I'm replaying the main Jak trilogy again. I also bought a PS2 copy of The Lost Frontier, which I've never played, so...that'll be terrible.

Thanks to everyone who's reading this, and I hope you enjoy!

By the time Jak, Daxter, and Damas made it to the caves, the sandstorm was so bad, Damas could hardly see to drive. The Slam Dozer skidded to a stop in the shelter of the cave and he looked over at the passenger seat.

"Feeling alright?" he asked. Jak gave him a groggy grin.

"Just a headache." Jak rubbed his temples as he slid out of the buggy. "I've had worse."

"Ha. Famous last words." Damas pulled a flint out of his pocket and began to light the torches along the cave wall. "I'll check the cave and make sure there's nothing else living in here. There should be a med kit in the buggy. Use the green eco and heal yourself, that'll help with the headache."

Jak did as he was told, taking the med pack that Daxter scrounged up and applying the green eco. It settled under his skin, soothing the bruises and aches. He stretched a bit to let his muscles unwind and sighed, his headache easing a bit.

"The cave is clear," the king called to him. "No metalheads. We can wait the storm out here safely."

"How long do these things usually last?" Daxter asked. "'Cause I don't wanna be stuck here with you two wackos for too long."

"I can't really answer that with any kind of certainty," Damas admitted. "Sometimes hours. Sometimes several days. Judging the storms is far more difficult than you'd think."

"Wait, so we could be stuck here for days?!" Daxter flopped onto the ground dramatically. "Days?! With you two?! King Let's Check Out The Evil Sky Being and Captain Adventures On Misty Island?!" He put a paw over his eyes. "I'm doomed."

"The two of you should get some rest," Damas said, largely ignoring Daxter's dramatics. "It's been a long day. I don't doubt you're both tired."

Jak glanced at Daxter, who clearly didn't need to be told twice. The ottsel was already making a makeshift pillow with Jak's pack, leaning back against a rock and closing his eyes.

And, if he was honest, Damas was right. Jak was tired, but he wasn't about to let it show. He opened his mouth to argue with the king, but he was cut off.

"This storm isn't going to let up anytime soon," Damas told him. "And I'm perfectly capable of defending us if need be. Get some sleep."

"...Alright," Jak finally agreed. "But you have to swear you'll wake me up the minute you need a break."

"Don't worry." Damas folded his arms as Jak settled on the ground. "I will make sure of it."

"I would like to take this opportunity," Ionna said calmly, "to remind you that I hate Precursor puzzles."

Seem glanced over at her. "You should be used to them by now."

"Out of practice, I suppose," Ionna mused. She shifted her cloak up, hiding her face with the hood. "That is what happens when one is no longer a monk."

The pair were in the Monk Temple, deep within one of the many hidden corridors. It was one they had never entered before, had no need to. Now, their search for the artifact led them here.

They had reached a door, one with a puzzle: stones based on the six colors of eco. It was a fairly basic mechanism, much like the many puzzles they'd been trained to do as children.

Which didn't make it any more enjoyable for Ionna.

"Read me the clue again," she told Seem. The monk held up her torch and read the script that was carved into the wall.

"Creation itself brings birth to life. Destruction is wrought by power. Energy gifts us strength.

"..." Ionna sighed heavily. "Light eco paired with green..." She moved the stones along the door. "Hmm...dark with yellow, and...red is with blue."

As the last stone clicked into place, the door opened with the sound of Precursor metal dragging across the ground. Seem held the torch out for them to see and they entered.

The chamber was large and plain, with nothing but a circular pit in the center. Ionna approached it, hesitant. "...It's just water," she said finally. "Thank goodness. The worst part of Precursor puzzles is that the prize is usually either a bottomless pit or spikes."

Seem frowned at the pool. "It's deep," she said finally. "And I have no idea what's at the bottom."

