Ah, yes, if it isn't me, the one who disappeared for a month and a half. Sorry, I moved into a new place and didn't get my internet set up yet. In fact, I still don't, I'm using a mobile hotspot at the moment.

Anyway, somewhere in between my break, this fic celebrated its fourth birthday! Whoo! I can't believe it's been 4 years. A whole pandemic has happened since then! And how about them murder hornets? Remember them? Crazy.

Thank you to everyone who reads and supports this fic! I've really started to fall back in love with both this video game series and writing in general. Love you all!


"There they are! All in one piece, just like I told ya, Sig!"

Jak grinned as he walked into Spargus, Damas beside him. "You weren't worried about us, eh, Dax?"

"Puh-lease!" Daxter took a flying leap off Sig's shoulder onto Jak's. "You're a big boy, I trust ya. It was the old man over there I was worried about." He dropped his voice to a stage-whisper. "You never know, one fall and he's got a broken hip."

While Jak and Sig tried to hide their snickers, Damas led them into the city. "If you're done mocking me," he said, "let's go. I had tasks to do before you two got into trouble. Now, I suppose, you get to spend the rest of the day helping me catch up."

Daxter groaned. "Oh, no, more work!"

Damas continued walking, leading them all towards the palace. "There is inventorying to be done," he stated. "Plenty of spare weapons and armor that need to be tested and counted. It's important, but boring work." He gave them both a smirk. "Admittedly, I was not looking forward to it. It's a good thing you're here to do it instead."

Daxter wailed into Jak's hair, while Sig chuckled. "Better or worse than havin' to go clear out metal heads?"

Jak said, "Worse," at the exact time Daxter said, "Better." Damas gave a bark of laughter as they stepped onto the elevator.

"It won't take that long," he assured them. "All four of us will work on it together."

"Who's us?!" Sig quickly protested. "I didn't go trapsin' around in the desert!"

"Consider it punishment from your mother," Damas said, "for something you've gotten away with."

Sig groaned as they stepped out into the throne room. Damas and Sig first, then Jak and Daxter behind them.

Damas stopped so abruptly that Jak almost ran into him. Sig had frozen in place, too, all traces of humor gone from his face. Unsure what was going on, Jak peered over the king's shoulder.

Ionna was sitting on the stone steps, splashing water in her face. Her boots were off and her bare feet were in the water. She looked up at Damas when he entered the throne room, but didn't speak.

There was a frightening stillness in the room. Finally, Damas said, rather quietly, "Ionna?"

"I'm fine, Damas." Her voice was tired and strained. As he looked closer, Jak could see that she was paler than normal, and her hands were trembling so hard it was making the water ripple. He quickly moved so that he could see her clearly.

"You don't look fine!" Daxter said indignantly. "You look like crap!"

Damas glared at him, but Jak quickly said, "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"Jak." Ionna gave him a weary smile. "I left the infirmary quite suddenly. Would you and Daxter mind going to make sure I didn't leave a mess behind? I would appreciate it."

"Wait, what happened?" Jak looked between her and Damas, then to Sig, who simply shook his head. "Why did you have to leave in a hurry?"

The three older Wastelanders gave each other a look. Finally, Ionna said, "Jak. Please?"

Jak wanted to argue, but he frowned instead. "Yeah. Sure. Dax can stay here, in case you need anything."

"Both of you." Damas' voice was stern and commanding. He was still watching Ionna. "Consider it a mission."

"Ugh, I hate cleaning," Daxter said. "You remember how many times I had to clean the hut for Green 'n Gross? Blech."

There was still a tension in the air, despite Daxter's attempt at a joke. Jak slowly went back to the elevator. Ionna nodded tiredly.

"Thank you both. It's greatly appreciated." She winced and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Ugh."

As the elevator shook to life and took them down, the last thing Jak saw was the three of them, all watching to make sure he left.


It was hard, to watch a king crumble.

