Every time I sat down to write this chapter, I got distracted and started writing scenes that happen later in the story. So...I have a bunch of the ending scenes written!

Happy reading everyone!


The years passed quickly and slowly at the same time.

Spargus grew from a settlement, to a village, to a city in the span of three years. Nomads and Marauders left their clans to join them, more banished citizens were rescued. They worked together, breaking and building and making a life. They learned together: how to hunt, how to grow things, how to survive.

Damas never intended to become a king of anything. His time as ruler in Haven had taught him that leading was hardly the easy life others might have thought it was. But the people rallied around him.

"You don't give yourself enough credit," Ionna told him once. They were sitting near the oceanside of Spargus, rocky sand beneath them. Around them were temporary shelters: tents and makeshift beds, awnings stretched to cover them from the burning sun, little campfires lit in the distance. Their soon-to-be home was making progress, albeit slow and steady.

"You have something that most leaders don't," she continued. "You care about your people. And they can feel that, they respond to that. If they want you to be king, why not take on that role?"

"...I made a lot of mistakes," Damas said quietly. "I don't know if I should be the one to lead this place, these people."

"Mistakes are, unfortunately, part of living. You've learned from your mistakes, haven't you?"

"I like to think I have," Damas mused. "

"Then I see no reason to avoid the most reasonable solution." Ionna folded her arms. "Take the crown, Damas. You're the most qualified person to do it."

Damas was quiet for a moment, pondering her words. Finally, he asked, "Would you still be my advisor?"

"Of course." There was no hesitation in her voice, not a shred of worry or fear. "You ought to have Antwon advise you, as well."

Damas draped his arms over his knees and looked over the sea thoughtfully. "Alright, then. As your first duty as my advisor, can I get your opinion on something?" When she nodded her assent, he continued, "One of the most difficult obstacles to overcome for me is my pride. I am unable to let go of my own ego and accept the advice of others."

"Is there a question here," she asked wryly, "or are you just reminding me in case I forgot?"

"Ha ha." Damas rolled his eyes. "I say this because I can't rule like that out here. It…wouldn't be fair. This place, these people…" He glanced behind him at the groups who were helping to build the city. "This city belongs to them, not me. I need to be held accountable to the citizens if I am to lead them."

"Hmm…perhaps we need to take a page from your ancestor's book." Ionna leaned back on her palms. "When Mar first built Haven City, he had a council of advisors. Farmers, hunters, soldiers, doctors…a representative sample of the populace." She tilted her head at him. "What do you think?"

He thought it was such a good idea, he started on it the next day. Through the months of building Spargus, Damas gathered a council: a group of eight people to represent the citizens. Every decision, every law, would go through this council.

And soon, what started out as nothing but ruins in a desert, became a safe haven for the refugees of Haven itself.

Not everyone loved Damas, however.

"We could take Haven back!" Kiran, a former captain from Haven, a member of the council he had hand-picked, had brought it up several times over the years. "There are enough people, we could conquer Praxis!"

But Damas had no desire to do that. "And then what?" he demanded. "I was not a popular king. Another regime change would just throw the city into more chaos, and it would put the citizens of Spargus at risk." He shook his head. "No. We have built our own home out here, and I have no desire to put it in peril."

"You're a coward," Kiran spat. The council rose up in their king's defense, but he raised his hand to silence them.

"I've been called worse." Damas shrugged. "By all means, feel free to go back to the city. Show your courage by taking Praxis on yourself."

Damas' authority was not like when he had been in Haven City. Here, his respect had been earned. He was so much more than a king to many citizens of Spargus. He was a leader, fierce and honorable, one who fought with them. He was a Wastelander first, a king second.

And like any Wastelander, Damas did his part.

"Be careful out there," Antwon told Damas, shifting uncomfortably in the throne. "If you die, I have to become king, and I do not want that."

"Thanks for the concern for my well-being, Antwon." Damas slid his rifle over his back. "I'll be fine. I'll have backup."

"Who's going?"

Damas ticked them off on his fingers. "Myself, obviously. Misha, Kiran, and Lo."

Antwon frowned. "I don't know about that. You're a better shot than all of them."

"Well, that's why I'm going," Damas replied, annoyed. "It'll be fine."

"The purpose of having guards is to have people who will be able to protect you." Antwon folded his arms sternly. "I wish you would let me go instead."

