Not me, taking a completely static background character and giving him a character arc.

Happy reading!


It had been many years since Damas had traversed the Monk Temple.

Despite the fact that he and Ionna had, so long ago, explored the Temple, he didn't remember all the secrets of it. Perhaps he didn't even know all the secrets.

He certainly didn't remember the winding corridors that Jak led them through, with sharp turns and descending hallways. They didn't meet any more Dark Makers, nor were there any metal heads. It seemed almost...sacred this far down in the temple. Eerily silent and empty.

"Sig, can you estimate what time it is?" Damas asked as they walked. Sig frowned thoughtfully. "I'll take a time of day."

"We've probably been in here for a few hours," he said. "We started out here around midday, so…"

"After sundown?" Damas prompted.

"Probably," Sig said. "Definitely getting there. It'll be the middle of the night by the time we get out of here."

"..." Damas glanced up ahead at Jak's back. He was moving forward with a strange determination, something in his stance that told Damas that, whatever they were doing here, it was important to him. "We should remain here overnight. The metal heads hunt after dusk, and I'd rather not deal with any more creatures after our heads."

Sig nodded as they rounded yet another tight corner. "Me either. No offense, but I'm starting to wish I were back in Haven. I'm not built for all this 'explore the Monk Temple' bullshit."

Damas' lips flickered with a smile. Sig had always been one for a good fight, but if he couldn't shoot it, he had little interest in it. Puzzles and stories, grand mysteries and ancient ancestors…those weren't for him.

The corridor sloped down as they walked, widening into a huge chamber. Sat directly in the middle of it was a Precursor Oracle, looking down at a spot on a ledge. Jak stepped up to the edge, not even hesitating for a moment. Daxter hopped off his shoulder and joined the other three just behind him.

The Oracle's eyes suddenly bloomed to life, bursting with blue light.

"Welcome, hero." Though Seem didn't seem surprised, both Damas and Sig were startled by the Oracle's voice. "You have done well to protect our temple from the Dark Ones."

"Those things talk?" Sig shook his head. "Crazy shit…"

Damas, however, was paying rapt attention to the Oracle. Jak stood alone before it, his face a mask of stone. Clearly, this was something the boy was used to.

There were tales, passed down through his own family and the monk order, that detailed the Oracles. Supposedly, the Oracles only spoke to the monks, and to Mar himself. To hear them speak to Jak so casually was…

Well, Damas really didn't know how to feel about it.

"As a token of our gratitude, we reward you with one final power. With this, you will reach new places, places only in your dreams."

A halo of light appeared over Jak's head, bathing him in shimmering blue. As if some unknown force were controlling him, his body contorted, curling back as he floated a few feet off the ground. His eyes rolled back as the light spiraled around him.

Something tightened in Damas' chest: that instinctive urge to protect the boy, to grab his arm and yank him back to safety. He folded his arms to give them something to do.

It was over in seconds; with a bright flash, Jak was gently settled back on his feet. He was in his light form, eyes empty and face blank. And there, attached to his back, were the same spidery wings that Ionna had.

"What the hell are those?!" Daxter shrieked. "You save the whole temple and that's what you get? Tentacles?!"

Jak flapped his wings experimentally. He glanced down at the dark pit below, almost as if considering his options. Damas stepped forward, already shaking his head.

"You've done enough reckless things for a day," he said sternly. "Don't you think there's somewhere better to test your powers than an open pit?"

To his surprise, Jak didn't argue back. Daxter huffed out air through his mouth. "You oughta listen to Sir Stabs-A-Lot, Jak. That, uh, looks like it's a long way down."

Jak didn't reply, only stared at them. Damas glanced down at Daxter. "Why isn't he speaking?" he asked in concern.

"Huh? Oh, when he's all hopped up on light eco, Jak can't talk." He shrugged. "Not like he needs to. He's got me to talk for him!"

"You're very good at it," Seem muttered. Sig snorted in laughter. Damas, however, wasn't convinced.

"Ionna is perfectly capable of speaking when in her light form," he told Daxter. "Why isn't Jak able to?"

"Maybe he doesn't wanna talk." Daxter leapt onto Jak's shoulder. "Who cares? You really eager to have a conversation with him when he's all glowy?"

"Just curious." As they watched, Jak let his light eco burst off of his skin, shaking his head dizzily. "Are you alright, Jak?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." He seemed to be a bit unsteady, his face a little paler than usual. Damas was reminded of Ionna right after she channeled eco. His eyes slid over to Sig, who clearly noticed Jak's exhaustion.

"Now that you got your nightly prayers in, cherries, you ready to go?" Sig clapped one of his hands on Jak's shoulder, almost sending the boy toppling. "I could use some shut eye."

"Me too!" Daxter announced. "C'mon, you nutty Wastelanders. Let's get the hell out of here."


Staring into the clear ocean water, Ionna didn't recognize herself.

It was the hood, she thought. She'd worn it ever since she was a little girl; how many years had it been since she'd seen her reflection without it? Since her hair, cropped short and pale, had been free to rustle in the breeze?

