The final chapter! At long last!

Less action, more talkies in this chapter. My apologies for the slow pace, but this story needed to be tied off and I didn't want to leave you on a cliffhanger. :)

Yes, that means there will be a short story after this one, mostly taking place during the events in Jak 3, with a little tweaking here and there on plot points and events.

Not to mention, Jak & Damas...

(Edit: Ha. Short story my buttocks.)

Warning for more swearing. Not a lot, but it's there.


Part 5

When I finally woke up, it was without pain.

For the first time in years. I couldn't help but smile in relief, in amazement.

I could still feel the Dark, but it was so.. muted now. The Light swirled around it, not blocking it but balancing it.

It was peaceful. My mind and body felt cleaner, clearer than before I could accurately remember. Without the constant internal struggle against the Dark, I felt sharper. Fresh. Able to think, able to be.

When I opened my eyes, the room was shadowy and empty. That jerk monk had vanished. After a moment, I realised the shadows were flickering.. because the source of light was coming from behind me.

The vent!

It wasn't supposed to open, right? It had hurt like fuck when it did, but it had apparently also cured me. Well, at least repaired me a little.

I rolled over and squinted at the almost-forgotten sight of an eco vent opened up. Instead of green or blue, however, this vent emitted a pure, vibrant white.

"It's good to see you awake."

A patient, dusky voice broke the silence. I rolled to my feet and reached for a weapon that wasn't there.

A slender, short form appeared out of the shadows, hands raised slightly in supplication.

"Peace, friend." The woman – the monk – said quietly. "Your reaction to the Light Eco – despite being consumed by Dark – was more than sufficient reassurance for me. As long as you do not seek to harm the Wastelanders, you have no enemy in me."

I looked her up and down. Her dark red eyes were calm and honest. Her very being exuded a sense of peace and self-control.. unlike that other bastard.

Maybe not all monks were so bad.

I nodded, shortly.

"Fine." I said. "Where's my gun? And Sig? And where the hell am I, anyway?"

A smile twitched at one corner of her mouth before the serene expression righted itself once more.

"You are in the tunnels below the desert." She answered calmly, turning slightly and beckoning him to follow her. "Your gun is, I imagine, still in the throne room from where you were taken. I will escort you back to the city – the tunnels take many years to learn."

"And Sig?" I persisted. I had the vague feeling that he was ok.. maybe somebody had already told me, but I had to make sure.

"Sig is well." That was definitely a smile I heard in her voice, probably because her back was safely turned to me. "In fact, I believe he is on his way home. If we hurry, you should be able to meet his transport."

"Thanks." I muttered, following the shorter monk with light, easy energy flowing through me. I couldn't stop marvelling at how healthy and fresh I felt.. especially after that latest bout of Eco-sickness I'd just had. Even the dark depression that had been wearing me down for the past few months seemed to be lighter.. to the point where I actually recognised that I had been depressed.

It was a weird feeling. Liberating.

I could almost forgive the Precursors for taking so damned long to provide this 'balance' they'd promised.. just because now that I actually had it, it kicked ass.

"What happened to that bastard monk?" I asked after a good twenty minutes of silent walking. For most of that I'd been revelling in my new good health and the rest I'd spent putting my hazy recent memories in order. Unfortunately the bastard was reasonably clear.

"Aiden is.. otherwise occupied." The monk answered quietly. "I imagine he has begun to realise that taking you from the King's protection without permission – for any reason – is not likely to sit well with King Damas."

I almost tripped over my own feet. That's right! Damas! The memory of him.. dark skin, kind eyes, strong hands.. came rushing back.

"He seemed.. pretty familiar." I ventured cautiously. "Has he.. been to Haven before?"

The monk threw a curious look over her shoulder.

"Not for a long time." She answered, almost sadly. "King Damas has always been a good ruler, dedicated to the welfare of his people.. but his people have not always held such distinction. Almost three decades ago he was banished from Haven City – the seat of his line's power – by a coup led by Baron Praxis. The people, caught in fear of the Metal Heads, supported the treasonous action - save for the loyal few. All were banished to certain death in the desert, keeping Praxis' hands ostensibly clean of blood."

I frowned and increased my stride so I could walk next to her.

"But he's obviously not dead." I observed. "And Praxis is. Why didn't he come back?"

The monk sighed.