The two women looked at each other for a moment, as if mentally battling about something. Finally, Ionna gave an exasperated sigh and started to take off her cloak. "Fine. But you're handling the next chamber. And Precursors help you if there's a sea monster or something down there."

With that, she took a deep breath and dove in.

For all his resistance, it didn't take long for Jak to fall asleep. He had curled up next to Daxter, using his own arm as a pillow, his mouth open and snoring slightly. He jerked in his sleep occasionally, kicking his feet out, but other than that, he slept soundly for the next several hours.

Meanwhile, Damas positioned himself at the entrance of the cave. He laid his gun across his knees and looked out, watching the howling sands go by. As the storm reached its peak, cracks of lightning appeared in the sky, illuminating the dust.

Sandstorms were fascinating creatures, Damas mused to himself. Dangerous, fierce beasts that could tear a person apart, with no regard for their courage, loyalty, or lack thereof. Yet after the storm, when the sands calmed themselves, there was a peace to the desert, as if it were resting.

Mar had always loved to watch the sandstorms. He'd been so young, just a babe, too young to go out into the Wastes when a storm was near. But he'd sit in the throne room, behind the water wheel, and stare out the window.

He'd fall asleep back there sometimes, lulled into slumber by the raging sands he'd been born in. Damas would scoop him up and carry him to his bed, tuck him in and kiss his forehead. Sometimes, Mar would wake up and demand that Damas stay in his room, telling a story or singing a lullaby until the boy fell back asleep.

The memories didn't hurt, not like they used to. It used to be that Damas shoved the memories away, refused to get caught up in the past and its pain. But now…

Damas glanced behind him. He wasn't foolish enough to pretend that Jak had nothing to do with that. Perhaps, if he couldn't give his son the pride and affection of a father, he could at least give it to someone else who needed it.

The king stood up and walked over absent-mindedly to the two boys. Jak looked so young when he was asleep, he thought. Relaxed and calm, he had none of the anger that seemed to age him. Damas settled his hand on the side of the boy's head, his fingers just barely touching Jak's hair.

The boy stirred, groaning as he stretched a bit. Damas moved his hand away as Jak opened his eyes, blinking his vision into focus. "D-Damas, what's up?"

He yawned and stretched as he sat up; Damas felt a smile tug on his lips. "Nothing, I was just checking on your injury. Go back to sleep."

But Jak was already waking, rubbing his eyes and running his hands through his hair. "Nah, I'm okay. I feel a lot better now." He tapped the back of his head to prove it. "Doesn't even hurt."

Damas turned back and walked to the entrance of the cave. "Why am I unsurprised that you have a hard head?"

"Ugh, you've been spending too much time with Daxter." Jak followed behind him, strapping his morph gun to his back as he did so. "Anything happening?"

"Nothing. The storm's not letting up anytime soon." Damas gestured into the sandstorm. "We've probably got at least another four or five hours before it's drivable. Perhaps longer."

"Will any Wastelanders come for us?" Jak asked. He sat down on the ground, watching out the mouth of the cave.

Damas shook his head. "Not right now. Wastelanders don't bother with dead men. Either we found shelter, or it was too late for us." He gave a grim smile as he sat down himself. "Luckily, this time, we are safe."

The conversation lapsed, letting silence reign over them as Jak stared out into the sandstorm. Damas felt his heart lurch when he saw those blue eyes, childish and curious in a way that was oh-so-familiar. There was another flash of bright electricity in the storm.

"Wow," Jak said softly. "That's some pretty crazy lightning."

Damas turned his gaze outward. "You've never seen desert lightning?"

"No. I guess I've never really paid too much attention." Jak folded his arms. "I'm usually trying to run away from the storms."

Damas gave him a crooked smile. "Sandstorm lightning is an interesting phenomenon. It's powerful and silent, but relatively harmless. The winds and sands themselves cause more damage."

"..." Jak tilted his head as he watched another bolt of lightning streak across the sky. "The sandstorms are kind of beautiful," he commented. "In a weird, terrifying sort of way."