"That's enough, Antwon. I'm not a child. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." He attached a pistol to his hip. Just in case. "Besides, this is a small group of metalheads. Kiran says they're just causing problems for some of our people."

With that, Damas went to the elevator. He saluted Antwon, who saluted back. "Safe journey, Your Highness."

Damas ended up riding with Kiran. They were going to pincer the metalheads, Kiran explained, with Lo and Misha coming from the north and the two of them coming from the south. It sounded like a good plan to Damas, right up until the moment he hopped out of the buggy.

"Kiran, I don't see any metalheads." He peered across the silent dunes. "Are you sure they were at these coordinates?"

Kiran didn't bother to answer before his shot rang out. The bullet hit Damas' head and he fell. There was nothing but a sharp pain near his temple. He rolled over on his back, blinking blood out of his eyes.

The last thing he heard before he passed out was Kiran tearing away in the buggy.


Jak could handle being yelled at. It was practically routine by now: how many times had Samos screamed so loud at him and Daxter that it shook the roof of his little hut? How often had he heard the echoes of guards, shouting for him to stop, as he ran through Haven City's alleyways? That's not even mentioning the almost daily shrieks in his ears from Daxter, chiding him for doing something stupid.

But this? This cold, disappointed quiet?

This was so much worse.

Damas stood there, glaring in complete silence, the only sound that of the wind whipping through their hair. Even Daxter, who never let an opportunity to talk go to waste, seemed cowed. Finally, the king said curtly, "So, which of you three wants to explain yourselves?"

Jak winced at the tone. His eyes met Daxter's, who seemed to be trying to make himself look smaller. Sig spoke up.

"It was my idea, Damas. Don't go blaming these two, I dragged them into it."

Jak opened his mouth to argue, to speak up and defend Sig, but Damas' voice was so sharp, it cut through all his protests.

"They are perfectly capable of saying no to foolish ideas." The king glared at Jak and Daxter. "Especially after the last time I had to risk my own neck to drag you back to the city, I would think you two would be a bit less rash in your decisions. Regardless of whose idea it was."

Jak tensed up, waiting for an argument. Sig, however, quickly added, "I told you, it's my fault. Hell, they didn't want to until I told them it was to find your son—"

By the way Damas' head snapped to glare at Sig, that was the wrong thing to say. "I told them about him?" he asked swiftly.

Sig squared his shoulders. "I need backup," he said firmly. "And I couldn't ask for help if I didn't tell them why."

"I specifically told you to remain in the city." Damas tilted his chin up at Sig. "You were given orders. You decided to ignore those. Not only that, you gave sensitive information to outsiders."

"Hey!" Daxter appeared to reach his limit of silence. "We're not outsiders!"

"We won't tell anyone anything," Jak said firmly. "You can trust us."

Damas turned to them now. "It is not about trust. Now that the information is out there, all it takes is a word on the wind. By telling you anything about my son, Sig has put him at great risk."

His voice cracked a bit at the last few words. Jak tactfully ignored it, instead saying, "But Sig didn't even tell us anything. He just said we were out here to look for your son, he needed someone to watch his back, and that was it. He wouldn't even tell us what the kid looked like!"

Damas huffed out a breath and went back to Sig. "Is that supposed to put me at ease? All those years ago, you gave me your word that you would keep your mission a secret. Just a few days ago, you gave me your word that you wouldn't go into the desert. How can I trust you, Sig, as my second-in-command, when your word seems to mean nothing?"

Sig flinched. Both Jak and Daxter started to argue, but he shook his head at them. "I can fight my own battles, cherries. Thanks for lookin' out for me, though."

They fell quiet as he turned to Damas. "You're right, I did go against your orders. I came out here, I told Jak and Daxter things they shouldn't know, and I was wrong to do that. But I had the order to find your boy and bring him home. So you'll forgive me if I'm tryin' to do just that."

"There are priorities!" Damas snarled. "The city of Spargus takes priority over any individual mission, regardless of who gave it to you. You were told to stand down!"

"I can't do that!" Sig snapped back. "You say my word means nothing? Because I gave you my word that I wouldn't rest 'til I found him!"

Damas said something back, but at that moment, Jak's communicator sprang to life. Distracted by the argument, he couldn't quite make out the words that came over it.

"Sorry…can you repeat that?" he asked hesitantly. He held it up to his ear. A crackling buzz came through, then broken words.