"When King Damas was banished, Praxis didn't know that the line of Mar had a fortress hidden in the wasteland." She answered gravely. "The King brought his followers there and sent some of them to retrieve others loyal to him, but who weren't involved in the original dethroning. It suited the King for Praxis to believe that he and his had perished in the Wasteland. Over the next few months, handfuls of his most loyal left the city with all the supplies they could lay their hands on, sneaking out once Praxis was certain of his control. The fortress provided shelter and water.. and Damas was prepared with knowledge of how to find food in the wasteland until supplies could be cultivated."

Jak turned his gaze forward again, enhanced eyesight easily picking out the varying tunnels hidden in the darkness.

"He sounds like a pretty good guy." He conceded. "Better than Praxis. So why didn't he return? Ashelin means well, but she's being strangled by the council more and more. Not a one of them doesn't want the power Praxis had, and all of them hold claims on a par with him – they're nobility, after all."

The monk was silent for a short time. Eventually, she paused and turned to Jak, looking up slightly at the taller man.

"King Damas.. loves his people." She explained quietly. "When so many threw him aside out of fear and selfishness, it wounded him. He has since established a new power base, one whose loyalty and dependability he does not need to question. There is no ruling class, only warriors. Respect and obedience is earned, not inherited. Every man and woman, be they warrior, healer, builder or farmer, earns Damas' protection. And for every man or woman, he would personally fight. This, they know. It only serves to increase their devotion."

"Haven isn't worth saving." Jak observed quietly, having had similar thoughts himself, once or twice. He had saved it, but one half of that was direct revenge against Praxis and the other was simply because he had friends living there he wanted to protect. If he hadn't had them.. if he'd known there was somewhere else to go.. he might have left Haven to its fate.

"He would not have been happy to see it fall." The monk corrected him gently. "It had been his family's home for generations. But it was not worth sacrificing his men over, not when the Metal Heads were still a threat. It would be ill-advised for him to invite enemies to attack from more than one direction.. and the nobility of Haven are nothing if not enemies."

She slanted a brief smile at him, then turned to continue walking.

"There was much rejoicing at the news of Praxis' and the Metal Head Leader's death." She commented. "For that alone, Damas would welcome you to Spargus. Especially as you sought no power for yourself through your actions. You sought only to protect."

I frowned.

"I sought revenge." I corrected curtly. "Kor killed Praxis when he got in the way. When Praxis died, I was furious that Kor had done it so quickly. I wanted him to suffer."

Her head tilted towards me, but she didn't turn and she didn't slow.

"And now?" She asked simply.

I paused for a second. The thirst for vengeance had slipped away. The fury, the grief, the desperate, insane lust for blood had all been washed away in a flood of Light Eco.

"Now.. I'm glad he's dead." I admitted grudgingly. "But.. I don't really feel anything else."

She nodded, as if of suspicions confirmed.

"Festering hatred would do you no favours." She said, almost approvingly. "I am glad to see your darkness conquered, in more ways than one."

She then stopped by a ladder leading up into a dark hole in the roof.

"This ladder opens just outside the city walls. Sig will arrive soon. I will inform the King of your safety and health."

She turned to face him fully, red eyes locking onto him. One white hand rose, making smooth, practiced signs in the air.

"I am Seem. I was glad to speak with you, Jak. Perhaps we will meet again soon."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and vanished into the gloom.

Drawing a breath, conscious of the complete lack of sarcastic commentary from his absent best friend, Jak turned to the ladder and started climbing.

That was one monk he wouldn't mind meeting again, either.


Sig stood up as the hovercraft began to sink down. Daxter, clinging to his shoulder with the ease of long experience, was peering out the grimy window in apprehension.

"Uh.. you sure this is the right stop, big guy?" He asked nervously. "Because fur and sand don't go so well together. Fur and heat don't go well together. Put them together and you've got one sand-encrusted ottsel-brick."

The door ground open, bits of sand gumming up the hydraulics. Sig squinted against the rush of hot wind sweeping into the small cargo hold, his skin welcoming the familiar heat.

Haven's wet, polluted air always seemed to cling to him, with only the desert ever managing to scour it away.

As he searched through the pre-dawn light for the trees marking the gateway into the city, his artificial eye caught a pulse of eco. The first reading he got seemed to indicate the very rare 'Light' Eco, which caused a bolt of worry to shoot down his spine.

Only the monks had access to reserves of Light Eco. For one to be waiting outside the safety of the city for him could mean very few things, none of them good.

He could only pray they hadn't been sent to inform him of Jak's demise.