Damas let his eyes wander over Jak again, but let the conversation falter again. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the storm whizzing by as night fell. Eventually, Damas had to stifle a yawn behind his hand.

Jak, as observant as he was, noticed immediately. "You can go get some rest, if you want."

"...Are you certain?" Damas asked. He was tired, and considering his less than stellar sleep schedule recently, he needed all he could get. Besides, he trusted Jak. "I don't mind continuing to keep watch."

"No, it's okay. Dax'll be up soon, anyway." He nodded back towards the ottsel, who had now curled up into a fuzzy ball. "Go ahead and sleep."

Damas nodded, but said nothing. He remained where he was, simply leaning his head against the wall. "Make sure to wake me if the storm stops," he said, closing his eyes. "Or if you see anything suspicious."

"Sure," Jak assured him. "Wouldn't want you to sleep through any of the action."

"Fifteen feet," Ionna gasped, spitting water, "fifteen feet deep, and all I get is a damned light crystal."

She tossed said light crystal across the room, where it lit up the area around it. As she climbed out of the pool of water, Seem sighed.

"Dozens of useless artifacts and eco crystals, but nothing that looks like the Eco Sphere." Seem folded her arms. "Are you certain the artifact is here?"

"I'm not really certain of anything, if I'm honest," Ionna admitted, shaking water from her ears. "But it's not as if we have any better ideas."

"True." Seem handed Ionna her cloak and watched as she pulled it on. "How many more do we have left to check?"

"Let me see…" Ionna reached into her bag and removed a rolled up scroll of paper. As she unfolded it, Seem looked over her shoulder.

It was an old, faded map of the Monk Temple, drawn generations ago. Ionna's finger traced along the worn paths and markings. "Three doors in the upper floors, by the skyway." She pursed her lips and hummed. "Another near the Idols of tribute, it looks like. Though that corridor may be caved in."

Ionna rolled the maps up and started packing them away. Seem sighed slowly, clenching her fists.

"We are running out of places this artifact could be," she said quietly. "What do we do if we don't find it?"

"We search other places," Ionna replied. "The catacombs, Spargus, places Mar might have visited."

"..." Seem said nothing else, but Ionna caught her gaze.

"I understand you're afraid. So am I, but we don't have time for doubt and worry." Ionna slung her pack over her shoulder. "If Damas has taught me anything, it's the power of tenacity. We will survive, or die trying."

Seem didn't say anything. Ionna pulled the hood of her cloak up, hiding her face once again. "Let's move onto the next chamber, shall we?"

Freedom HQ always emptied out around sundown.

The bright blue lights of the monitors abruptly turned off as Torn hit the button. He was always the last one to leave, the first one to arrive. Keira had disappeared around noon; no idea where she went. Samos usually left midday, and Onin just sort of disappeared and reappeared at her will.

Torn rubbed his eyes and sighed, trying to imagine how in the world he was going to sleep tonight with his mind on overdrive. Here, he'd thought overthrowing the Baron would be the end of the war. Turns out that was the easy part.

He sat down at the desk in the middle of the room and began to put away the files he'd been working on. As he started to haphazardly throw them into the file cabinet—because, really, who cared about paperwork during a war?—he heard the door open with a mechanical swish.

Ashelin sat down across from Torn and set her head on the desk, sighing tiredly. He gave a snort of laughter and reached down into one of the cabinets.

"Need a drink?" he asked. He pulled out a glass bottle with a faded red label and opened it. "Afraid I don't have any glasses, though."

"Hidden booze? Not a good look for the Freedom League commander." Ashelin smiled, though, sliding the bottle over and taking a sip. She choked and cleared her throat. "Ahh. I forgot, you don't buy the good stuff."

"I can't afford the good stuff. You'll have to deal with the cheap stuff."