There was a dried streak of red blood that ran along the left side of her head, staining her hair. Damas' blood, she realized. It covered her white-painted hands with rust colored splotches. She dunked them into the ocean water to clean them off, watching the white and red mix into a pink.

She noticed that, against her will, her hands were shaking. She flexed them to steady her nerves. Now that they had made it back to Spargus, now that Damas was safe and alive, the rush of action had drained away. Now, all Ionna could think about was Seem, the dear girl she'd left behind.

"...Are you going to tell me what happened?"

She turned to see Damas approaching. He struck an imposing figure, standing straight against the backdrop of the city. But then again, Ionna had known him for too long to be intimidated by him. He walked towards her, one hand rubbing the bandages around his scalp. She noticed that there was blood on his boots, fresh and wet.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" she shot back. "You're covered in blood!"

"I shot Kiran." He dropped down in the sand beside her, stretching his legs out. "He didn't even fight back, just…sort of glared at me."

"I'm sorry," she said earnestly. "I know you didn't have much choice, but I also know you didn't want to do it."

Surprisingly, Damas shrugged. "I'll be alright. But you're avoiding my question. What happened before you found me?"

"Nothing happened," she lied. Damas raised an eyebrow. "Damas, it's nothing."

"No, it's not nothing." He reached out and brushed a hand against her scalp. "You're not wearing the hood. I'm not an idiot, you know. Monks never take their hoods off."

Ionna was quiet, then finally she said, "I'm not a monk anymore." She turned away as he opened his mouth. "The Precursors showed Seem a vision of…you dying. And I went against them to save you."

"Well, thanks," he said lightly. "But that doesn't explain why you aren't a monk anymore."

"The future is set by the Precursors." Her words echoed Onin's own, told so often, so long ago. "To interfere shows that you don't trust them." She stared over the ocean, the waves going up and down in rhythm. "The monks trust in the Precursors above all else. To go against them is taboo."

They sat for a few moments, in a comfortable silence, before she continued, "...I've been a monk my entire life. And now…"

"Sounds like fate has other plans for you now."

"I just feel...very lost."

Damas leaned back on his palms. "You're not lost. You're exactly where you need to be." At her skeptical look, he furrowed his brow. "...Here. Let me prove it to you."

He picked up the cloth that was sitting next to her and dipped it into the water. With the same steady hands that held his rifle, he started to wipe the paint off of her face.

She closed her eyes and sighed. He was a lot gentler than she expected; for a man who usually was harsh and heavy-handed, he wiped the paint away with a soft touch.

"Don't cry," he said quietly.

"I'm not crying."

"...Ionna." His hands stilled, and she realized she could feel streaks of hot water down her cheeks. She sniffed and closed her eyes tighter.

"I abandoned the monks," she whispered. "I just…I left Seem in charge, I left her to deal with everything…"

"You didn't abandon anyone," Damas said calmly. "You haven't vanished into the void, you're just in a different place now. Seem can always ask for your advice if she needs it."

He finished wiping the paint off, then gently turned her head to the water. "Take a look."

With all the paint stripped off, Ionna saw her face for the first time in years. She touched her unnaturally pale skin and smiled slightly. She wasn't used to seeing the lines of her face or the way her eyes crinkled. It was almost humbling to be faced with herself after a lifetime of being a monk.

"Don't think of it as an ending," Damas told her as she marveled at her face. "Think of it as...a beginning. A new birth. Monks believe in rebirth, don't they?"

"Sort of." She didn't want to think about Precursor doctrine at the moment. Damas must have sensed it, because he kept speaking, distracting her from her thoughts.

"Well, I do. I believe that when we're at our lowest, we have a choice to start anew." He gestured to the city. "That's what Spargus is."

"Starting anew." Ionna tore her eyes away from her reflection. "I suppose I don't have much choice, do I?"

"That's the spirit." Damas stood up and held out his hand to help her to her feet. "Come on, let's go figure out your new life. Excited?"

Ionna stared up at him. "...I suppose I am," she said finally, a smile breaking on her face. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it as she stood. Damas grinned and squeezed back. "You better make it a good one."


By the time the group of Wastelanders made it outside, the sun had already set. Damas looked up at the star-littered sky and announced, "It's too late to head back now."

The king made them set up "camp", for lack of a better word, in the main entrance hall of the Temple. It was protected well, he explained, but gave them a vantage point to see who or what approached. They would rotate keeping guard: Damas first, then Sig, then Jak and Daxter.

"In the meantime," he said sternly, "rest."

Jak, of course, didn't.

The stone pillars that framed the entrance were, in his mind, an ideal place to practice his newfound power of flight. Sig and Daxter, Precursors bless their souls, had already fallen asleep. Sig was lying against one of the pillars, a rolled up blanket on his neck, snoring lightly. Daxter was curled up in a pile of blankets on the ground.

Damas watched, amused, as the boy drifted and hovered from pillar to pillar, ungainly as a baby yakkow learning to walk. Seem stood beside him, silent. As they watched, Jak missed landing on one of the pillars; he hadn't quite gotten enough lift for him to make it.

