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iamjjmmma · 5 years

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“It Was a Matter of Security”- A Glitchtale Origins: Kanashi Fic

Note: I am very sorry if this sounds like a Shakespeare play. The Glitchtale prequels take place in the early 13th century, and the language they spoke at that time period, Middle English, is almost indistinguishable compared to contemporary English. That and I’m not fluent in Middle English, although I could probably understand it if given some text. So for the most part for this story, I had to combine some exclusively Middle English vocab with some Middle English words that carried over into Early Modern English (Shakespearean English), haha. Hope you enjoy anyway!

Kanashi never dared to tell anyone the things he saw. The things he saw every day, from the time he woke up with the sun hung over the middle of the sky to the time he laid himself right to his quarters again, he knew they were enclosed inside of him, that they originated from inside of him, and that no one else could see them.

He saw the most peculiar things all the day long, and while some of them he could explain, such as the warping he saw whenever viewing an inscription of a plague mask, some of them he couldn’t quite articulate, such as the breath from the air that left their lungs on a long-night winter’s evening turning from white to green. He would arise and view the sky, ponder how the Creator or Creators of his world had arranged everything under the heavens in a dome. And then he saw that dome and everything underneath it turn green, see the droplets of air that left him start to burn. He would take a dance under the rain, his inhibitions failing him quite, and see it sear his skin. He would contort his face and cower like a churchmouse, and so the others would mock and deride him before he realized the rain was quite safe and the danger had fled. He would ask endlessly what ingredients comprised the food he ate, and it was only afterwards that he did so.

But what was the one antidote to stop every peculiar vision was his favorite scarf, of a hue most crimson. He’d had it since he was a child, since those days with Amai…

He’d just obtained his seventh year a few weeks earlier, and the entire family was still up to their necks in giddiness. As his childhood was over, the rest of the neighboring peoples expected him to toil in the fields with his family, but for this day, his parents let him run amok with who they presumed was his lover-to-be.

To his parents, Amai was an angel, sent from above, sent to give them assistance on the farm-fields during harvest-time and sent to give Kanashi freedom from an idle mind. But to Kanashi, Amai was a flash of noonday sun, and while she was nothing more than that, she was nothing less than that, and with that, Kanashi snatched his scarf and set forth on the grass.

All day long, the pair of them ran from street corner to street corner, from streetlight to streetlight. When the afternoon came, he bought some bread from a vendor or two and shared it with Amai. They then each underwent a race to buy new trinkets for each other, although none of them were quite successful, tears nearly forming in their eyes when they realized in order to obtain their new trinket, they had to relinquish the one they’d carried all their lives.

While the bread was still in their bellies, they sat atop a haystack atop an abandoned fief, and used their scarf and a bear-shaped, child’s-hand-sized trinket from Amai to tell their own stories about how the constellations were formed despite it being midday. They knew that the unabashedly wild story of them sneaking out in the amidships of the night only dwelt in their minds.

Amai tilted her head to the side. “I don’t feel much inclined to make stories about the stars.”

“And why in the world would that be?”

“My father says that the story of the stars hath already been told. They were created, and that was all.” “Well, I’ve been occupying some hours wondering of how they were formed.”

“And how?”

Kanashi tilted his head the same way until his eyes locked with hers. “Birds. The birds do form them. In the middle of the day, the birds take notice of their prey. They quite regret the fact that they’re taking a life from the world, so they drop one golden tear into the sky.”

“I like that notion. Although I know I shouldn’t believe in it, I like it all the same.”

After a few more minutes, they ran their way back to the main road, and as their pace quickened, Amai met Kanashi’s eyes again, this time with a little ember trained in the back of them.

“I know what we shall do. We shall run as fast as our feet dare to fly, and when we reach a mile, we shall mark the winner!”

Without any protest, Kanashi began, and the people flew by them in thilke* manner of those birds in the sky, watching them with unabetted, unrelenting eye. Through shops and next to taverns they passed, next to peeping neighbors and well-kept gardens by clerkes* they passed, through the far reaches of the village and past the patricial side, hearing the members of high degree* mutter to themselves about “security”.

“Hark, they follow us! they follow us, Amai! Why do they follow us?”

Amai hesitated for an instant. “There is a path forged by nature here!”

Kanashi banked to the left, and he didn’t see any path before him, and neither did he feel it, as every few steps led to a sort of splinter or meager wound as he attempted to avoid every branch. It was only in the third and most painful splinter that Kanashi realized Amai had snatched ahold of his scarf when they were lying on the haystack in the fief, and it was only when Kanashi ran so close as to touch Amai’s tunic when he noticed the scarf, along with Anna’s trinket, were missing.

“Where do they go? Where do they go?”

“I placed them next to the tree! They’re mile-markers! mile-markers, Kanashi!”

Kanashi was a little disappointed, but continued running nonetheless, ran until he felt a splinter that was more pernicious than the ones he’d encountered and landed on his back quite heavily. Amai very nearly forgot about him before she came back more than a few moments later.

“Kanashi? Dost thee fare well?”

“Aye, and none the worse for wear. I don’t reckon I am able to see the village from here.”

The slightest rustling of leaves as Amai sat up. “Nor I.”

Amai shifted her way to the back and took notice of the sun, watched as it dropped its way over the horizon and slowly became hidden. She wondered, for an instant, of what it was like to fly beyond Pacienco, to fly to the middle district, to watch the sun set on a mountain each night…

“Night falls, Amai,” was what Kanashi mumbled as he stumbled to his feet.

And as night fell, the childrens’ feet fell, and their vision fell as well. All that they had to guide them were the fireflies and the occasional lightning-bolt from a storm far away. And so they ran past the deer, past the chattering birds, past the bear trinket and the red scarf, out into the village, past the villagers, past the clerkes, past shop-owner and neighbor, and finally into Kanashi’s home.

Kanashi cocked his head towards the door. “Hast thou played all the live-long day, children?”

“Yes, sir,” was their answer.

“Good, now we can get dinner started.”

As they dined on slightly-burnt bread, chicken, and herbs, Amai barely having eaten her first bite of chicken, Kanashi, in distress, confessed to his father that the two of them had each left their trinkets as the mile-marker. Kanshi reiterated, again and again, how the sun had already set and of the animals that were lurking in the woods now.

“As a mile-marker? How far did the two of you venture?”

Amai gave forth a little sigh before her conscience rang true. “We ventured out… into the woods, sir.”

“Into the woods? Kanashi, I shall not strike, nor shall I chide, but so moote* I thee give punishment all the same. You will receive no help from me, although you are free to go and seek your mother.”

This Kanashi did, although unbeknownst to him, she was on her way home, late from a much-preoccupied day at the market; the chicken and herbs they’d dined on was the remainder of food they’d had in the home. When he failed to find her, he made his way towards Amai’s house, where he found Amai’s father, Kennari.

“Oh, a mile-marker, eh? Well, that neck of the woods shouldn’t be cast too far off from where we are. I’ll carry you on my shoulders, and we shall be back before your mother gets home!”

They walked like that for fifteen minutes or so until they passed Kanashi’s mother, who thought at first that Kennari was her husband the way he was carrying Kanashi by his shoulders. Kanashi dared not to tell her of what he had done today and why he was with his uncle instead of his father to begin with, only hugging her once, thanking her for shopping at the market, and saying farewell.

For the rest of their walking in the woods, the night was silent save for a hooting owl, the crickets around them, and for the sounds of the village that carried over in the wind, carried from mile after mile. Kennari stooped down, and Kanashi very quickly donned himself with the scarf and held the bear trinket close to his chest.

It wasn’t until they were a mile or so cast off from the village that Kanashi noted to his uncle that there was a spot in the distance that looked nearly identical to the fireflies, except it was green. With distress, Kenashi repeated how he’d never seen that type of green before, and that he’d never seen it in the trees, in the grass, and his uncle, with the slightest of shudders, told him how it must be a conglomeration of fireflies, it must be, or else of the devil.

