I'm back, baby! I'm hoping the next couple chapters come quickly, because half of them are already written. That is, if I don't keep adding more and more stuff to them. ¬_¬

I'm sure that won't happen. Happy reading!

In the days that followed, Ashelin spent all her free time down in the old security room of the Fortress, trying to find the name Ionna had given her. There were hundreds of thousands of records to dig through, all poorly cataloged over decades. Worse still, they hadn't been digitized, leaving Ashelin to painstakingly crawl through decrepit folders from three decades ago.

The records room was an old, dusty room barely bigger than a closet. It was crammed full with file cabinets and boxes. On the far wall was a single desk and chair, where Ashelin sat down as she sorted through papers.

These were the files from before her father became the ruler of Haven City. Forgotten stories of those who had fought under the previous king. Ashelin had already checked all the digital records and found nothing on a man named Ali Noori. So she'd headed to the Fortress in search of what she needed.

And that led her here, to an apartment building in Main Town.

She glanced down at the file she'd taken with her. It was thin, with only a single sheet on it: emergency contact information, intake data, and a notice of death in action.

She huffed out a ragged breath of air. She wished Torn was still around; at the very least, she wished she could talk her thoughts out to someone. Ever since he'd left the Krimzon Guard, there had been this weird void in her socialization. She was one of only a few female commanders, and between that and being the daughter of the Baron, she wasn't particularly popular.

But Torn had left after what happened in Dead Town, leaving behind a single note for her. A communicator code, one that was years old, the type that no one used anymore. She hadn't had the courage to call, not since she'd seen his name and face on the list of wanted fugitives.

Ashelin knocked on the door of the apartment on the info sheet. The door creaked open, revealing a man who eyed her suspiciously. "Yes?"

She inhaled and straightened her shoulders. "I'm Ashelin Praxis—"

"I know who you are."

She swallowed. "I need to speak to Nadia Noori."

The man's lips tightened into a straight line. "She's dead," he said curtly. "Been dead for years. Why?"

"Wait," Ashelin said quickly, noticing that he was edging the door closed. "Then I'll ask you. What do you know about Ali Noori?"

The door stopped closing. Then, slowly, it opened wider. The man stepped out of the way and gestured for her to come in, his dark eyes following her through the threshold.

The apartment was small and a bit old, with out-dated wallpaper and appliances from a generation ago. The man gestured to the kitchen table. "Sit, then."

Ashelin resisted the urge to snap back about ordering her around. She sat down, watching as he took the seat across from her. He stared at her for a moment, then said bluntly, "Well, get on with it. Why is the Baron's daughter asking about my brother?"

"You're his brother?"

"Youngest of three. Name's Tariq." The man gestured to her. "Your turn. Why are you asking about Ali?"

She hesitated. "I'm interested in hearing about my father's early days." It wasn't quite a lie. "Ali Noori was a name that came up, but there's not a lot of information on him."

Tariq watched her coldly before saying quietly, "No, I'm sure there isn't."

He abruptly stood up and went to the bedroom. When he returned, he was holding a photobook. He opened it and took out a photo. "Here." He tossed it across the table at her and then pointed to the people in it. "You can keep the picture, I don't like looking at it anyway. It's my brothers, Yasir and Ali."

Ashelin looked at the photo. It was old, the paper flimsy and stained. It was a group of people, six of them, standing together formally. She recognized her father first, much younger and with his body whole and healthy. In front of him was a person who had to be Damas, the old king himself. He was short and stocky, a haughty look on his face, with his green hair tied up in dreadlocks. A crown circled his head, skewed slightly towards his ear. Beside him had to be Ionna, who was wearing the same armor and paint that Ashelin had seen her wearing before.

Tariq had pointed to two of the remaining men, standing on either side of Praxis. They were obviously brothers, and obviously related to Tariq, too. One of them was older, standing straight with his hands behind his back like a soldier. The other was a little more relaxed, slouching a bit.