A heartbeat later, his sensors indicated a pulse of Dark.. in the same location!

The predawn light was poor quality and the sand carried in the wind helped in obscuring the identity of the waiting person from both his eyes. Frowning darkly, he jumped the last few feet and trudged determinedly towards the hazy figure.

Daxter, silent after an attempt to speak had left him with a mouthful of sand, hunched down on his shoulder, face turned into Sig's scarf.

As Sig stepped closer, the form became clearer.

Definitely no monk. Looked more like a Wastelander. But he knew no Wastelander who..

Then the man's face came into view and Sig almost stopped short in delighted shock.

"Jak!" He roared, running the last few steps. "Damn, cherry, it's good to see you. Conscious, that is."

Jak grinned back at him, the expression more alight, more alive, than any Sig had seen on his face before.

"Back at you, big guy." The other man called, his back turned slightly to block the wind. "I was worried."

Sig scoffed loudly, even though they both knew the kid had a damned good reason to. Sig still being alive had everything to do with luck, not skill.

"I ai'nt so easy to get rid of." He growled, unable to stop a grin from spreading over his own features.

Any reply of Jak's, however, was cut short as an orange furball lunged the last few feet and wrapped his head in a hug.

There was a long, muffled rant directed into Jak's hair and the teen grinned again, one calloused hand reaching up to pat his little friend gently on the back.

"I missed you too, Dax. Let's head in, eh?"

Sig moved to walk side-by-side the shorter man, clapping one hand on his shoulder.

It was damned good to see him like this, alive and well.

It was only as the huge blast doors of the first gateway rumbled open, that the Wastelander remembered his discovery in Haven.

He turned to look at the shorter youth as discreetly as possible.

This man, this warrior.. Was Mar. Damas' son.

Strangely, seeing Jak in person settled his lingering doubts, rather than increase them. Knowing who he was somehow made him see him clearer. All those niggling characteristics that had seemed so familiar.. they were there, Damas' legacy.

The green roots of the kid's hair, a memory of a tiny baby with wild tufts of green tipped with yellow.

Even his eyes looked more familiar, taking on the clarity and colour of his mother, rather than the Eco-tainted darkness they'd held before.

Which reminded him..

"What the hell happened to you, rookie?" He asked over the noise of the blast door closing.

Jak turned his curious gaze from the small fleet of Spargus' vehicles up to the larger Wastelander.

"A lot." He answered succinctly. "Some jackass tried to kill me and accidentally cured me instead."

Sig raised an eyebrow as they strolled towards the secondary door, ignoring the automated weapons aimed down at them.

"He still alive?" He asked, honestly curious.

Jak shrugged, irritation crossing his face. That was answer enough, if a little surprising. The Jak he'd known before would have ripped the guy apart.

"Huh. Well, restraint is a wonderful thing." He shared, unreasonably cheerful. Jak shot him a dark look and stalked through the inner doorway ahead of him.

Sig laughed out loud as he followed, drawing curious looks from nearby Wastelanders.


Twenty minutes later, the two of them were seated against a fountain set into the wall of the Tower's lower levels. Damas, being King, was currently occupied with other duties and the two of them were waiting to go up and report – Jak for the first time.

At first, Sig had sat back - peacemaker at his feet – and simply watched as Daxter verbally abused his friend for leaving without him, then seamlessly followed up with a highly embellished report of the adventures and trials he'd gone through to find him again.

Jak just listened silently, an amused tilt to his eyes as he nodded solemnly when needed. When he did speak, it was short and almost fragmented, as though Daxter didn't need a full sentence in order to understand everything Jak was expressing, or maybe as if Jak didn't really need words to express them.

This shorthand form of communication was something he'd witnessed before, primarily when fighting in close quarters with Jak and his pal. He'd never really understood how it had originated. It was too cryptic, too broken, to be a simple result of familiarity. Childhood codes and slang-speech tended to be structured more logically, closer to the form of the language everybody spoke.

This.. this was almost primitive, as though Daxter could pick up pretty much anything Jak felt like saying out of thin air, and all Jak had to do was pipe up with a guiding or clarifying word here and there.

It was also utterly exclusive, leaving no opening for Sig to puzzle out their words.. well, at least until Daxter got started on a long-winded rant of some kind.. but then the topic tended to weave so much, it still wasn't very useful.