"He flies differently than Ionna," Damas commented. "She has much more control. It's smoother, almost, how she flies."

Seem tilted her head. "I can't say for certain," she said slowly, "but I assume it's due to his inexperience."

"...?" Damas gave her a sideways glance.

"Ionna and I are…we are sages," she explained. "Born with powers beyond what most have, and expertly trained to use them. We've practiced and studied since we were children."

Above them, Jak tried to hover to the second pillar. He missed by a few feet and floated gently to the ground. As he loudly swore and circled back to try again, Seem continued.

"But Jak is not a sage. He's not as…technically skilled as either of us. I never taught him how to manipulate the dark eco like he did with the Dark Makers," she added. "He learned that on his own, simply by watching me. I've never seen anything like it."

They watched Jak try a few more times. Damas glanced at Seem. "That doesn't explain why his powers are so different."

"Because he had to learn them himself," Seem explained simply. "Ionna and I always knew what our powers would be and how to control them. But Jak…he had to learn what to do, and with no one to guide him, his powers are…sloppier. Rougher."

Damas hummed thoughtfully. "He can use them well."

"I have no doubt of that. But look at him." She jerked her chin towards where Jak was practicing. He had made it to the second pillar and was now aiming for a third, several feet above him. "No one taught him how to fly, so he doesn't know how. But he knows that he has to do something, so he does it."

They watched Jak for a few more minutes, before Seem said, "You will excuse me. I will be needed in the morning rituals, so I best get some rest." She gave him a slight bow of respect to him. "Thank you, Lord Damas. I owe you both my life and the lives of my monks."

"...You should thank Jak," he admitted. "After all, you did call him. It was pure luck that I was near."

Seem nodded, then turned around to face Jak. She approached as he missed the third pillar and ended up on the ground again. Damas watched them speak for a few minutes before she headed back for the entrance. As she headed into the temple, Jak came over, his light eco gone.

"You need to get some sleep," Damas said sternly. Jak wiped sweat off his forehead as he sat on a chunk of shattered stone. "Here."

Damas passed the boy his canteen and watched him gratefully drink. "Thanks," Jak said. He hesitated, then added, "And…thanks for everything today. I know you're mad at me because we went into the desert—"

"I'm not. I suppose it's my old age talking, but I don't very well have the energy to be angry right now."

They lapsed into silence again, before Jak said, "Can I ask you something?" Damas nodded patiently, so he asked, "Why did you send Sig to Haven to find your son?"

Damas raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying I should have simply let my son be lost and alone?"

"No, just…" Jak struggled to find the words. "You seem like the kind of guy who'd go busting into the city to save him. So why didn't you?"

"Ah." Damas smirked. "An argument I've had several times before."

He shifted so that he was leaning back on his palms. Jak waited quietly. When he finally spoke, Damas' voice was both matter-of-fact and profoundly sad.

"I am the king of Spargus. The city has to come first, regardless of how much I love my child. It's…hard, to have two diametrically opposed requirements. I am king to thousands of Wastelanders, and father to one little boy. Any way I considered it, I had to stay."

"...You couldn't abandon the city."

Damas sighed heavily. "After it happened, Ionna left to search Haven City. But eventually, I called for her to return. Spargus had just had a devastating blow: intruders had come into the city and stolen away one of our own. People were fearful and hopeless…I couldn't do it alone. I needed her, her powers and her faith."

Jak tried to imagine it: Damas—battered, bruised, and broken—trying to lead while grieving himself. And Ionna, giving up her chance to find her child, to help him.

"I'll bet she wasn't happy," he said, his voice low.

"I don't think Ionna ever forgave me for ordering her back here," Damas admitted. "She accused me of being weak. Perhaps she was right."

"You're not weak," Jak countered. "It makes sense, I guess. I…Dax and I had to give up going back to my old home for Haven. Keira and her dad, too. It's not the same, but…I get it."

"...Hmm. Either way," Damas continued, his story not quite over, "sending Sig was my compromise. He was one of the few people who we both trusted to find our son."

They fell silent again. Jak found the bright green star that had always guided him home in Sandover. Strange, that it still gave him comfort even when he was so far from home.

"If you promise you won't tell Sig," Damas said suddenly, "I'll tell you a secret."

"What is it?"

"Today, I was not out in the desert to find you three." He glanced back, making sure Sig was still asleep. "I didn't even know you had left the city. It was a coincidence that I stumbled upon you."

Jak frowned. "Then what were you…" It hit him suddenly. "You were looking for your son, too, weren't you?"

Damas' lips quirked up. "I suppose, for all my bluster about being a king first, I have my moments of hypocrisy. I couldn't stand the idea that he was so close."

Jak gave him a half-grin. "Don't worry. I'll keep my mouth shut."

They grew quiet again, before Damas began, "You should go to sleep, it's—"

"You're going to find him."

Damas snapped his head towards Jak. "What?"

"Your son. You'll find him." Jak stood up and stretched. "Night."

"...Goodnight." Damas watched the boy go lay down beside his companions, then huffed out a laugh.

It was little wonder that people like Sig and Seem had such confidence in Jak.