"The original Krimzon Guard." Tariq folded his arms and leaned on the table. "The king's advisors and confidantes, his loyal warriors. Both my brothers were in it."

Ashelin stared, fascinated, at the scene. "What happened to them?"

"Yasir died during the attack on the metal head nest."

An infamous day, her father always said. Every year he had a broadcast honoring the fallen soldiers and reminding the citizens that he would protect them. So long as they obeyed his every word, of course.

But there was nothing secretive about that. Plenty of young men had died in the attack on the nest.

"Ali died a few months later," Tariq continued, "when Damas disappeared. I was told he was killed in the riots that night."

Right. Her father had talked about the riots that had been the tipping point. People had been upset about the slowly deteriorating situation with the metal heads, and seeing all those people had scared Damas away. He'd fled in the middle of the night, the story went, leaving her father as the only one capable of taking control.

"But, see, that's the strange thing." Tariq met her eyes steadily. "Ali wasn't stationed in the city that night. He was stationed in the palace. So I don't know how he would've been killed in the riots."

Ashelin blinked. "Are you sure?" she asked. "I mean…this was a long time ago. You were a kid."

Tariq flipped through a few pages in the photobook. "My brothers," he explained, "were very different people. Yasir was organized and methodical, but Ali was…a little more scattered. He used to write notes on the back of papers."

He slid a paper towards her. Sloppy handwriting across it showed a brief note about thawing out meat for dinner, but Tariq gestured for her to flip it over. She did, and realized it was a printout of a guard rotation, just like the ones she saw every week.

Her eyes caught the date of the night Damas disappeared. And there, in black and white, was a schedule that put Ali at the palace for a twelve hour shift.

"They told my mother and I that he'd been killed in the riots. They published a notice of his death that said the same. But the truth always comes out in the end."

Tariq held his hand out to give her something else. Something small and metal dropped into her palm, and she curled her fingers around it carefully. It was an old metal pin, with the symbol of the Krimzon Guard on it. She recognized it immediately, because her father had one just like it. She'd played with it when she was a child.

"I remember the last time I saw my brother." Tariq took the pin back. "He told me that he was going to the palace, to do something very important. I told him to say hello to the king." Tariq's face twisted into a smile. "He said he would. Last thing he ever said to me."

"I'm…I'm sorry." Ashelin fiddled with the photo, for lack of anything better to do. "Your brothers seem like they were good men."

Tariq sighed and met her eyes. "Tell me," he asked slowly, "why are you really asking these questions?"

There was a hidden question there, Ashelin realized, one that made her stomach twist. Was she here for herself, or for her father?

"..." She leaned forward a bit. "Someone told me that…my father was lying to me. I want to know the truth."

"Do you?" Tariq asked quickly. "Why? What does it matter?"

"Because…" She hesitated, trying to explain. "I always thought my father…wanted to make things better. So I need to know if that's actually the truth."

Tariq seemed to accept that answer. "Then, let me tell you something else. My personal opinion, for whatever it's worth."

Ashelin watched as he closed the photobook. "...What?" she asked warily.

"I met King Damas a few times." Tariq stood up and went to put the book away. Ashelin followed him to the bedroom doorway so she could hear. "Once at Yasir's funeral. He came up to my family and tried to apologize for attacking the nest."

"Tried?" Ashelin watched as he slid it deftly into a bookshelf.

"Tried. Ali told him if he didn't leave, he'd be the next one in a casket. Our mother nearly had to pull him off Damas. My brother and mother, and near every other person in Haven City back then, blamed Damas for the failure at the nest. He…was not popular at the service."

He gently shut the door behind him as he left the bedroom. "What does that have to do with anything?" Ashelin asked.

"...The King Damas I knew from my childhood," Tariq began, "was far from a coward. In fact, I'd argue that he was stupidly courageous, because only a very brave idiot would go up to a grieving family that blamed him for their loved one's death."

He led her back to the front door. "I don't believe, for a single second, that King Damas fled," he continued. "He had his flaws, but cowardice wasn't one of them."

Ashelin's heart sank. "Are you saying you think my father…?"