This boy.. this almost-man… this contradictory fighter who'd survived the unthinkable with not only his sanity intact, but most of his humanity too…

How was he supposed to tell Damas? Hell, how was he supposed to tell Jak that he knew? Knew who he was, knew what had been done to him…

Knew that his father was alive and looking for the teen's six year old counterpart.

There was a sudden note of anger in the voice beside him and Sig tuned in just in time to see Jak turn on him, eyes flashing, a deep purple flicker of something the younger man was supposedly cured of.

"You went to the fortress?" Jak hissed, the light-hearted banter and ease of posture from before vanished. In its place was a lithe, eco-enhanced warrior who was practically vibrating with furious aggression.

And there was a reminder Sig probably needed.

Jak hadn't come out of that place unscathed. That chair and those men had taken a boy barely into his teens and broken him, putting the jagged pieces together again into a killing machine… one who just happened to retain the ability to reason, retain a sense of self..

And one who could probably put the credit for his humanity at the furry little feet of the ottsel watching him worriedly.

Oh, precursors… Maybe he shouldn't tell Damas. It would break his heart, to know what those bastards did to his little boy..

"I'm sorry, Jak." He apologised sincerely, turning to look the man in the eye, keeping his own body language as non-confrontational as possible. He knew that Dark Jak was all about instinct and reaction.. he didn't know how much of that bled over when Jak was just angry, but the less subtle encouragement he gave that aggression, the better.

"I truly am. I swear to you, the only reason I went there was to look for some kind of cure. You were dying from the overload of Dark Eco. I.. didn't know what else to do for you."

Jak was still angry, but Sig could see that his honesty was being recognised. The dark flicker in his eyes was abruptly snuffed out, and the blue of his eyes lightened a little.

Jak drew a deep breath, then let it out, his eyes shifting the to water tricking behind them. The silvery-clear liquid ran down into a deep blue-tiled basin, giving the impression of chilled water despite the heat of the desert air.

"Dax said.. you saw records."

The words were forced out, verbal tools of communication with no emotion behind them.

Sig nodded.

"Yep. Then I melted them. Bad enough that I saw them. I figured they weren't nobody else's business."

There was a long silence.

"Thanks." Jak said finally, grudgingly.

Sig shook his head again, his eyes on his hands.

"Naw, don't thank me, rookie. Any man worth the air he breathes would've done the same."

Jak snorted and looked up, his head slightly turned away so only one blue eye caught his gaze.

"I don't know many men like that." Jak said bluntly.

"Well, then." Sig said carefully. "Maybe you'll like it here. Take it from a native, cherry – this here's the place where all the decent people live. Hard workin', loyal, dependable.. and those who ain't don't last long."

"So I hear." Jak murmured. "Seem said everyone here used to live in Haven. That they either left or were thrown out."

"You know Seem?" Sig asked in surprise. Jak just nodded.

"Well, she's not wrong. And.. are you really cured?"

Jak hesitated.

"Kinda.." He temporised. "The dark.. it's still there. But it's kinda balanced out now."

"With what?" Sig asked curiously. Jak threw him a half-grin, the mildly-familiar expression lacking the sarcastic edge it usually carried.

"Light Eco." Jak said easily, as though that didn't go against pretty much every observed law of eco-behaviour.. ever!

"Well I'll be a concussed Yakkow.." Sig breathed, not disbelieving him for a second.
"Good for you, Jak. Did you pick up any more nifty little abilities to go with it?"

Jak chuckled. "No. But I don't need any. I'm just happy to feel mostly-normal again."

Sig paused for a moment, judging Jak's current good mood as he glanced up at the people waiting before them. They were being called into the throne room.. They didn't have long to go.

Should he say something before they went in? No. No, Damas should know first, if for no other reason than the fact that he was King and Jak.. good friend that he was, was only the son of the King.. By rank alone, Damas had to be told first.

It made his stomach tighten with a sense of betrayal, but he knew he'd get the same feeling if he told Jak before Damas, so he'd just have to suck it the hell up.

There was no reason he couldn't aim to get a little more information, though.. maybe even help encourage Jak to think about the issue himself…

He cleared his throat.

"Er.. Jak. When I first brought you in here, I found something on you. A certain seal. Daxter tells me it's yours.. not that you bought it or anything, but that it belongs to you, to your bloodline."

Daxter, who'd been dozing to the side – Jak's fingers rubbing behind his ears – now sat up, eyes sharp, and watched both men carefully.

Jak shot the ottsel a half-curious, half-exasperated look, as though silently asking him what else he and Sig had seen fit to gossip about.