In the months after the attack on the nest, Damas seemed like a completely different person. Reclusive and quiet, he'd spend hours in the throne room just staring out at the city. Ionna sometimes tried to talk with him, but he only gave short, simple answers.

Even worse, he'd become cautious. Too cautious. The metal heads had become emboldened by their victory at the nest, and now they were attacking outposts with alarming regularity.

But Damas seemed almost…afraid to chase them out. He ordered the troops to focus on defense, which only extended the battles. No matter how much Ionna tried to convince him that he shouldn't be afraid, that a mistake was a mistake, he always ordered defensive strategies.

"It's something he has to work through on his own, Ionna." Antwon winced as he stumbled a bit, gripping her arm tighter. "You can't force it."

Antwon had made a remarkable recovery in the time since his injury. For a man who had almost lost his leg, he was walking fairly steadily. He'd asked Ionna to help him with his recovery, claiming that every other medic was too soft on him.

Still, the injury would never totally heal.

"I know," she said, sighing, "but he just…it's like he's lost." She glanced down at his feet. "Don't put so much weight on it. That's what you'll have the cane for, to support your weight instead."

"Easier said than done," Antwon replied dryly. "Look, Damas has to come to terms with a very harsh reality. He's realizing that reckless choices come at a steep cost. He'll be fine, but it will take time."

He grabbed Ionna's shoulder to steady himself. She held his hand and watched as his face twisted in pain. "Antwon, are you alright?"

"Fine," he said, his voice strained. "Just…get this flair up every once in a while." He smiled at her worried face. "Ionna, it's nothing to be concerned about."

He picked up his cane and started to limp over to his couch. He crashed onto it with a grunt and gestured for her to sit beside him. There was a brief moment of silence, not tense but not comfortable, before Ionna broke it.

"How's Praxis doing?" she asked stiltedly. "I heard he had his last surgery the other day."

"He's alright." Antwon stretched his arms above his head. "They put metal plates all over his face. You'd probably barely recognize him anymore."

Ionna fidgeted with her thumbs. "I heard he's still angry with Damas," she added quietly.

Everyone was still angry at Damas, to an extent. Ali spent their meetings stone-faced and silent, giving nothing back to the king he so despised. There were a lot of hateful glares shot the king's way whenever he addressed the troops, whispers behind his back. Even those advisors who worked outside of the military seemed to avoid interacting with Damas unless they absolutely needed to.

Antwon frowned. "...Honestly, I don't know. We don't talk about Damas when I go to visit him. It's mostly just…our recoveries, how the soldiers are doing. He had me send a gift to Yasir's mother, since he couldn't make the funeral."

Ionna winced. She'd been in the Temple during the funerals for the soldiers, recovering from her own injuries. "I should probably send something to her."

"Don't worry about it." Antwon's voice was soft and kind. "Ionna, you are the entire reason her younger son is alive. That's gift enough."

Ionna folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. "...It doesn't feel like it's enough," she replied in a low voice. "I fall far too short for my liking."

Antwon sighed. "I wish I could snap my fingers and make it easier for you two," he said. "But the world isn't kind to youth, unfortunately. It takes it and molds it into something sharper." He gave her a twisted smile. "It's why I never had any children of my own. You know, my mother and father were both killed by metal heads. I grew up in an orphanage in the slums. I never wanted that for anyone I loved."

Ionna grew quiet, considering his words. Antwon chuckled and slapped her knee. "Maybe that's a bit too morbid for a Monday afternoon. Listen, I'm going to get some cleaning done. You oughta get back home; I'll bet Seem is waiting for you, huh?"

Seem. It had been awkward ever since she'd attacked the king. Ionna and Damas had both agreed to keep it a secret; there was no reason for anyone else to know. Seem had been inconsolable for days after, claiming that she could no longer be a monk, that she would have to give it up and leave the order.

Even after Ionna had calmed her fears, she had also been cautious afterwards. Channeling less eco, using weaker powers, keeping herself in check. She'd been more studious, devoting any spare time to her meditations and scriptures.