"Yes," Tariq said abruptly, his hand on the doorknob. "I do. And I think you do, too," he added, "because you came here looking for a secret everyone else has forgotten. So, do with that what you will."

Tariq opened the door and saw her out, shutting the door with a finality that told Ashelin he wasn't about to talk to her again. The lock clicked behind her back as she walked away.

The sun was setting by now, the shadows flitting around her as people walked by. She stood there for a moment, unsure what to do.

She wasn't a fool; her father had always told lies and half-truths, but Ashelin had always justified it for the good of the city. To keep the people safe, he had to stay strong, keep them on a tight leash. She remembered his stories of King Damas, letting the people riot and starve, while he flailed uselessly against the metal heads.

Were those stories lies and half-truths, too?

There was only one way to find out. Ionna had said she'd be waiting. Ashelin straightened her shoulders and turned, decisively, towards the Mountain Temple.

Ionna had always woken up early.

It was ingrained in her from her years as a monk, and cemented by her short time as a mother. Mar was always up with the sunrise, toddling around in his room or playing with the trinkets that so fascinated him. Ionna would wake and go to his room, greeted by a cheerful little boy running to wrap his arms around her knees.

As she woke now and headed into the infirmary, she was met by the sight of Jak, lying motionless in the bed. Something struck her, hard, as the image was juxtaposed with the thought of her son.

She approached the bed and reached out. She brushed her hand against his forehead, watching the strands of yellow-green hair separate beneath her fingers. He was warm with fever, but not burning up like he'd been yesterday. She adjusted the blankets and then sighed, sitting beside his bedside.

"...When this is all over," she murmured slowly, "I think you should take a break. You're much too young to be burdened with the world."

"Tell me about it," Daxter grumbled from behind her. She jerked up in her seat. "And it's been like this for years, ya know," he added. "I keep tellin' him, 'Jak, you're gonna get tired of this shit sooner or later.' But he's been the hero for so long, he's not used to being anything else."

He jumped onto Ionna's shoulder. She stood up and headed for the counter. She started to pump water into the kettle. "Perhaps it's just my age coming out," she told Daxter, "but I hate to see someone spend all their youth working for others. Elders have a duty to the young, to protect and care for them. It rather seems as though the folks around you have failed in that duty."

"No kidding." Daxter watched as she began to brew coffee. "Samos, the old sage we told you about? He still acts like Jak's the only one who can do anything around here. As if there aren't fifty other people runnin' around who can shoot metal heads."

Daxter jumped to the counter and began to pull mugs out of the cabinet, as comfortable as ever. "And you what the worst part is?" he continued ranting. "He never offers to help. All he ever does is sit around and complain! You know, one time, when we were kids, Jak wanted to go to the jungle to catch himself a hard-back beetle, but Samos kept him busy fixin' up the hut and unblocking the eco collectors and…"

She half-listened to Daxter ramble a bit about his and Jak's shared childhood. She remembered Keira saying something about how the trio hadn't grown up in Haven City, how they were from a little village by the sea. She opened her mouth to ask about it—after all, she didn't know of any seaside villages, and it didn't sound like they'd come to Haven willingly—but a noise from Jak's bed distracted her.

"Ugh…Dax?" His voice was raspy and delirious. Ionna quickly grabbed a bottle of sedative and a syringe. Daxter skittered across after her and jumped onto Jak's chest. "Daxter…I dreamed we were in a band."

Daxter snorted with laughter. "That wasn't a dream, bud. You and I are in a band, finest in the desert! You play the drums."

"Bang, bang." Jak gave a strained laugh, almost a giggle. By then, Ionna had already injected him with another dose of the sedative. "Do I at least play them…good…?"

He drifted off again as Daxter laughed uproariously. "That's some strong stuff you gave him, huh, doc?"

"It certainly does its job." She dunked a cloth in cool water and gently began to wipe Jak's face. Behind her, the bell rang out as the door opened. "Poor child still has a fever."