"Yeah." Jak answered cautiously, his own eyes suspicious at the sudden change in topic. "It's a long story."

"I think chillipepper gave me the gist of it." Sig replied, not letting the topic go.
"Time travel, right?"

Jak shifted back slightly, his eyes narrowing.

"Why do you want to know?" He asked lowly.

Sig dropped his eyes. It was an incredible story, Daxter had told him. One he even believed.. but he needed more. He needed proof.. He needed something more than gut instinct and hope to give Damas.

"It's important, Jak." He said quietly. "I need to know who can verify he was you and how."

Jak got to his feet.

"Samos, the green sage." He said, words clipped. "Seeing as how Daxter's word obviously wasn't good enough. Samos took the kid back to the past, where he raised him by the name Jak – me. Years later, Samos, Keira, Dax and I accidentally open a rift gate and got pulled forwards again. We open the past to the Metal Heads, starting the war that still continues today and I get jumped by Krimson Guards and spend two years in a cage."

Low, hard words had given way to a dark, angry growl.

"Any more questions, Sig?" Jak all but snarled. "Maybe: Why didn't I step forward as heir to the throne of Haven? Why I didn't do anything to try and fix that cesspit up again? Well I'll tell you.

It was because I was too busy feeling relieved that Ashelin stepped in to take command of the city I hated, to get angry over how she'd seized power just as blatantly as her daddy had done before her."

Jak levelled a glare at the older man.

"As far as I'm concerned, the House of Mar is dead." He spat, turning on his heel to leave.

Then he froze, turning slowly back around to stare at Sig, his eyes wide.

"The House of Mar.. That was the royal line of Haven.." He whispered, eyes locked on to Sig's resigned expression. "But the King.. he was thrown out.. not killed. Damas. Damas is the King of the Wasteland.. and he used to be King of Haven too, didn't he…?"

Even Daxter couldn't find something to say to that, as Jak's face drained of colour, realisation that he had family alive warring with the shock of the sudden awareness of his position. Not heir to a dead line, but living heir to the living King. No longer alone in the world, but for a best friend starting his own life, but with a Father he couldn't remember from his youth… one who had seen him at his worst.. shaking with withdrawal, tainted with Dark Eco, snarling at that monk like some animal…

"Oh no…" He breathed, begged. "No.."

"Jak.." Sig started, getting to his feet and watching with worried eyes as Jak just stumbled backwards away from him.

"Just… no. Sig." Jak said, sounding almost fatalistically resigned. "It doesn't matter. I'm not him.. not anymore. I'm different now. I'm not his son. You can't tell him."

Sig just looked at him steadily, a crease in his brow the only indication of his turmoil.

"Jak.. the seal. When you touch it.. does it glow?" he asked quietly.

Jak closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Yeah." He muttered. "But that's just blood. There's more to a person than blood. And I'm not really a person. Not anymore."

With that, he turned again and headed for the exit, stride just short of breaking into a jog, tension visible in every line of his body.

Sig looked down at Daxter, who was staring up at him.

"I don't.. understand.." Sig said frankly. "I thought he'd at least be a little happy to find out.."

Daxter sighed, his gaze flickering from the retreating form of his best friend, to the loyal friend of theirs before him.

Loyalty was a rare commodity in this time. That alone made him deserving of a little understanding.

"I told you before.. that Jak wasn't the same after the Baron got to him." Daxter offered sadly, his ears drooping. "One of the worst things damaged was his self-opinion. For a long time, he hated himself. Intensely. Scarily. The only thing he hated more was the Baron. Not even Errol scored before it. He hated what he was, how he thought, how he reacted, how he killed.. his Dark, his words, his desire to end Praxis, his contacts.. everything about his new existence had been twisted until all he knew was hate and pain and even when he escaped the prison, he still carried it with him. There was just enough of the old Jak left, to realise how much of himself that he'd lost."

The ottsel scooped some water out of the fountain and drank, grief and lingering fury at the world that had done this to his friend making his throat dry.

"He got a bit better, over time. I did everything I could to make him happy, even if he just smiled a little, just once a day. I tell you, some days I was so desperate that I wasn't above dropping something heavy on my foot or walking into walls.. anything to try and get a reaction out of him."

Sig sat back down again, his complete attention on the animal.

"He's never seemed that bad.. not to me. The longer I knew him, the better he seemed. I just thought he was opening up a little."

Daxter shook his head.