Antwon walked her to the door of his apartment, a nice (if cramped) place in the Port Sector. His cane thumped against the carpeted floor.

"Don't worry about Damas so much," Antwon told her. "Like I said, he has some things he has to work through. He'll be perfectly fine."

Perfectly fine. Ionna gave him a smile as the door shut, but as she walked away, she sighed.

Perfectly fine. She wasn't so sure.


"What the hell was that?"

Daxter made no attempt to keep his voice down as Jak walked through Spargus. Not that anyone really cared, considering how loud he usually was.

"I don't know, Dax." Jak glanced back at the elevator. "Did you see Sig's face? He was worried about Ionna. Damas, too."

"Probably because she looked like she got into a tussle with a leaper lizard." Daxter shrugged. "Whatever it is, they ain't gonna tell us. Awful quick to get us outta there."

"Then let's go find out on our own." He gestured to the infirmary door. "Maybe we can get some clues while we're in here."

"While we're cleaning, you mean," Daxter griped. "Ugh, I am not scrubbing. I'll sweep and wash dishes, but no scrubbing!"

"Deal." Jak opened the door, the bell chiming above, and looked around.

Whatever had happened, it had left one hell of a mess. The normally immaculate beds were in disarray, as if a tornado had whipped the blankets and sheets around the room. Bottles had spilled all over the counter, the medicine dripping onto the floor. As Jak stepped in, his boot crunched on something hard.

The floor was littered with broken clay, pieces of jars that Ionna usually kept lined up on a shelf. Jars that Jak remembered, not long ago, trying to move without touching.

"Dax," he said quietly, "all the light eco is gone."

"What?" Daxter scrambled to peer over his friend's shoulder. "All of it? Geez, leave a little for the rest of us!"

"This…" Jak looked around, at the shattered jars and disarray. "Dax, I think she might have absorbed the eco. Like I do, when I lose control."

Daxter hopped off his shoulder onto the floor. "The both of you are a bunch of drama queens, if you ask me. Goin' around, freakin' out every time you get a little too much o' the stuff!" He kicked a shard of clay aside. "You two can't just be normal and turn into an animal, can you?"

"Well, sorry we can't all be like you, Dax." Jak rolled his eyes and picked up the piece of clay. "Well, I guess we better get busy. Grab the broom, will you?"

Daxter dragged the broom over to him, grumbling the whole time. And just like that, they were back in Sandover: two boys, forced to do chores while a mystery awaited them.

One hell of mystery, Jak thought. And he was going to solve it.


The throne room was silent and still after Jak and Daxter left. Sig kept glancing between Damas and Ionna, waiting for something to happen. Finally, Damas broke first.

"...What is it?" Damas asked, heart hammering in his chest. There was only one reason Ionna would come to the palace without being called. And he'd seen her looking like this before: haggard and tired, as if she'd just spent all her energy at once.

Ionna lifted her head and met the king's gaze. "I had another vision."

Damas' stomach twisted, though he wasn't surprised by her statement. Visions were good; visions meant he was still alive. "And?" he breathed.

Ionna exhaled slowly. "...He's here, Damas. In the Wasteland."

"Mar is here?" he whispered. He gripped his staff tighter. "In Spargus?"

Ionna shook her head. "No, somewhere in the desert. It's hard to pinpoint where, but...he's here."

Damas swallowed. He didn't like the idea of his son wandering the Wastes, and the fact that it was outside, instead of safe behind walls, made his chest ache.

But Mar had to be safe. Mar had to be alive.

"He's with someone," Ionna continued. "There was...this feeling of comfort. As if he was being looked after."

That had been a pleasant surprise. She was used to feeling negativity. Sadness, anger, loneliness, fear. But this time, Mar was…happy.

The tightness in Damas' chest loosened a bit at her words. "That's...heartening."

"Did you see anything around him?" Sig asked. Always the pragmatist, Sig cut right to the heart of the matter. "Landmarks, ruins or anything like that?"