"Eh, if you think a fever can keep my buddy down, you better think again." Daxter climbed onto the bedside table. "I mean, look at 'im! He's barely conscious and crackin' jokes!"

"That's a good sign." Damas' hand appeared from behind her and Daxter, holding a mug of coffee out. Ionna took it gratefully. "Well, not the barely conscious part."

"Hey there, Lord Graininess," Daxter greeted. Ionna stood up, sipping the coffee. "How's business? Sandy and hot as usual, I assume?"

"Thank you for coming in." Ionna started scribbling on a notepad at the counter. "I won't be gone long. I certainly don't want to spend too long talking to Ashelin Praxis."

"I don't even know why you're talkin' to Ashelin," Daxter grumbled. "It's like talkin' to a wall. A good-lookin' wall, but still a wall."

"She and I have a bit of unfinished business," Ionna said cryptically. "Besides, I don't very much care for the way she's been treating you and Jak."

Ionna set the notepad aside with a flourish and turned to Damas and Daxter. "I already mixed the medication and salves for the regulars," she said, gesturing to a basket on the counter. "Rios will be in to pick up the deliveries. I've given everyone fresh doses this morning, so you only have to administer pain medication if needed." She pointed to a set of bottles filled with pills. "Jak will need sedatives if he starts to wake up, in the bottles on the top shelf. Ciara is in the bed next to him. She has a bad head injury, so you need to reassess her mental state every two hours. Ask her for a place and a name to make sure she's aware of her surroundings. If she seems confused, give her green eco and call me immediately. If there's downtime, try to mix some more burn salve, we used a lot on those dark eco burns yesterday."

"Uh, doc?" Daxter had made himself at home on Damas' shoulder, curled lazily around the spikes. "Maybe you could write some o' this down for us."

She flashed a notepad at them. "Already done," she said dryly. "Jak and Ciara are the only ones who need monitored. Everyone else should be resting. I'll only be gone for a few hours, but call me if you need anything. I won't be far."

Damas nodded. "I'd say good luck," he said with a wry smile, "but I feel I should save that for Ashelin herself."

Ionna snorted a bit of laughter as she tied her boots. As she left the infirmary, the last thing she heard was Damas' authoritative voice. "Alright," he said, and she could see him put his hands on his hips. "Let's get to work."

Ionna stayed at the Mountain Temple for the next week, using the scant clues given to her through her visions to search for Mar.

Most of her vision seemed to be in the slums: cracked and dirty concrete, a building with a single lightbulb hanging down, near-rotten fruit and jerky being pressed into his chubby hands. But she occasionally caught sight of what looked like a prison cell: iron bars, steel restraints, and some kind of medical equipment.

It was strange, and she couldn't quite make sense of it.

Ionna managed to sneak into the Fortress, but she couldn't find anything about Mar. Every record, every prisoner, was too old to be her son. So she focused on trying to find him when he was outside, scouring the slums, desperately asking people she'd never seen before if they'd seen him. Of course, it was made difficult by Praxis, who'd plastered her description all over the city, with directions to shoot her on sight.

She'd never find him this way.

And then Sig arrived at the Temple.

She spent her time meditating in the old spot overlooking the entrance into the city. The visions didn't always come when she meditated, but it didn't hurt. He found her there, walking through the overgrown grass to where she sat.

"I'm not returning," she told him stubbornly, before he could even say anything. "I haven't found him yet. I swore I would bring him home. And I warned Damas not to have you find me without need."

"Damas didn't send me." Sig sat down beside her with a grunt, laying his gun across his lap. "Not officially, anyway. He's starting to lose it, Ionna."

She sighed. "What's happening?"

"Well, first of all, he hasn't been sleeping." Sig launched enthusiastically into the story, clearly ready to let it all out. "I keep trying to give him some of that tea you gave me, but he said he's fine."

"If Damas doesn't want to sleep, just let him be. He's always been stubborn. He'll learn."

"Yeah, well, I would do that," Sig explained, "if he wasn't also coughing up blood." Ionna flinched. "Absolutely refuses to see the monks. Says he doesn't have time."