But as they ventured farther and farther, they started to hear screams, human screams, and they both rushed headlong towards the green. Slowly, the green revealed itself to be a dome encompassing the entire village, and the village was dying in all sorts of horrific manners that even the elders hadn’t seen even once ere now. People were gasping, clutching their throats when there were no wounds and nobody strangling them, people were twitching in all sorts of strange and peculiar ways on the ground. The people who seemed to be richer than they were, in the patricial parts of the village, had mysteriously vanished from the dome. And those who were either lucky enough to be in the outskirts of the village were crawling their way like terrified babes towards the edge of the dome.

“Amai! Mother! Father!”

He saw one of the oldest villagers drop his basket onto the ground and unceremoniously slump to the earth to meet his basket.

“Amai! Mother! Father!”

A villager with the palest exterior and the darkest of eyes unsheathed his hand, knocked his gangling hand on the dome once, twice, three times before collapsing to the ground.

Kanashi realized the skeletons in his village hadn’t already been dead, like in the stories Amai and him used to tell.

“Amai! Mother! Father!”

He saw… no. Was it the ears of a fox? Was it someone else? He’d known hundreds of foxes that’d been in the village. Was this his beloved Amai? Or was it someone he’d never met, someone who he’d barely encountered once or twice on the market streets?

“Amai! Mothe-”

And then his voice stopped, and he gasped and screamed and gasped again for air, for he was being suffocated. No one was strangling him; he felt no weight on him save for someone picking him up, and he scarce had the strength to look back and realize his uncle was running from the dome before he knew no more.

The last he saw in the dome was a man with a plague mask.

A plague mask worn for security.

It had been over twenty years since the event had passed.

His uncle and him had fled to the mountain, to the central district, and after having heard their ordeal, they agreed to take him in one of the refugee camps, joining a myriad of others with horrific stories from their own districts. As time passed and Kenashi turned nine, one of the neighboring villages with a relatively high population of fox-monsters agreed to take in Kenashi and his uncle. There he lived until, at the age of thirteen, he once showed exceptional ability during a sparring with one of the neighbors, and rather than being betrothed to the daughter of one of his neighbors, he was trained by one of the wizards’ advisors, who offered him food and lodging near the wizards’ meeting-place when Kenashi turned seventeen. Soon, he managed to become a friend to the wizards, and relocated to the headquarters itself ten years later.

Save for the nightmares, he very nearly managed to convince himself that his mother and father never existed in the first place, that he simply had no mother or father and his mind created those images, or else the devil sent them. His uncle had died as well when his time had come, and he’d finished his thirty exceptional years when Kenashi turned seventeen. Kenashi himself was nearing the end of his life now, and so when he ventured out into the dining hall, he tried to be comforted by the clerke’s voice.

“If this vision be true and not sent from the depths, they’re all martyrs, Kanashi. All the dead are martyrs. Giving their lives for His heavenly service. They’re saints now, watching over all of us and all we do. It was a matter of eternal security, Kanashi. They are now in no danger of becoming a part of the eternal flames.”

And as the peculiar visions came once again, a beautiful heresy sprung in Kanashi’s mind.

*of high degree: upper-class

*thilke: the same

*clerkes: priests

*moote: must

Glitchtale is by @camilaart

#glitchtale #undertale #camila cuevas

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jawnrochaa · 6 years

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hi friends, it’s winter and i love waterparks so i wanted to make a little creation challenge relating to the holidays and this fun season!

those wishing to patriciate will receive a member of waterparks (plus jawn lol) and can make/write anything with the holiday/ winter theme! if you celebrate a certain holiday that will be your theme, if you don’t that's okay! just let me know and i will give you a winter themed prompt (snow, warm fire, candy cane, ect.) or if you'd rather do a winter theme than holiday let me know as well! info under the cut!!!

how can i participate?

- send me and ask (off anon, it will be answered privately) or shoot me a dm, that's when you’ll get your member and let me know if you’ll be doing a holiday or winter prompt!

- reblogging this post isn't necessary but I would really appreciate it :)

- this lasts all of December, so the deadline will be midnight December 31st

- caption your post with your prompt please! (ex. Geoff + Hanukkah or Band Member: Awsten Theme: Icicles) and use the tag #parxmas first and maybe tag me in the comments because I will be reblogging all entries

what can i make?

- anything!! you can draw something, make a moodboard, write a fic, whatever you feel fits your prompt best!

all i ask is all entries are SFW

thanks guys, have fun creating!! <<3

#waterparks #awsten knight #Geoff wigington #otto wood #jawn rocha #parxmas

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symbioticsimplicity · 2 years

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I love fanfiction because it gives me the power to put two characters together from completely different works that would never meet each other.

I'm writing a Seto Kaiba/Princess Azula arranged marriage turned patricial coup fic and absolutely no one can stop me.

#i love how fan fiction works sometimes #im not usually a cross over kind if guy but i need this #ygo #seto kaiba #princess azula #azula atla #their dads are so fucked guys #not that i imagine theres gonna be more than just me knockin around in this extreme rare pair #but i think im gonna call it #aushipping

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xadoheandterra · 2 years

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Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

The House of Mar has big shoes to fill.

The city moved like a living organism before Jak’s eyes. He watched, hands clasped behind his back and face carefully blank, from the windows high above the city. People—Krimson Guard and Underground alike—came and went from the building in droves. They flowed with the populace who watched outside with undisguised curiosity, broke away, and came together again before transport vehicles. Jak watched the hellcats descend and loaded up; the transport vehicles filled. Normally the KG outposts, barracks, or the prison itself would be where they received their marching orders. Each of those locations were lost or within a district that still wasn’t recovered, and so the relief efforts—and the orders they received for those efforts—began here at the palace.

The movement itself did not lean toward subtlety, but Jak didn’t quite care. This place may be hell, and definitely Jak considered it to be his hell, but he’d found himself placed in charge of it and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t take care of it. The people were his responsibility now, for better or worse, and Jak refused to leave them be. He refused to keep over half of his city in ruins, to leave more than half of its populace to face threats that they were more than capable of being defended from. The very sense of purpose burned deep within him—despite everything Jak silently swore to protect the people of this city, the home of his ancestors, and the home of his pain. He silently swore that if he had to he’d rebuild Haven from the ground up.

On his shoulder Daxter quietly mimicked Jak. He stood tall, feet planted firmly, and hands clasped behind his back at parade rest. The ottsel’s face also schooled carefully blank as they both observed the ground below. Torn and Ashelin worked quick, Jak and Daxter had to give them that. They’d gotten the Krimson Guard mobilized pretty fast, and what Underground agents were on hand shifted into the groups they were directed without a fight. Jak found himself surprised to not see any of the expected infighting between the two groups given their history, but then he and Daxter both knew how some causes were important enough to leave grudges behind.

“Torn always was good at commanding,” Samos said tiredly from a few paces over. Jak glanced to him. “It’s why I left him in charge as often as I did.”

Jak glanced back to the world below. “He’d make a good leader,” the teen noted. “Why isn’t he in charge of the Krimson Guard?”

Samos tapped his cane and hummed in thought. “You have been informed about their formation?” the elderly sage questioned. “The original purpose for the Guard?”

“You mean aside from the spelling illiterate?” Daxter snarked. The seriousness of the ottsel teen’s stance stopped Samos from actually rasping the boy with his cane as he raised his eyebrows ever higher.

“The original spelling was ‘Crimson,’,” Jak clarified. “Before they became known as the ‘Crimson Guard’ they were the ‘Red Eco Knights’ under command of the red sage’s lineage.” Jak turned toward Samos. “When Baron Praxis took command the name changed to ‘Krimson’ so as to differentiate their new, more militarized objective. Correct?”

Samos hummed in agreement.