Ionna shook her head. "Nothing. I never see much with these…I'm sorry."

Ionna's visions weren't like Seem's or Onin's. She got feelings and sensations, but she only ever got flickers and flashes of the where.

A huge towering building in Haven City, a dimly lit room that smelled of stale air, a barred door and a chair. Nothing concrete. This time, it was just sand whipping past.

"You sure you're gettin' visions of Mar?" Sig asked cautiously. She raised an eyebrow. "I mean…look, I turned the city upside down lookin' for the kid. Never found hide nor hair of him. I'm just making sure."

Ionna paused for a moment. She was staring off into the water, considering something, before she said quietly, "I'm certain. It's Mar, trust me."

This proclamation was met with silence, before Sig finally said, "Alright, then. I'm gonna go visit a few of my old Nomad pals. If Mar is with somebody, they might know who has him."

"Nomads?" Damas frowned. "You can't be serious. After what we just faced out in the Wastelands?"

"I'll be fine," Sig told him. "Look, we know what we're up against now. All I gotta do is take the right vehicle, bring the Peacemaker, and it'll be fine."

"No." It killed Damas, because if there was anything that would make him go out into the Wastes right now, it was Mar. But…

"I'm not sending you out there again," he continued. "When…when this is all over, when the Dark Makers have been taken care of, we'll find him. But right now, we can't risk more lives."

Sig shook his head. "This ain't up for debate. I promised I'd find him, and I will. I can take care of myself."

"I just had this conversation," Damas began, but Ionna interrupted.

"Damas is right." She put her head in her hands and sighed. "It's too dangerous. Right now, someone is watching over him. Now is not the time to risk his life and yours."

"I can't think of a better time," Sig said. "If these things are as dangerous as you say…don't you think you should see your son? One last time, at least?"

They glanced at each other, a silent conversation happening between the two. Finally, Damas said, "Keeping Spargus and its citizens safe takes priority. If Mar is alive…he will be alive until this is over."

Sig frowned. "...Fine," he said with resignation. "If you two are going to be stubborn, then you can be stubborn on your own. I'm going to go get some shut-eye."

He turned and left, the elevator rattling as he went down.

Deep inside of himself, he knew Damas and Ionna were right. It was one of the Wasteland rules: you didn't save others until you were safe yourself.

Still…

Sig also knew the other rules of the Wasteland, like that Wastelanders looked after their own, and that children were the future. He wouldn't be much of a Wastelander, or much of a friend, if he didn't do everything he could to find Mar.

Of course, Damas would be pissed. Ah, well, he'd get over it. He always acted like a hardass, but it was mostly for show. Had to act tough for the Wastelanders.

Sig stepped into the city, frowning as he walked. He didn't envy Damas his job; keeping everyone safe and happy was a nearly impossible job. Damas walked a fine line between his own wants and the city's needs. Sig didn't know how he did it.

It worried him, sometimes, because he was Damas' second-in-command. If anything happened to the king, then Sig took over. And boy, did he not have the skills that Damas did.

Well. No use worrying about that bridge until they crossed it. Damas had proven himself pretty difficult to kill so far. Sig would just have to hope that held true for a while longer.

The desert dust caked his boots as he wound his way through Spargus. The air was heavy, the makings of a storm hanging around them. Whatever Sig decided to do, he wouldn't be doing it anytime soon. He'd have to wait a few days until the storm passed.

That was fine with him. He needed a little bit of time to get ready, anyway. The Nomads were notoriously good at hiding; not a whole lot of folks knew where their camps were. Luckily, Sig knew at least one person with the knowledge.

Of course, knowledge wasn't enough. What he really needed was a good Wastelander to watch his back. Someone who was a crack shot and a quick thinker, and reckless enough to go into the Wastes with him. Unfortunately, Damas was not available.

But he knew someone who might be.

He opened the infirmary door to see Jak and Daxter, sweeping up broken jars from the floor. "Hello, chili peppers," he said, his voice booming in the small room. "Feel like disobeying a few more orders?"