"Then have Seem—" Ionna began, but Sig cut her off.

"She's doing the best she can. She literally posts a monk near him 24/7 to heal him. But he just keeps going." Sig sighed and leaned against a tree trunk. "You know why he's not resting? Because he's been having council meetings every single day. He says we need to overhaul all the laws of Spargus, because we've gotten soft."

Ionna sighed. "Sig, what do you want me to do about it?"

"He listens to you. Hell, he doesn't listen to anyone else," Sig replied. "Antwon is going crazy trying to reign him in. They literally got into a shouting match at the last meeting."

"Over what?" Ionna couldn't see Antwon, usually so even-keeled, shouting at anyone, let alone Damas. "What could they possibly be fighting about?"

"Damas wants to make everyone go through a battle trial to keep their citizenship." Sig reached into his pack and pulled out the beacon he carried. A symbol of citizenship, of identity, of belonging. "He ordered Antwon to start capturing Marauders so they can start the fights and Antwon refused."

Ionna's stomach twisted. Marauders who attacked Wastelanders and were captured were offered a choice: fight for their survival and a chance at citizenship, or die in the desert where they stood. But to seek out and capture men intentionally for arena battles? Unconscionable.

And furthermore, to have every citizen fight in the arena? Honestly, Damas would be lucky to get that far: Spargus loved its king, but they were harsh people. And he did have a habit of making enemies out of friends.

"He's such a damned fool," Ionna muttered. Sig snorted in agreement. "He thinks he can erase his past mistakes. Well, unfortunately, Mar is still gone and he can't change that." She pursed her lips. "But I can."

"And have you had any luck?" Sig pressed. "Or have you been spinning your wheels trying to find a needle in a haystack?"

Ionna didn't answer, but she didn't need to. If she had found Mar, she wouldn't be here right now. Sig nodded, looking almost smug, but a bit too sad. "Yeah, I figured. Look, Ionna, are you sure Praxis doesn't have him?"

She could see, in her mind's eye, Praxis' face when she'd mentioned her son. "...Yes," she said. "I'm sure."

"Then you're going to need someone who can search the city freely." Sig gestured towards the city. "Praxis' goons are looking for you. You can't just waltz out there and go busting into houses to find him."

Ionna sighed and fell back against the tree. "I know," she murmured. "I know, but what else can I do?"

"Let me do it instead." Sig tapped his chest, the armor making a hollow noise. "I wasn't kicked outta here on my ass. And don't tell my mama this, but a lot of the business I do with Havenites is…not strictly legal. I've got a lot of connections in this city."

Ionna stared out into the distance, considering her options. Before she could respond, though, the metal doors below them clanked open. Footsteps across the ground echoed through the canyon as they both looked down.

"...That's Praxis' daughter." There was clearly no love lost between Sig and Ashelin. Ionna chuckled under her breath. "What's she doing here?"

"She came to find me, I assume." Ionna stood up, peering down at the young woman as she stepped into the transporter ring. "I told her she should do some digging into her father's past. I suppose she found a few bones." Her eyes flickered to Sig. "Wait here, please."

"You sure?" Sig had only seen Ionna fight a few times, mostly in sparring matches with Damas. He'd seen enough to know she could hold her own, but loyalty wasn't about capability. "I can be backup."

"There's no need. I doubt she'll fight me." Ionna strode towards the Temple. "After all, I'm sure she wants to know where else the bodies are buried."

She made her way down the overgrown path, winding around tree roots and broken relics. Such a shame, she thought, that such a beautiful place would fall into disrepair. This had been her home, once upon a time.

When she arrived at the Temple, Ashelin was standing there, her arms folded over her chest. "Ashelin Praxis. Did you do your research?"

Ashelin's lips tightened. "Why did you come back here?" she asked. "You said you thought my father had something. What's so important that you showed back up here?"

"...Damas' son. My son." Ionna watched as Ashelin's mind whirred to keep up. "The heir of Mar. He was taken from us, and I thought Praxis had him. But it seems I was wrong."