“Traditionally the Guard has been commanded by the red sage line,” Samos said calmly. “Just as the agricultural and hospitals were cared for by the green sage.”

“The blue sage maintained the shield wall and eco stores,” Daxter continued in thought. “Yellow did…what? Ballistics? Entertainment?”

Samos snorted. “The yellow sage lines focused where they were needed. They kept a pointed, social view and worked more on infrastructure. They did set up the supply chains that flow throughout the city, and then maintained the ballistics and outfitting of the Guard in every sector, but primarily the yellow sage line kept the day-to-day moving along like a well-oiled machine.”

“And above everything stood the line of Mar,” Jak continued. He looked back over the city. “They kept an ever vigilant watch, listened to the pleas of the people, and stood as the beacon of hope…a metaphysical barrier between the people, and the suffering caused by the metal heads.” He sounded contemplative about the words he spoke. A part of Jak always found his family history something of a curiosity, even before Haven Jak wondered where he came from. Now he knew.

“You have been paying attention,” Samos sounded completely pleased with Jak’s assessment. “You are correct. House Mar stood before the people as the beacon of hope, the ones who beat back the darkness and shielded the city from the suffering of the world at large.”

Jak let a small smile slip through at Samos’ praise. Daxter chuckled from his shoulder. “Zoe’s a good teacher,” the ottsel agreed calmly.

Neither noticed Samos start in surprise at Zoe’s name.

“She did always go on about Mar,” Jak agreed. “How important House Mar always was to Haven. The things that House Mar did, how they helped people…how they kept peace and hope and light for Haven.”

If anything Samos didn’t find that too surprising. The blue sage line stood closest to Mar’s line. House Asul and House Mar built the shield wall, worked closest with the eco stores of Haven, and there’d always been some sort of comradery or respect between the two families. Why if Zoe or Vin ever had a child Damas’ age Samos doubted the coup would even have worked in the first place. House Asul would have revolted against the other Houses, Samos was certain. As it was they already looked down on the rest of the sage lines for following through with the coup.

Samos squashed down the small bit of guilt that burned through him for the actions of his foolish youth. Instead he focused onto Jak who kept silent, almost contemplative. The boy certainly had grown over the years in Haven. Samos couldn’t be sure if he could say Jak finally started growing into the man he’d always meant to be, or if it were more that the man he was finally began to mature a little. At any rate Samos found himself rather proud of who Jak slowly became, and who he would eventually become. The years might not have been kind, Samos wasn’t blind he could see the old hurts that Jak tried to hide, but Jak still came out of everything stronger for it.

“It’s almost time,” Samos spoke up, and Jak sighed. He turned from the window and surveyed the room. Samos surveyed Jak.

They were in the highest point of the palace. The room itself had rarely been used over the years for its intended purpose. Samos, nor Jak, knew what Praxis used the space for, but both were fully aware of what the room was meant to be. Surrounded by a single full wall of glass to stare down at the world below, computer systems along another wall, chairs, and a central table that practically lit up from the number of lights and screens that littered it. The room itself existed as something more like a command center—stark and utilitarian in its design, but it also stood sleek and intuitive. Jak made his way over to the seat at the head of the table. He flicked his fingers across the screen there and began to draw up maps of Haven city, the buildings, and the sewer system as well as schematics for the shield wall.

Samos calmly sat himself down into the seat typically reserved for the green sage line and followed Jak’s example. He also pulled out the reports from the council, the KG, and the Underground on the state of the city beyond the reclaimed districts. What he read made him frown; over sixty percent of the city actually remained in ruins. Eighty percent of the population wasn’t even counted for, and seventy-five percent of Haven’s forces were missing, presumed dead.

Daxter and Jak spoke without speaking while Samos read through what he could. They’d gesture and tilt their heads, twist their mouths as they worked through the schematics. Together they discussed what could be done—how best to tackle the situation at hand. Where best to deploy the forces they did have available, and what best to do to repel the metal heads that still lurked within the city walls.

It was this silence that Zoe stepped into. Jak looked up when she entered the room, offered her a small sort of grimace, and Zoe gave a nod back. She looked worse for wear, and Jak didn’t doubt that she hadn’t had any time to get cleaned up. If anything he figured she had enough time to bring Vin the rest of the way home and little else. Jak watched Zoe take her seat, watched how with a few quick gestures she turned on the holographic projector. The city maps and the reports both began to scroll, the computer working out most of the details.

The next to enter the room was Koray Aksoy of the yellow sage line. Jak glanced at him, gave a short nod, and then went back to what he was looking over. Daxter leaned toward Zoe and said something in low tones that nobody but Jak could understand. Out of the corner of his eye Jak watched as Koray took the seat for the head of House Karga and he fought down a a frown.

Logically Jak knew that Erol’s position in the government, in the Dark Warrior Program, and within the KG actually signified something far more important. He knew, somewhere, that Erol was the heir to House Karga, and as such the direct descendent of the yellow sage. Knowing, and accepting, were two different things. The fact that Koray looked almost exactly like Erol—not necessarily in coloring; Koray’s skin was a bit darker and his eyes a shade more orange, plus his hair was completely the wrong texture, but he stood like Erol and he talked like Erol—didn’t help matters.

Ashelin came into the room with Torn not long after, and Jak presumed that meant the situation on the ground had so far been handled. Koray looked up and pursed his lips into a frown when he saw Torn beside Ashelin.

“Jak,” Ashelin nodded and slipped into her seat. Torn shifted, and then took up position behind Jak. Jak glanced to him, noted how Torn stood stiff with his hands clasped behind his back, and then glanced to Koray.

“Do you feel unsafe here?” Koray questioned. He leaned forward and placed his elbows onto the table, something that made Zoe look at him sharply, a silent sort of reprimand.

“No,” Jak replied pointedly.

“Then why is your bodyguard present?” Koray sneered. “Torn is not fit to be in this meeting. He isn’t of a sage line.”

Ashelin snorted and shifted in her seat.

“Commander,” she stressed the word, “Torn is here at my, and House Hagai’s request. His knowledge will be beneficial for the purpose of this meeting.”

Koray sneered at Ashelin, and short a glance to Samos.

“And what, might I ask, is this meeting about?” Koray quarried. Samos, from his spot, harrumphed.

“We’re not all here, boy,” the elderly sage uttered sharply.

“Samos is quite right, child,” Zoe said primly. “Hold your tongue, and do have care with what you say.” She looked at Koray like he was an errant little kidchild before she calmly focused back on the screens and the holographic display before her. Ashelin from her spot began to input numbers and Jak shifted toward Torn.

“How is the ground?” Jak questioned in low tones as he kept half an eye on Koray. He didn’t want his experiences with Erol to cloud his judgement, but something about the older man rubbed him completely raw.

Torn visibly seemed to sag for a second as he muttered back, exhaustedly, “Terrible.” Jak arched an eyebrow. “More of our men are missing than anyone initially realized, those we could gather were less than thrilled to have their daily lives upset once more.” Jak raised the other eyebrow. “Yes, mostly the KG forces.”

“Any issues with your command?” Jak questioned.

“None so far,” Torn replied back. “Although Ashelin vouching for me appears to have helped a great deal.” Torn paused, then added softer, “She might not look it but she really is grateful you’ve discovered this whole mess. It’s been dragging on her.”

Jak scrubbed his face with one hand and said under his breath, “Thank Zoe. If anyone else had their way I would’ve remained in the dark.”

Torn snorted. “Ashe wouldn’t have gone for that. She’d pushed back eventually.”

“She’d have just manipulated me into fixing the issue without telling me,” Jak grunted and by the twitch of Torn’s lips he hit the nail on the head. For a moment nobody said anything, and then Jak sighed. “Who else are we waiting on?” he asked softly. He couldn’t think of anyone off of the top of his head, but then he still felt more buzzed up on dark eco than anything.