"...mple…dark…tacks…"

Jak frowned. Not only could he not make out the words, but he couldn't even tell who it was over Sig and Damas' arguing.

Luckily, Daxter was on it. "Hey!" he shouted, leaping onto Sig's shoulder and holding up a paw. "You two wanna shut up for a second? 'Cause someone's callin', and ain't nobody takin' messages!"

Damas looked affronted at the tone, but he did stop talking. With it quiet now, Jak held the communicator to his mouth and said, "Can you repeat it one more time?"

"...rk makers…tacking…emple…" Now Jak could make out the voice, and he could figure out the gist of what they were saying. "I nee…help…"

"Seem!" Jak gripped the communicator tighter and Daxter climbed back onto his shoulder. "We'll be right there. Just hold on."

She didn't respond, but he didn't expect her to. He hesitated, then reached for his JetBoard. "I'm going up there."

"Wait a moment!" Damas said sternly. "Didn't I just get done saying—?"

Jak cut him off but snapping his goggles over his eyes. "Look, be pissed at me later. Right now, someone is in trouble and they asked for my help. I don't have time to duke it out with you."

He didn't worry about what Damas said after that. Instead, he hopped onto his JetBoard and started off toward the Monk Temple.

"You think that was a smart move?" Daxter asked worriedly. "I mean…historically, mouthin' off to Spite 'n' Spikes hasn't worked out well for us."

"I wasn't mouthing off," Jak replied. "It sounds like the temple's being attacked by those Dark Makers."

"Yeah, well, let's just hope he doesn't decide to chuck us outta the city because we pissed 'im off." Daxter gripped Jak's boot as they spun over a dune. "We all know how touchy he can be!"

Before Jak could answer, a roaring sound came from behind them. He glanced over his shoulder to see two buggies following them.

Jak's communicator beeped again. This time, it was Sig's voice that came over the speaker.

"Keep movin', cherries. We're right behind you."


Ionna didn't like the Monk Temple as much as the one in Haven.

It was too far away from the city, too isolated. She felt like she was missing something, an ache that she couldn't place. There was nowhere for her to pray that was to her liking.

She usually chose to meditate in the huge chamber that held the Precursor oracle. It was deep in the temple, so far away that she could pretend she was in a different place.

Seem often joined her. The years in the desert had been kind to the girl, who was now hardly a girl at all. Instead, Ionna was looking at a young woman who'd come into her own.

She trained the younger and newer monks, taking them under her wing. She was well-liked by them, and it made Ionna smile to consider. Seem had lived without anyone on her side for so long. To see others admiring the once-shunned monk was a surreal and pleasant experience.

They sat in silence, the crackle of burning embers the only sound in the dimly lit room. Seem had her hands clasped in her lap, dutiful from her head to her toes.

Something changed. Ionna couldn't hear it, but she could feel it. A change in the very air around her. She opened her eyes at the same time that there was a loud thump!

"Seem?!" The younger monk had collapsed, like a puppet with the strings cut, but her eyes were wide open. "Seem!"

Ionna grabbed her shoulders and hauled the girl upright. Even though she was limp, Ionna could feel a pulse. In a few seconds, Seem blinked her eyes open.

"Seem!" Ionna hugged her tightly. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Damas is in trouble." Seem's voice was hard. "I just saw him. He's…I think he's hurt. Or he's going to be."

"What are you talking about?" Ionna helped her stand up, supporting her as her legs shake. "Is…is this one of your visions?"

Seem nodded. "He's outside," she said. "In the desert. And he's bleeding!"

"Alright, take a deep breath, child." Ionna breathed deeply and Seem followed suit. "It'll be alright. I'll go find him, and he'll be just fine."

She squeezed Seem's hand before letting go. It wouldn't take much, she thought. With her flight, she could scout the desert from the skies; she could find him fast and heal him faster. She started up towards the exit, already mentally mapping out a route, when a voice stopped her in her tracks.

"You must not save the heir of Mar."

Slowly, Ionna turned to look behind her. Seem, too, was staring up at the giant oracle, whose eyes were now lit up. It continued speaking, as if it hadn't noticed the two shocked monks. Its voice was both booming and soft at the same time, echoing around the room with an assertive tone.