"So now what?" Ashelin demanded. "You dethrone my father and your kid takes over?"

"Let me be clear," Ionna responded, her voice suddenly curt. "My son belongs in Spargus. Neither Damas nor I want anything to do with his forsaken city, and we never wanted our son near it."

"But he's the heir of Mar," Ashelina argued. "He was born with the birthright to the city."

"My son was born with the bluest eyes you've ever seen and a wail that could cause you to go deaf," Ionna said coldly. "He was not born with a job. And I don't believe you came to ask about my family, did you?"

Ashelin stared at her for a moment, then bit her lip. "...Did my father steal the throne?"

"Yes." Ionna sat on the floor and gestured across from her. Ashelin hesitated, then followed suit. "Baron Praxis usurped the throne from Damas, almost twenty years ago."

Ashelin exhaled slowly. "And Damas never ran away, did he?"

"No. Damas was imprisoned and banished to the Wasteland." Ionna clasped her hands. "Your father banished most of his supporters back then. He killed some of them, but Damas surrendered to spare their lives."

Ashelin swallowed. "And…Ali…"

"Was killed because of his refusal to kill Damas," Ionna confirmed. "I'm sure you saw that his older brother was killed at the metal head nest. A tragedy for their family."

Ashelin put her head in her hands. "...All my life," she said quietly, "I thought my father was doing his best. I thought he was cruel, but he stepped up when the king vanished. Now I'm finding out that he orchestrated the whole thing. An entire lie, made up just for power."

Ionna watched and waited, until Ashelin finally took a deep breath and straightened her back. "Why did you want me to know this?" she demanded, almost angry. "You could've just killed me when I came here. Why didn't you?"

Ionna gave her a smile, but there was something bitter and sad in it. "Do you know what is the most wonderful thing about children?" she asked suddenly. "It's that you look at them and see the future. I look at my little Mar and I see a future filled with all the things I never had. A stable home, a happy childhood, no responsibilities and all the freedom in the world. Damas always said he saw a future of peace, with no guns and wars and fears. All the things he never had."

Ashelin stared at her, puzzled, as she continued.

"When I heard your name, I couldn't help but wonder: what does your father see when he looks at you?" She stood up, her knees popping into place. "Does he see a child who will one day bring an end to the war, and make this city a better place?"

Ashelin stood up across from her. "I always imagined a better place," she admitted. "A better city. I know…my father isn't perfect. But he's protected the citizens his entire life."

"I know," Ionna said simply. "Trust me, I have seen the good in your father. But I have seen the bad, as well."

"What should I do?" Ashelin asked. "Now that I know this, what do I do?"

Ionna shrugged. "Whatever you want. Information is a powerful tool." She hesitated, then reached to her belt. "I'm leaving the city tonight. I won't be here if you return."

Ashelin blinked as Ionna handed her something. It was about the size of her palm, round and orange. It had the distinctive look of Precursor metal to it, with the old letters carved into the outer rim. The middle had a yellow button in the center. "What is this?"

"A beacon." Ionna nodded to it. "I told you that I've seen the bad parts of your father. I know what he is capable of, unfortunately. Should you ever find yourself in need of your own haven, come to the Wasteland and hit the beacon. We'll find you."

Ashelin blanched at the thought. Ionna was already leaving, her footsteps echoing around them. She caught a glimpse of Ashelin, stuffing the beacon into her pack, and then heading for the exit.

Ionna wasn't surprised to see that Sig was nearby. He nodded to her. "What did she have to say?" he asked.

"Nothing surprising." Ionna gave him an appraising look. "Are you sure you are willing to stay in Haven City? Mar is hidden somewhere…strange. It may be a while."

"You got it," Sig said immediately. "I'll find him, I promise. You just gotta promise you'll go back and put Damas' head back on straight."

"I'll do the best I can," she said wearily.

"So will I."