Jak lamented the fact that he put this meeting ahead of actually getting out to waste some of the eco stores he’d built up gathering Vin’s body for a moment. He felt half ready to go off on a hair trigger as it was.

“Keira,” Samos spoke up calmly. “As well as Alyín.”

Alyín; Jak didn’t recognize that name, but given the way Koray actually jerked I surprise the other man quite obviously did.

“Alyín is dead,” Koray practically growled out.

“Alyín is perfectly alive,” Torn countered calmly. “If I understand the situation she is ensuring Lady Hagai will make it here.” He glanced to Samos, and Jak glanced between them. Something else was going on here, apparentlyapparenty, and he disliked the lack of understanding what that was.

“She has been missing presumed dead for years now,” Koray sneered. “Or have you forgotten, Commander Torn?”

Torn didn’t reply, but then again he didn’t need to. Jak’s mouth fell open slightly as he breathed out an ‘oh’ when Alyín stepped into the room with Keira, a dark look on her face. Of course the connection in retrospect was rather obvious. Jak knew she looked a lot like Erol, it unnerved him how much so in fact although the different eyes often threw him off. He felt like he looked into a weird, and skewered mirror image of Erol whenever he saw her.

“Really, Koray?” Alyín sneered back, lips curled up. “And here I thought you mistook me for Rahmi in the elevator not even a week ago.”

Koray twisted, his face pale.

“I believe you are in my seat?” Alyín continued blithely as she showed Keira to a seat next to Samos. Keira, Jak noted, kept oddly silent.

“You’re dead,” Koray said numbly.

“Not as dead as Erol wanted people to believe,” Alyín countered. “Now, my seat?”

The shuffle didn’t take long, and when everything was done Alyín calmly started the introductions. Jak knew in the end the whole affair was settled more for Keira’s sake than his own—he knew which families each person came from already thanks to a combination of Ashelin, Vin, Zoe, and Samos.

“Alyín of House Karga,” Alyín stated calmly. “Alyín of House Karga, present,” Alyín stated calmly. She looked Jak directly in the eye as she dipped her head. “I would like to apologize on behalf of my brother’s actions against you, King Jak. “I would like to apologize on behalf of my brother’s past actions against you, King Jak. His, at the time, ignorance to who you are is not an excuse.”

Daxter twisted.

Erol was her brother?!

Yes, Dax. Obviously.

Jak breathed out through his nose and kept his voice even as he replied—although he couldn’t stop the way his ears twisted down or how his hands shook—his voice rather tight, “Any grievances against House Karga are forgiven.”

“Koray Aksoy,” Koray said smoothly, face rather pinched. “Sire,” he added at a sharp look from over half the table. Jak nodded.

“Ashelin of House Praxis,” Ashelin nodded. “I hope we get the matter resolved quickly, King Jak.”

“As do I,” Jak uttered tiredly.

“Zoe of House Asul,” Zoe nodded, and gave a smile toward Keira. “Vin would’ve loved to be in this room again, Jak…thank you for bringing him home.”

“Samos of House Hagai, with my daughter Keira,” Samos nodded. “As our guest, as well as the guest of House Praxis, we’ve included Commander Torn of the Underground and the Krimson Guard.”

Torn gave a short nod to everyone but kept a stiff stance behind Jak now that proceedings finally started.

“Thank you,” Jak said. “Listen, I’m going to toss aside pretenses here. The issue is this: Haven is in ruins and we damn well need to get it fixed.”

Zoe twittered faintly and pulled up the statistics. Koray pulled a face as Jak tossed aside the stiff formalities.

“Correct,” she said quickly. “Over half of the city still remains under threat from the metal heads. The shield wall stands to cover the Waterfront and Main Town. Everywhere else still suffers from metal head attacks or are at risk of metal head attacks despite that we’ve repelled them.” A few quick taps of her fingers highlighted the danger areas of Haven. Koray and Keira both paled at the large swath of red coloring on the map. Everyone else already had a bit of a cursory understanding of the mess they were in.

“It gets worse,” Torn said exhaustedly. He leaned around Jak and quickly pulled up the information on Haven’s forces from Jak’s terminal. From the way his lips quirked at Koray’s almost scandalized face over on the yellow sage’s side of the room, Torn did this intentionally. “Over seventy percent of the Krimson Guard remain within the danger zone, and we haven’t been capable of getting proper supplies to them for days. We’ve been holding by the thread of our teeth.” Torn paused, then added gruffly. “In some cases quite literally.”

A small part of Jak wondered what those cases were, the rest of him decided it’d be better not to know. He did exchange a glance with Daxter that surmised of how and what?

“Underground agents have been ferrying supplies from the sewer systems,” Samos agreed, “but the risk hasas made the drops hard to complete. Any air support or air drops of supplies has left the Underground numbers practically decimated.”

“Beyond that,” Zoe continued, “most of the city population is also unaccounted for. What little surveying we could do shows that more buildings are collapsed now than last week.. Corpses litter roads and are spreading disease, increasing the risk to survivors and our forces.. The amount of dark eco pooled in the very streets has become a hazard, not to mention the risk to the water supply—which affects all of Haven and not just the areas currently under attack.. Even if we can mount a successful rescue operation our hospitals will quickly become overwhelmed by the amount of sick and infirm.”

“And without that shield wall back up and running we’re basically sitting ducks for a larger attack,” Ashelin frowned in thought. “Although reports we have been able to get show that the metal heads aren’t nearly as well coordinated as they’ve been in the past.”

“Can we use that lack of coordination to our advantage?” Alyín questioned, thoughtfully.

“At first we did,” Torn agreed, a small smile flashed briefly in approval of Alyín’s tactical analysis.countered. He nodded to Zoe who pulled up the past reports on how various sections of the city had been reclaimed. “We were able to push back metal head forces here, here, and here.” He pointed to areas on the map and the lit up green. “However now their erratic movements are working against us. We’ve lost all communication with the Water Slums, and over half of the Slums themselves.” Those areas lit up a dark red, almost the color of blood. Jak grimaced. “We’ve probably honestly completely lost the Water Slumswater slums like we did Dead Town at this point, too.”

“Great,” Alyín cursed.

Jak noted how everyone grimaced at the mention of Dead Town; he hadn’t quite realize that the loss still affected such a large group of ‘nobility’ years afterward. Given the way even Koray scowled in distaste—and Daxter’s silent message in the twist of his hands—the majority of Haven’s noble lines probably still felt something over the loss.

“We can house the majority of the refugees in the Stadium,” Keira mused allowed, and then flushed when all eyes turned on her. “We have plenty of room!” she insisted. “There’s the race track itself, the under track, and then the underground garages. Damage to the Stadium was by far minimal considering the metal heads had to go through most of the city to get there. Plus the zoomer garages themselves have more than enough space, and then the courtyard….”

“Good idea, Keira,” Samos agreed.

“Even better we can handle the risk of the spread of diseases far more easily in the garages themselves too,” Alyín agreed. “The pits we use to work on zoomers can become an effective mass grave site in the interim so that we can cleanse the city more easily enough.”

“Can we spare the green eco?” Koray questioned.

“Fire cleanses just as well as green eco,” Jak mused. “It’ll stop the spread of disease in the short term.”

“Yeah!” Daxter nodded. “We only then have to perform a green eco cleanse of the pits once we’ve finished with the fires.”

“The people will object,” Koray pointed out.

Alyín disagreed. “Not if we phrase it for their safety.” She breathed out heavily. “Honestly cremation at this point is the better option. Not only will it ensure the safety of the rest of the populace but we also don’t have enough space for burials in the size we should expect given how much of Haven is still under siege.”

They bandied back and forth for a while longer, discussed various options and regards toward safety. Jak pointed out the Waterfront would be a good place for refugee’s as well, specifically those who show no sign of illness. Ideas were brought up and tossed aside rather quickly—and at one point Koray even demanded to know how they would pay for this entire operation but found himself shut down quite quickly.