"He got a little better – enough for suicide not to be the first thing on his mind every morning – with me living with him. I'd sleep on him, travel on him, talk constantly in his ear, fight with him, race with him.. every second I was there, reassuring him that I still liked him, still cared about him. He wasn't a monster to me. After the underworld accepted him, he got a little bit better still. People looked up to him there, he was a guy doing the impossible, spitting in the baron's face and making real changes. He'd saved several of their asses and even when rumours started about his Dark side, most of them still stuck by him, trusting the Jak they knew over the Jak that was whispered about."

"I see." Sig rumbled lowly.

Daxter nodded.

"By the time you showed up, Jak had loosened up enough that your honesty and reliability managed to get through to him. He wasn't about to propose to you or anything, but he liked you and that was more than most people would ever get."

"But sometimes.. people like you and me aren't enough. The people of Haven don't matter.. their opinions change from day to day. Torn and Ashelin know who he is and when they didn't even bring up the notion of who would take control and why, he knew that they were just as self-serving and hypocritical as the rest of them. They had noble intentions – they wanted to make Haven a better place – but their open duplicity was reason enough for Jak to turn his back on them. As far as he's concerned, you don't even get one chance. You just get tolerated. Do anything to prove you can't be trusted and you never will be."

Dax drew a deep breath.

"The girl he'd liked since we were kids turned out unable to accept Jak's Dark self. Nice girl, Keira, but a little too idealistic.. and when her rosy view of how the good guys should behave got spoilt, she took it out on Jak. Samos raised Jak, and yet he had lied to him his whole life. Samos knew what Jak would go through and let it happen and then brushed it off as if it didn't matter. Hell, the saggy lump of fungus even yelled at him, wanting to know what took Jak so long to rescue him."

"Bottom line.. the way Jak sees himself is pretty skewed. Even after all the people he's helped, all the good he's done, he can't see what we can. He can't see the good stuff left, only the good stuff he lost. And finding out he has a father.. well.. it's bad enough being used and rejected by friends and adopted family.. I don't think he could take it if his Father rejected him too."

Sig glared.

"Damas wouldn't!" He protested. "He's a good man and he already admires what he's heard of Jak."

Daxter gave him a hard look.

"Oh really?" The ottsel demanded. "And when he finds out that this nobody-soldier with the freak Eco powers is actually his son? When he finds out that the boy Praxis twisted and deformed into a Dark Eco Killing Machine is what's left of his five year old child? Will he be so happy then? Will he welcome Jak with open arms? Will he love him?"

Sig opened his mouth, then closed it again. What could he say to that? The furball had a point. Several of them, in fact.

"You're right." He said heavily. "But he still has to know. This is his son Daxter. He's been desperate to find him and now he's here, no matter his age or the trials in his life. He has a right to know."

Daxter deflated.

"I know." He conceded. "I know. But my first priority is Jak. And you owe it to the guy not to let him get hurt. Go and tell Damas, if you want. But if he reacts badly, I want you to get Jak out of here. No matter what Damas says or orders, you gotta keep Jak safe."

Sig nodded slowly. He didn't like that scenario but.. if it came to pass. He'd go along with it.

"Agreed." He said softly. "But I'm tellin' you. Damas is a good man. It won't be needed."

Daxter shrugged.

"We'll see, big guy." He said simply, before scampering off to track down his wayward friend.

Sig stared after him, thinking on all he had discovered, on all he had to report.

"Sig?" He glanced up. The Wastelander on clerk duty today – she'd been injured in a recent skirmish with the Marauders – gestured to him.

It was his turn to see the King.

It was time to take out the seal and explain to his old friend that he had lost his little boy, but still found his son.

He had to tell the King a story and somehow make him believe it, without dragging every person involved in it in for interrogation.

He had to pray that Damas wouldn't react badly, that he'd at least try to accept the reality of his older, warrior son.

For Jak's sake, as well as his Father's… he had to find a way to allow each of them to accept the other.

He nodded and strode towards the lift, peacemaker in hand.

He'd do his best.

Precursors, please let my best be enough.


The END! Finally!

Sequel is posted!

Once again, my sincere apologies to everyone who waited so long and so patiently (or impatiently). My sincere thanks for the persistent encouragement I've received, despite being so damned unreliable.

I hope the ending of this story was acceptable for you people who started it with me. My style has changed so much since the beginning that any end I considered writing then, would be much different to the ends I considered writing now.

I'm so happy this story is finally done and I hope I made a few of you happy too.