"We need to find him soon." She looked out over the hazy city skyline. The palace towered over them ominously. "Haven City is in for a reckoning soon, and I'd rather my family stay far away from it."

Ionna and Ashelin agreed to meet at an oasis, near Spargus and the transport to Haven City. Ionna was already there by the time Ashelin arrived in her Hellcat, looking as stern as always.

"I don't have a lot of time." Ashelin didn't mince words as she hopped out of the zoomer. "Is Jak alright? Where is he?"

"He's resting," Ionna replied. "The Dark Makers attacked our city and he pushed himself a little too hard. He'll be alright, but he's in no condition to deal with your nonsense right now."

"My nonsense?" Ashelin folded her arms over her chest. "You mean protecting his home and his friends from being destroyed?"

"Jak has already helped your city once," Ionna said in a low voice. "Do you know what he got for his troubles?" She pulled out a notepad, brandishing it like a weapon, and started reading off of it. "Three broken ribs. A fractured clavicle. A torn rotator cuff. Numerous contusions to his torso."

"You're talking about that time he fought Erol? I didn't know Erol would be up there!"

"But you knew something would be," Ionna argued. Ashelin pursed her lips. "Otherwise you'd have gone yourself. And let's not pretend this is the first dangerous mission Jak has been sent on for you. You've used and abused him and thrown him away."

"We're in a war!" Ashelin snapped. "And he's been injured in your missions, too, obviously."

"Yes, but Spargus hasn't thrown him out into the desert to die," Ionna said flatly. "We value and protect each other, and that makes all the difference."

Ashelin put her hands on her hips. "Is this why you wanted to see me?" she demanded. "So you could yell at me about Jak?"

"Yes. Because you have treated him poorly." Ionna tilted her chin up haughtily. "I gave you that beacon as an act of mercy, to protect you if your father turned on you. It was admirable of you to give it to Jak, but since you are the reason he was banished, I consider it the least you could do."

"Great. I came all this way to hear you go mama bear over your precious baby boy." Ashelin spat the words and Ionna's eyes narrowed. "What a waste of my time. Tell Jak to contact me when he's able to."

She went to head back to her Hellcat, but Ionna reached out and grabbed the back of her armor. Ashelin was yanked back, practically thrown onto the sands.

"I don't know why you thought it was a good idea to mock my son." Ionna's voice was deadly cold as she stood over Ashelin. "I honestly thought you were smarter than that."

"What are you talking about?!" She staggered to her feet, her hand hovering over her pistol. She knew it wouldn't do any good against Ionna, but she wasn't one to be bullied by anyone.

Ionna stepped closer, so that her face was only a few inches from Ashelin's. "You act as though I have replaced my boy with Jak, but nothing can replace my child." She poked Ashelin's chest, ignoring that the girl looked completely bewildered now. "My son has nothing to do with the affection I have for Jak. So do yourself a favor and never mention him again."

Ashelin blinked, trying to piece together what Ionna was saying.

She'd returned Jak's seal to him. Did he not connect the dots yet? Or maybe he just wasn't close enough to Damas and Ionna to know their story. But then, she doubted Ionna would go to bat for Jak if they weren't close.

Maybe Jak had just kept the information to himself for some reason.

Ashelin had never told anyone else that Damas was still alive, or about his child. Samos and Torn seemed to have no idea where the Kid had come from, just that he was an Heir of Mar.

Though Samos certainly wasn't always truthful, she knew that.

"Well?" Ionna barked, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Have you nothing else to say, Ashelin Praxis?"

Ashelin opened and closed her mouth for a moment. Finally, she said quietly, "No. It's…nothing."

"Then leave," Ionna commanded. "Go back to the city your father stole, and stay far away from us."

Ionna spun on her heel and left. Ashelin watched her go, debating calling her back. But she bit her lip and stayed quiet.

It was better this way, honestly. If Jak knew who his parents were, there was a reason he hadn't told them. And if he didn't…

She felt guilty even thinking it, but she had to be practical. If Jak didn't know that he had parents in the Wasteland…

Maybe she could convince him to come back.