Everything worked out far more smoothly than Jak expected, all things considered, and for the first time in a while Jak began to feel something like hope. Hope for the future—hope for a future. He prayed he didn’t come to regret the feeling later.

Torn sighed exasperatedly as he worked through the information that Zoe and the rest of the emergency council wanted to review. Nothing, ultimately, had been enacted after the whole meeting. They made plans for the eventuality—plans Torn figured Jak would go through with even if the others disagreed—and now he sloughed through notes, blueprints, and anything else Zoe and Samos deemed important for the logistics of the whole thing.

At the very least Torn’s position in keeping an eye on Jak meant he had plenty of time to review the documents. Moments like right now, outside of Haven’s walls in the forest landscape, nestled into a little out-of-the-way corner while Jak went all merry-hell on the place and the potential infestation within it. Distantly Torn could hear another roar, another crash, and scrubbed at his forehead to fight away the incoming migraine.

Daxter hadn’t felt it prudent to mention the amount of dark eco Jak just so happened to absorb on his jaunt into the Industrial District for Zoe until well after the meeting ended. Torn had no idea how the kid held things together as well as he did considering the hair trigger Jak contained when too much eco built up into his system.

“You should be thankful he didn’t destroy the palace, Torn,” the no-longer-ex-Commander grumbled. He’d born witness enough to the type of destruction Jak could get up to. He’d also born witness to the eventual fallout. Another howl, another crash, and Torn held back a wince. Daxter, hopefully, would steer Jak away from anything important along the outside wall.

Torn flicked his finger along the data tablet and tried to focus on the work before him. He had the blueprints up for the Stadium, including the amount of people they could seat, the dimensions of when the thing was built—everything and anything that Zoe could dig up on the place Torn had at his fingertips. He hadn’t known how vastly large the Stadium actually was until he’d been handed the tablet. Sure he knew the races got a good turnout—a couple hundred, sometimes just shy of half-a-thousand, attendee’s at a time. However, they needed to be certain what type of occupancy the building could withstand.

Out of the majority of the places available, the Stadium would be the forerunner for the refugee’s from the lost parts of the city. Torn noted down the probable equipment they’d have to find a temporary new home for, and he made a slight suggestion at using the forest. The metal head population would be highly decimated after today, and with proper barricades at choke points they could keep this section fairly secure.

Near silent footsteps caught Torn’s attention and with trained reflexes Torn pulled up a smaller version of Jak’s morph gun. He aimed it toward the entrance to his little section next to the wall and waited until the intruder came into his sights. When he saw orange fur Torn set the gun back down.

“Did he finally tire out?” the commander rasped, gaze once more focused on the work before him.

“Yeah,” Daxter sighed. “He’s collapsed a couple ‘a feet away, recouperatin’.” Torn nodded. “Y’know you didn’t need to follow us, right?”

“Currently my job description is to keep Jak’s ass out of trouble,” Torn snorted. He jotted down a quick note about the occupancy size and pulled up the dimensions and blueprints for the Waterfront to compare.

“Well yer doin’ a shitty job,” Daxter scowled.

“It’d be easier if he stayed put,” Torn replied.

“We ain’t gonna just sit around doin’ nothin’!” Daxter countered.

Torn arched an eyebrow and peered at the two-foot-tall rat with a look that pretty much had Daxter turning away, feet scuffed against the ground sheepishly.

“Jak’s the best at what he does,” Daxter mumbled. “That’s all I meant.”

Torn sighed, set the tablet down, and leaned forward.

“I know,” Torn said. “But even he will burn out eventually.” When Daxter didn’t reply Torn let himself have a self-satisfied smirk. “Besides, I’d never keep Jak away from the fighting if he didn’t wish me to.”

Daxter glanced over at him with a narrow eyed stare, a silent question that Torn found easier and easier to read the longer he spent in Jak and the rodent’s presence.

“He needs a break,” Torn pointed out. “Otherwise if I really wanted to I could’ve just walked into the Ottsel and dragged him back by his ear. You guys weren’t really subtle.” Daxter looked down towards his feet, chagrined. “I kept Ashelin off of his back for you two, distracted the Shadow for you both.” Torn massaged his forehead tiredly. “Mar-be-damned but I want this to go right.”

“You guys went an’ made him king,” Daxter grumbled. “Ain’t nothin’ right ‘bout that.”

Torn sighed out a, “No,” of agreement. He’d had his own doubts, concerns, but more out of a sense of care for Jak that he’d come to hold in the same way that he cared for each and every one of his men. “But it was the only choice we had at the time.” The only choice they still had.

“An’ the kid?”

“Also wasn’t my idea,” Torn pointed out. “If I could’ve had a say in that I would’ve gotten him to a good home and kept him well away from any of this…shit.” He waved his hand to imply the metaphorical shit he spoke about.

“So you’ve got a heart then,” Daxter concluded.

“I always have,” Torn replied. “I just prefer to keep it under lock and key.”

“With plenty of booze,” Daxter snarked back.

“Best way to keep things hidden,” Torn agreed, and he had the surreal thought on how this was his life now—joking and agreeing with the pet rat of the boy-king that he’d recruited on a drunken whim. Torn picked up the tablet and decided it’d be best to get back to work. “Let me know when Jak’s ready to return to the city.”

Daxter eyed him, then asked, “We gonna go back through the sewers?”

“Until we’ve got a safer passageway, yes,” Torn countered. Daxter grimaced, and then flounced back to Jak loudly lamenting that Torn planned to pull them through the sewers, again. Torn’s ears perked up when he caught the faint, exhausted laughter from Jak. His lips twitched into a small smile.

Torn slipped into Ashelin’s quarter’s only after he’d been assured that Jak planned to simply sleep and not sneak out in the middle of the night. The teen often did so back in the Underground headquarters that Torn felt justified in double checking. The frustrated, completely-not-amused look the teen gave him might have also been a few bonus points. Torn liked to screw around a bit with the kids—he had to get his kicks somewhere in this mess of a city; at least he didn’t screw with people in the way other ex-KG might’ve.

Of course that brought to mind Erol, and promptly any good humor Torn felt died a rather abrupt death. He fought down the melancholy that wanted to grab hold of him as he stepped further into Ashelin’s rooms. His finger’s lingered along the scar on his own neck, lips tugged a bit down, but resolutely Torn didn’t think of Erol. He didn’t think of how it hurt to breath, of the biting feel of his own knife against his neck—the feel of warm blood as it slipped down to his collarbones, the hollow scream that echoed in his own head—

“Torn.”

Torn jerked. His eyes snapped open wide, as he saw Ashelin right in his face, eyes practically shining with concern.

“Ashe?” Torn croaked, then winced when it registered just how sore his throat felt. He didn’t even bother to protest as Ashelin grabbed his hands with one hand, and the respirator with another. She knelt down in front of him and carefully tugged the device over his face and ensured that it would do its job.

“We’re good now?” Ashelin asked carefully. She let go of Torn’s hands only when he nodded, and with a sharp movement Torn grasped at the mask and pressed it a bit more firmly against his face. Ashelin seemed to slump in on erself as she rocked back onto her heels, and then fell roughly onto her ass. “Thank Mar.”

“How bad?” Torn wheezed.

Ashelin snorted and gave Torn a look that he knew all too well. He sighed exhaustedly as Ashelin gestured to the room, pointed out the overturned lamp—funny Torn didn’t feel like he’d hit the lamp—and then Torn saw the disheveled couch. Everything clicked.

“Where?” he questioned, leaned in, and tried to calculate just where Ashelin hit the lamp.

“It’s not even a bruise,” Ashelin snapped out. “I’m more worried about that knife of yours.”

Torn made a semi-strangled noise. He hadn’t even unsheathed the damn thing and she worried about his knife? Another look and Torn handed over the weapon grumpily.