Torn took a swig from the bottle and made a rasping noise in his throat. Ashelin wrinkled her nose.

"Precursors, that's vile. That's probably why you're always in such a bad mood, you know," she said. "Start drinking smoother alcohol and maybe you'd be less angry."

"Not likely." Torn folded his arms on the desk and leaned forward. "I heard we made some progress in the metalhead part of the city."

Ashelin snorted. "Progress, my whole ass. We cleared a space about two hundred feet into the agricultural section, but it'll be overrun again in a day or two."

"Damn." Torn took another drink and passed the bottle back to Ashelin. She wiped the lip of it off and took another quick sip herself. "We're losing ground in the slums, too. Lot of civilian casualties, not that I didn't expect it. There are still hundreds of KG bots roaming around the city."

"This is ridiculous. I thought once we knocked out the War Factory, they'd be gone. Plus, without Kor, the metalheads should be easy to take care of, but…" Ashelin let her head slump back. "Ugh, this war sucks."

Torn smirked. "Not so easy when you can't just use your secret weapon, is it?"

"Don't start with me," she warned. "I know I screwed up. I just...we need his help, Torn."

"I told you way back when this whole thing started with the council," Torn reminded her. "People don't like being betrayed. You had the power to help Jak stay in Haven, you just didn't use it."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Hey, I was just trying to play nice with Veger and his cronies. I didn't see anyone else trying to take care of politics!"

"And you did your best," Torn told her. "But you don't know what it's like to be on the other side of the wall when someone you trusted slams it shut. You don't know what it's like to be shut out and left for dead."

Ashelin balked at his words. "I am not my father," she spat. "And this is not Deadtown. I'm Jak's friend, you know."

"I know you are." Torn leaned forward on his elbows. "But you'd be amazed how quickly your friends change once you're left high and dry. Why do you think I joined up with Samos?"

Ashelin glared at Torn, who kept his gaze steady on her. Before she could say anything, however, they were interrupted by the door swishing open once again.

"Um...excuse me, Commander Torn?" The woman who came in was clad in blue armor, but without her helmet, Torn could still see the tattoos. She saluted him and then quickly did the same to Ashelin. "Oh, Governor. I'm glad you're both here."

"What is it?" Torn asked wearily. "Please tell me there hasn't been another breach."

The woman shifted uncomfortably. "Nothing like that, sir. Just...I don't want to start trouble where there is none. But there's been some talk in the Guard."

"Freedom League," both Torn and Ashelin corrected. The woman nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, that. There are a lot of folks—not everyone, sir, just a good bunch—who are talking about...well, you, ma'am."

"Me?" Ashelin blinked and her face twisted into a smirk. "I'll bet they're saying all sorts of wonderful things about me, huh?"

The woman rubbed her wrists. "Well, um, no, actually."

"I can handle a few bad words said about me," Ashelin said seriously. "Let them gossip like old women all they want."

"It's not just gossip, ma'am." The woman bit her lip. "See, there's a lot of talk about...not me, mind you, but about how you're going to lose us the city. They're saying maybe we should put someone else in charge."

This proclamation was met with silence. Torn exhaled a growl.

"Let me guess," he said, "that someone else is our friend, Count Veger."

The woman nodded. "They keep saying that he knows how to save us from everything going on. Nothing concrete, just...talk, but…"

"Thank you," Ashelin said. "We'll look into it. In the meantime, please don't worry about this."

"You're welcome, ma'am." The woman started to head out the door again, but stopped. "Um, ma'am?" she said hesitantly. "You do have a plan for this war, right?"

"Of course we do," Torn said quickly. "And you can spread that fact around to everyone you know."

The woman smiled, reassured, and left. Ashelin blew a huff of breath out and reached for the bottle again. This time, she took a much longer drink, not paying any attention to the burn in her throat.

"So," Torn said, eyes flickering to her face as she slammed the bottle down, "playing nice with Veger. How's that working out for you again?"