jak looked down and flexed his hands. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I just…don't like being reminded of all of my screw ups. Are you sure you're not mad?"
"No. A mistake is a mistake." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Believe me, I've made my fair share of them. Some of them were even my fault."
Jak finally smiled, the tension on his face gone. Damas returned a smile and stood up, holding his hand out. Jak took it and pulled himself up.
"Come on." Damas put a hand on Jak's back and gestured to the entrance to Spargus. "Let's head back, before Daxter burns down the city in our absence."
Jak folded his arms, the grin still on his face. "I'll bet he threatened you to get you to go after me, didn't he?"
"With a fate worse than death." Jak laughed, and Damas squeezed his shoulder before letting go.
They walked together, towards Spargus. Towards home.
In Spargus, with no warning, Ionna's hands began to shake uncontrollably.
"Dammit." She set the bottle of medicine she had been working on aside. The last thing she needed was to have to clean up a mess.
Of course, she thought, eyeing the rattling bottles of light eco, it looked as if she might have to do so anyway.
She had such a love-hate relationship with her visions. On one hand, she hated the feeling of being pulled into someone else's head, into their feelings, into their being.
But the visions were ultimately good. The visions were a sign of life.
You couldn't have visions of dead children.
Before she could think any more about it, there was a bright flash of light, and she collapsed onto the floor.