“It’s not like I haven’t had a flashback before,” Torn grumbled. “I’m not going to hurt myself Ashe, for Mar’s fucking sake.” It took him a second to parse why he suddenly felt a bit weird, but when he realized it Torn pulled a bit of a face.

“Just breathe, you asshole,” Ashelin sighed.

“I’m breathing,” Torn muttered back, and from the way the mask muffled his voice it turned out fairly incomprehensible. Ashelin shifted until their knees touched, and she leaned back to stare up at the ceiling with an almost contemplative look across her face. Torn recognized the look to mean that the red headed noble girl in front of him was considering something.

“What now?” Torn asked tiredly, shoulders slumped. He might’ve nudged his knees a bit closer against hers until it was their legs pressed against one another.

Ashelin glanced at him, and then back to the ceiling. She hummed in thought, and then gave Torn a bit of a small grin.

“You know for having such a fucked up set of voice chords, you can scream pretty damn loud,” she said eventually.

Torn laughed, then winced, then coughed.

“Oh, ow,” he breathed as the coughing turned into wheezing. “Fuck. Mar. Ow.”

“Mar?” Ashelin quirked her eyebrow in the way she did when she found something he said absolutely hilarious. “Really? Hm, maybe I should use that.”

Torn blinked, then cursed. Ashelin shot him a teasing smile, got to her feet, and sauntered over to her bedroom.

“Ashe! Ashe don’t you fucking dare!” Torn yelled, and he unsteadily got to his feet. He continued to shout after the younger girl as he followed after her, mask still pressed firmly to his face. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Why don’t you make me, Commander?” Ashelin laughed.

Torn huffed, but he let a small, grimace sort of smile cross his face as he passed by the couch. She’d fallen asleep on it, covered in a blanket, surrounded by documents and updates from the troops on the ground. How terribly like her when she was focused on something; if nothing Ashelin’s dedication certainly Torn found an endearing quality.

“Well, Commander?”

Torn scowled. Unless, of course, she used it like now.

“I’m coming, you Mar-be-damned woman!”

“He went and had me damned? For shame, when shall I expect the execution then?”

“Oh fuck you!”

Ashelin just laughed, and Torn found himself somewhat grinning behind his grimace. Laughing he decided, really hurt right now.

#fic: patriciate #fic: semblance #fanfic #accidentally king of haven #jak and daxter #wip #crossposted #canon divergence

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xadoheandterra · 2 years

Text

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

Jak takes a trip up to the power station. He is not pleased.

“Bring him home, Jak.”

Jak breathed out heavily as he stared at the wreck that was the Industrial District. Daxter, on his shoulder, remained eerily silent as they looked out at the wreckage. Half-on-fire zoomers still littered the ground alongside metal head bodies, puddles of dark eco, and elfin corpses alike. When Ashelin and Torn flew Jak and the others back into the city nobody got a really good look at the damage except for the Stadium, Main Town, and the Waterfront. He focused on the immediate, and by the time they’d gotten back anyway most of the cleanup they already found accomplished. Now Jak couldn’t help but wonder if putting off this expedition for so long merely meant he attempted to hide from what he knew to be there.

Nobody mentioned the other districts, really, and Jak doubted they’d even want to. Not if the Industrial district looked like this. Jak fought down the urge to flinch and instead picked his way around the zoomers and corpses. Each time he passed a pool of dark eco he could feel his lungs burn as his body subconscious absorbed everything within reach.

“You gonna be okay?” Daxter asked quietly to his ear, but in the silence the words were frighteningly loud.

“Yeah,” Jak replied through gritted teeth.

“My fur itches,” Daxter complained.

“My skin burns,” Jak said back, and then they lapsed into silence. “We gotta do this.”

“Vin deserves it,” Daxter agreed, and ducked his head.

“They all deserve it,” Jak countered as he stepped around a mangled corpse pinned underneath a zoomer.

“What do you think the slums looks like?” Daxter asked, voice a bit faint. “The water slums?”

“I don’t want to think about it, Dax,” Jak whispered.

They continued the trek in silence, and Jak wondered how many people knew the state of the rest of Haven. Did Ashelin know the extent of the destruction? Did Torn? How many survivors were stuck behind walls and barricades of red, green, and yellow? Jak clenched his hands tight around his gun and girt his teeth. This was his city for better or worse, now, and nobody thought fit to tell him a thing. They were more worried about his knowledge of the political scene.

“Shit, Jak,” Daxter breathed as they inched their way up to the second level. Whole sections of the walkway appeared to have collapsed, probably from some abnormally large metal bug. Jak sucked in a sharp breath and picked his way across the crumbling path. He made sure to set each jump down as gingerly as he could, and swallowed heavily at each ruined wall and zoomer.

“Yeah,” Jak said hoarsely.

“D’you think anyone’s trapped?” Daxter questioned as they slipped around a still on-fire Hellcat—how they remained on fire Jak didn’t want to know. All of the flames by now should be burnt out, right? “D’you think the fighting’s even stopped here?”

“I don’t know, Dax,” Jak replied. “I don’t know.”

“This’ gotta change.”

“Yeah.”

Toward the last stretch before the power station, and Jak wondered how they even got the communications tower back up and running if the Industrial district still looked this bad, Jak monkeyed himself over a few construction beams that helped hold the walkway up in the first place, and slipped around yet another crashed zoomer. His ears twitched, some sort of faint sniffling sound—a gas leak, or water leak, or something—caught his attention.

“You hear that?” Jak asked lowly. He crouched down and shifted his feet so that they were a bit wider as his fingers adjusted the mod on the gun.

“Sounds like cryin’,” Daxter said back. “You think there’s a kid?”

“I was thinking more like a gas leak,” Jak muttered and carefully stepped around the zoomer. He nudged the wreck with his gun and winced at the unholy sound it unleashed, which almost drowned out the frightened scream. Daxter bolted from his shoulder and Jak jerked with a shout of, “Dax!”

“Jak there’s a kid!” Daxter hollered back from the hole he’d wiggled into. Jak cursed loudly and quickly holstered the gun.

“Alright, alright,” he breathed out sharply and tried to shove down the twist of the dark eco, the rage at this mess from overwhelming him. “Kid okay? Kid hurt? C’mon Dax, speak to me.”

“Scraped and banged up,” Daxter called back. “Broken wrist? Arm? I can’t tell. S’too dark.”

Jak scrubbed a hand down his face and closed his eyes. His breath shuddered and he tried to think of someone, anyone, that could be a calming influence. His mind kept on jumping over to Ashelin and Torn and the Council and possibly ripping people a whole new one. He grit his teeth.

“Okay,” Jak said. “Okay. Can you get the kid out?”

“Maybe?”

“Get ‘em over to a zoomer,” Jak instructed. “One of the wrecks, we’ll salvage it. Or something. I’ll check out the Power Station, find Vin. We’ll…figure something out.” Jak cursed. “Precursors!” He stomped over to the door to Vin’s Power Station a bit unneeded, but it helped burn off the twisted feeling beneath his skin.

Jak flexed his fingers and wanted to curse as the tips burned with the same intensity of his mouth. He didn’t doubted that his nails were now blackened, or that his canines elongated. He didn’t even question it, because the sparks of dark eco that leaped off of him as he reached toward the rubble that blocked the doorway told him enough already. He could feel his head throb, feel the burn of horns that itched beneath his skull. Jak let out a frightening roar as he tossed aside what blocked the doorway, eyes dark as pitch. He heaved, his arms and legs shook. Off in the distance he could hear a resounding crash and winced—he wondered if he’d hit a survivor? Perhaps killed someone again without thinking, without realizing—Jak hissed between his teeth and gripped at his ears—his scarf prevented him from actually grabbing his hair—and pushed the burn down.