"Your destiny, bringer of light, is to guide the heir of Mar, and it has been brought to fruition. For the sake of peace in the world, the heir of Mar must face his trials alone. You must not save him, even if it costs him his life."

The eyes on the oracle dimmed. For a second, Ionna stared back at its empty gaze, not quite sure just how to proceed.

Then she continued through the exit, her blood pounding in her ears.

Behind her, Ionna could vaguely hear Seem following behind her, calling her name. But her anger had taken over, nothing but fuzzy static in her mind.

Were the Precursors telling her to let Damas die? After Onin had said they needed her to lead him to safety…

Was that really what they wanted?

Ionna made her way to the armory, ignoring Seem's increasingly panicked pleas. As she wrenched open the door, the gleam of orange Precursor metal met her eyes. She grabbed her set of armor, the one she'd worn when going into battle with Damas, and pulled on the arm bands.

"Ionna, wait!" Seem caught up to her, panting. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" She pulled the straps tight. "I have to go make sure Damas is alive. You said he was bleeding, right? Did you see what his injury was?"

"But…" Seem stared at her. "But the oracle said that…"

"Seem, focus. Was he bleeding from the stomach, from his head? What did you see?"

Ionna finished putting on her armor and walked briskly out of the Monk Temple. The sun was bright outside, brighter than the fires in the temple, and she shielded her eyes as they adjusted.

"His head, I think. But you aren't going to go find him, are you? The oracle said not to save him!"

Ionna didn't answer, but she didn't have to. She was still moving down the sandy path, away from the temple.

"You can't go against the Precursors!" Seem grabbed hold of Ionna's arm, tightening her grip on the sleeve. "It goes against everything we've learned as monks! You have to obey!"

Ionna stopped. Sadness bloomed in her chest, raw and powerful. Seem had lived her entire life in the temple. She was devoted and obedient, the perfect monk. To her, there was no choice to be made: the Precursors had said Damas would die, so Damas would die.

Monks did not interfere with the will of their gods.

"As a monk, I have learned humility," Ionna said softly, pulling her arm gently out of Seem's grip. "I have learned obedience. I learned to use eco to my advantage, I have mastered abilities no man has ever seen. And yet…"

She reached up and brushed her fingers over the metal pin she wore. The symbol of the Krimzon Guard. "I am no longer just a monk," she continued. "I was a soldier in that war, just as Damas was. I cried and fought and bled. From that, I learned survival."

Ionna turned to Seem, head held high and face set. "How can I claim to be a sage," she asked, "and leave a man to die? That goes against everything I learned as a monk, and as a warrior."

Seem was shaking a bit, her voice trembling as she spoke. "You can't."

Can't. Ionna had heard it her whole life. You can't go outside the temple, you can't ignore your duty, you can't abandon your order.

She was sick of can't. "I'm going to," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

Seem swallowed. "You..if you disobey the Precursors…"

"Then I will be banished." It was the doctrine of the monks, the most important rule. The Precursors had a fate for all; none could change what was fated, and those that tried, had turned away from the blessing of the Precursors. "I know that, Seem, just as you do."

"Then who will lead us?" Seem asked, and her voice sounded so small that guilt pierced Ionna's heart. "Ionna, who will guide us?"

"...You can, Seem." Ionna reached out and cupped Seem's face, her thumb gently rubbing the girl's cheek. "You are so much stronger than you were in Haven City. You've learned so much, not just about eco, but about yourself. If you want to…you could be their leader."

Seem's eyes widened, round and red, as she stuttered, "B-but I can't! I'm not…I'm not…"

"Ready? You are." Ionna sighed. "If you wish to, of course. Aiza also has the experience to lead the monks, if you so choose."

"But I can't!" Seem said desperately. "I'm not ready, you have to…you have to stay…"

And though it broke her heart, Ionna let go of Seem's cheek. She loved Seem, her sister, the girl she'd helped raise. But it went against every fiber of her being to let someone, anyone, die when she could prevent it, let alone a dear friend like Damas.

Ionna sighed. "Whether you choose to become a wise leader or a timid acolyte...or something in between. That's your choice to make, just as it's mine." She smiled sadly. "Goodbye, Seem."

"Wait!" Seem reached out for her sleeve, but Ionna had already turned away. "Please, Ionna, wait!"

She was already gone, taking off through the night, the wind howling around her. The last thing Seem saw was her tearing off her monk's hood and letting it fall into the sand.