Not now. Not now precursors damn it all. It felt like a thousand ants raced along his veins and muscular tissue. Each breath felt like he breathed in gravel. Jak shuddered and moved toward the door—he couldn’t lose control here. Outside, outside of Haven, away from people maybe. Maybe. The Forest no doubt—he could find metal bugs aplenty there and truly let loose, truly let everything he forced himself to seal away now free. With that silent promise Jak shouldered the rest of the way into the Power Station and had to stop.

Metal heads, metal bugs, dark eco by what felt like tankards. Jak stumbled, dizzy. The mere scent of it all so overwhelmingly painful it forced him to his knees. He let out a faint keening cry and tried to rub his hands over his face, tried to ignore the way his body felt bloated and ballooned around his skeleton. Jak bit his lip, tried to focus on the pain and past the mess—past the burnt out consoles and the sparking electronics.

Vin. He came here for Vin. Jak breathed in sharply, coughed hard enough to burst a blood vessel in his throat and spat out what little blood gathered in his mouth. He shoved aside the metal heads nearest to him and looked hard for wherever Vin could be. He had to be here somewhere—somewhere—

A boot. Jak reached blindly for it, shoved away the two metal heads that blocked his view, and unearthed pants, a leg, an arm—Jak grit his teeth. He shoved away what he could and—there, there Vin lay.

“H-Hey buddy,” Jak mumbled. “Sorry it took…so long.” He didn’t know what Vin wore on his head, but it looked tacky and the design bulky. Jak figured it for some kind of last defense Vin made, not that it did any good once the shield wall went down. “Gonna…take you back home, okay?”

Despite the ruined state of the room, electronics, and the numerous corpses Vin looked almost pristine. Even with the tears in his clothes and the obvious killing blow Jak couldn’t find anything that even suggested the metal heads got any further than just hitting him the once. He breathed out heavily and grasped at Vin’s corpse, before he hailed it up and onto his shoulder. Exhausted, dizzy, and definitely oversaturated with more dark eco than he could remember getting stuffed into his body for a long time, Jak stumbled out of the power station.

He stumbled all the way over to the zoomer Daxter hotwired, carefully arranged Vin in the backseat, behind the sniffling kid, and picked his way back toward the Palace.

Ashelin came tearing out of the Palace the minute Jak pulled up in the stolen and hotwired zoomer. She looked infuriated, but Jak ignored her in favor of the kid in the front seat, and Vin in the back. He helped Daxter get the kid out of the zoomer, and then reached over and hauled Vin up onto his shoulder.

“Where the hell have you been?!” Ashelin demanded. Jak brushed past her with Vin, one hand gently guiding the trembling child while Daxter held the kid’s uninjured arm and chatted soothingly away. “Five days Jak! I’ve been looking everywhere for you for five days and don’t you dare ignore me!”

Jak slipped through the open doors to the Palace, carefully laid Vin down on one of the couches in the open foyer that served both as a trophy room for Baron Praxis back when he had control, and a receiving room that intimidated guests. The woman behind the front counter gasped at the sight of the corpse, and at the way Jak carefully handled it. Not even a second after making sure Vin’s body lay comfortably did the elevator doors open and Zoe come tearing through them faster than anyone her age should. Jak looked up at her, still ignoring Ashelin’s continued tirade, and tiredly spoke up for the first time since he unearthed Vin’s corpse.

“I brought him home, Zoe,” Jak breathed out. Ashelin fell completely silent when he spoke. “Like I promised.”

Zoe stumbled as she slowed down, and then without heed to her clothes or how it might look to others, she threw herself over towards Vin’s corpse and let herself cry. Jak closed his eyes, pressed his lips together, and breathed out sharply through his nose. When he opened his eyes he directed them right to Ashelin, and she could see the purple bleeding black that began to overtake them.

“We need to talk,” Jak said, and his voice sounded a bit rougher. “Now, Ashelin.”

Ashelin swallowed heavily, glanced to Vin and the sobbing Matriarch that named Jak King back in the council chambers almost a week ago, and without a word promptly turned on heel and headed toward the elevators. Jak nudged the boy at his side along and gestured to the receptionist calmly.

“Lyra, get a hold of Samos and bring him here,” Jak said, eyes hard as he tugged his scarf off from his head. “Have a couple of packs of green eco delivered upstairs with him.”

Lyra the receptionist nodded quickly and Jak followed Ashelin into the elevator with the kid and Daxter. Ashelin stood stiff off to the side, and she looked fit to burst but kept her mouth shut. Jak felt grateful for that; he knew he looked frightening at the moment. With forced calm Jak settled against the back rail of the elevator, watched the doors slid shut, and waited. It didn’t even take a minute before Ashelin whirled around.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me that half the city remained in ruins?” Jak said slowly. He side-eyed Ashelin who looked like she swallowed a lemon for a moment. “Why didn’t anyone tell me that half the city hadn’t been cleaned up?”

“We’ve been busy—” Ashelin started.

“Going over useless crap,” Jak spat. “How many people are trapped, Ashelin, without food, water, or supplies?” He turned fully this time, teeth ground together. “How many injured? How many dead?”

“Jak that isn’t—”

“You made me King!”

Ashelin jerked back, and the kid at Jak’s side whimpered. Jak breathed out slowly, closed his eyes, and forced the burn of eco back. He clenched one hand at his side and kept the other relaxed enough to rub soothing circles against the kid’s back.

“You made me King, Ashelin,” Jak said softer. When he opened his eyes they were barely tinged purple. “You put me in charge of this entire city. Do you think I care about learning the most prominent families when there are still people dying out there?”

“We drop supplies regularly,” Ashelin said. She kept her voice soft, almost soothing. “Shipments of food, water, anything we can spare.”

“Spare?” Jak shook his head. “Out of all the districts which ones do you think were hit the hardest? Main Town? The noble houses? The Waterfront? The Stadium? Or was it the Industrial district? The Bazaar? The slums?”

Ashelin swallowed.

“How many people are trapped in buildings half collapsed, starving and drying from disease and dark eco poisoning? How many children?” Jak questioned, lips pressed thin. “The shield wall hasn’t even been fully repaired yet, how many metal heads still roam streets? How many people die while you force me to learn useless facts about a government that sits on its laurals?”

“Jak…” Ashelin picked her words carefully. “You have…you can’t make changes so easily. There’s protocols…the council has to approve things—I have a point to this, Jak. I do.”

Jak turned away.

“Get together the Underground, their KG minders, and start cleaning up the other districts,” Jak said. He completely ignored Ashelin’s words. “Starting with the industrial sections. We need that shield up and fully functional. Move refugees to the Waterfront and Stadium, and Main Town.”

“Jak you can’t—”

“Are you in charge of the KG or not, Lady Praxis?” Jak demanded sharply and Ashelin fell silent. “Am I not your King?” She swallowed, the doors to the elevator opened, and Jak carefully ushered the kid out. “Go and start recovery efforts. We’ve wasted enough time.”

“But what will we—”

“I’ll handle it.”

Ashelin shoved herself toward the elevator doors before they could close.

“How?!” she demanded. “How will you handle it?”

Jak paused, then glanced back at her. “You have three hours to get the KG and the Underground moving. In three hours everyone from the Sage lines will meet here for an emergency session. Am I clear?”

“But—”

“Am I clear, Ashelin?” Jak demanded, tone a bit sharper, and Ashelin jerked.

“Yes,” she bit out. Jak nodded, turned back around, and led the kid toward his rooms. He kept the careful façade of calm the rest of the way. There was way too much to do, right now, and first priority was to make sure the kid was healed up and had a place to go. He’d deal with everything else—and whether they listened—after that.

Ashelin stomped into her rooms within the Palace, a veritable cloud of rage storming around her. She breezed past the couch where Torn lounged, face drawn and tired as he stared at the television without really seeing it. She practically stomped all the way to her office and slammed the door shut with a loud bang. On the couch Torn pulled his hands over his face, twisted around, and got to his feet.

“Ashe?” Torn called. He leaned his back against the office door and knocked. “Ashe?” He could hear a thump, and the door rattled a bit. Torn sighed. “Don’t throw shit at the door, Ashe.”

“Fuck off!”

Torn groaned. “Ashelin what is going on?” The door shook again, and this time Torn could hear something shatter. Within the office Ashelin cursed, and wisely Torn shifted from the path of the doorway just in time for a knife to slice through it. “Ashelin what the hell is going on?”

For a moment, silence, and then the door yanked open and Ashelin stared at Torn with fury. The red of her eyes almost twisted with the eco Torn knew resided within her very blood, and Torn wanted to grimace. Out of everyone that he or Ashelin knew only a small handful of people could get her this worked up, and given the way things recently worked out Torn could bet on at least two people who pissed Ashelin off.

“Where is he?” Torn asked, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t even dressed for this shit right.

“In his rooms,” Ashelin ground out.

“And what did he do?” Torn asked. Besides disappear for five days. Ashelin stared at Torn for a long moment, then closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. Torn relaxed the slightest bit; if Ashelin was trying to calm herself then whatever it was definitely meant good things down the road.

That didn’t mean of course whatever got her pissed wasn’t good for the immediate situation.

“I have been commanded to move out the Underground and the KG,” Ashelin said, and her teeth were grit together.

Torn breathed out heavily and closed his eyes. “Well,” he said tiredly, “it was only a matter of time before he found out.”

“We don’t have the manpower for a rescue!” Ashelin practically shrieked. Torn jerked away from her and frowned.

“We don’t have the manpower because over half of our forces are still trapped and in need of that rescue, Ashe.” Ashelin’s mouth clicked shut. “You and I both know that we should have taken care of the other districts over a week ago.”

“But the council—” Ashelin protested.

“The council only cares for its own interests,” Torn pointed out. “Ashe, you know this.”

Ashelin looked away and scowled.

“Are you upset he gave you an order, or are you upset you couldn’t get this done yourself?” Torn quarried, one eyebrow raised.

“Shut up, Torn,” Ashelin grumbled. Torn smirked and Ashelin punched him in the arm. “Help me get the word out. I’ve got less than three hours.”

Torn blinked. Jak put a time limit on this? That the Commander hadn’t expected. Cautiously he asked, “Why?”

“Jak’s called an emergency session for the Sage lines,” Ashelin breathed out slowly. “All remaining direct descendants are required to attend.”

Torn nodded. If anything it made sense, although he wondered how Jak knew to even call for an emergency session. Ashelin hadn’t gotten around to discussing what emergency sessions entailed, or the reasons to even call on them yet as far as Torn knew. He cokced his head as he thought about that, and then as the reason for the session abruptly clicked. Torn wanted to laugh.

“Fuck, Mar, no wonder the kid doesn’t want to listen to political ramblings,” he said as he scrubbed his hand through his hair.

Ashelin, halfway back into her office, turned around. “What does that mean?!”

“Ashe, he knows Zoe,” Torn said with a snort. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. Mar.” Ashelin blinked, took a second to think it over, then cursed.

“Why didn’t you tell me this, Torn!?” she demanded, decided it wouldn’t be worth it to have the argument when she had work to do, and turned around to finish fishing out the jury-rigged communications system that’d gotten buried.

“I didn’t think of it,” Torn protested. “Mar, I didn’t even realize how much like King Damas Jak even looked until after I finished up his hair. Put him in front of Zoe, someone who knew King Damas as a kid?” In retrospect the whole thing was actually obvious, but Torn couldn’t fault himself for not knowing. King Damas had been ousted when he was a kid and he could barely remember what the last monarch looked like—almost all materials on him had been removed. Plus Torn’s duties kept growing—keep Jak safe, deal with the emergency protocols and responses for the KG and the Underground, help with rescue operations—so he couldn’t be aware of everything.

“Fine! I wasted a week then!”

Torn rolled his eyes and moved back over toward the couch. He picked up his jacket and the breathing apparatus that attached to it, and calmly began to shrug the clothing back on. “Do you want me to say sorry?”

“Torn, just get the word out!”

“Yes ma’am,” Torn replied sarcastically. He slipped out the door before Ashelin could say anything, fingers already tightening the jacket closed. He shook his head; Jak never ceased to amaze him on the amount of trouble he got into.

#fic: patriciate #fic: semblance #jak and daxter #accidentally king of haven #canon divergence #wip #crossposted #fanfic

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xadoheandterra · 2 years

Text

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

Vin's meddling comes with consequences, and Koray takes matters into his own hands. Sig, meanwhile, isn't sure how he feels. This is a joke, right?

After hours were the boys moved boxes of supplies, checked inventory, and double checked that most if not all of the nonessential equipment had been moved out of the Stadium the last thing Jak expected to see were other people. Torn, whose attention so far focused on the supply lists, arched his eyebrows in surprise at the sudden arrival of a large group of civilians. Daxter actually dropped what he had in hand for a moment from beside Jak, who floundered on what to do about this new development. These were not the people that worked on the move of the Stadium equipment.

Torn shifted the data pad and stepped forward as the crowd drew closer. Jak silently counted the number of people while Daxter scampered onto his shoulder and dug his fingers into the red scarf that wrapped around Jak’s head and hair. Daxter took in the expressions of the group as a whole and tried to piece together what exactly brought these people here.

“I’m sorry,” Torn said clearly; he tucked the data pad under his arm and made sure to project his voice. Jak glanced at him out of the side of his eyes and fought back a frown. “Unfortunately at this time the Stadium is not open for public access. I must ask you to leave.”

“They’re not here for somethin’ public,” Daxter murmured into Jak’s ear.

“We’re here to volunteer!” someone shouted, and Daxter hissed a ‘told ya’ at Jak who rolled his eyes silently before the teen focused his gaze on the direction of the person who shouted.

“I—what?” Torn visibly gaped and Jak wanted to sigh as Daxter began mimicking the man quietly into Jak’s ear, hiding himself behind Jak’s head so as not to be visible by the civilians—or Torn.

The person who shouted pushed their way through the crowd. A young-ish man, Jak noted, semi-decent clothing. Clean.

“I have medical training,” the young main said clearly.

“And I have worked in social services!” shouted another. They raised their hand and Jak saw a woman this time, clothes a bit more ragged, hair a bit of a mess. Also clean—at least functional as far as livelihood goes, then. This gave rise to more voices and shouts of agreement, exclamations of various jobs and volunteer work—of experience of all types.

The noise level grew quite cacophonous and Jak’s ears tilted back to shy away from the sound without otherwise physically flinching. Torn started to look frustrated at the sudden influx as well; he almost looked like he’d shout the masses down if it’d get them to shut up. Jak folded his ears back a bit further, huffed, and took a firm step forward. He raised a hand and instant hush fell over everyone. The regal, stiff stance—the sharp, commanding eyes and presence—instantly grabbed everyone’s attention. It happened quick enough that Jak blinked in sudden surprise. Beside him now Torn stiffened into parade rest out of instinct. Jak glanced to him with somewhat wide eyes.

Daxter dug his fingers in, a silent reminder that he got it. He understood. Daxter spoke up for Jak; he’d already figured out most about the situation at hand. He shouted, and made sure to project away from Jak’s ears as best he could. “Thanks fer comin’, all of ya. My buddy here,” and Daxter patted Jak on the head with a wide toothy grin, “just didn’t realize ya’ll’d be here so quick!” He leaned further onto Jak’s head, and Jak lightly shoved at the ottsel teen with a faint frown. “If ya’ll don’t mind, could ya quickly refresh my memory ‘bout how ya’ll knew to volunteer?”

The crowd of civilians looked at one another confused. One called out, “We got a message, to a board asking for help? Didn’t you guys send that?”

Jak glanced up to Daxter and sighed. “Yeah,” he said quietly, although his voice seemed to echo loudly in the sudden silence. “We did.” He wasn’t lying, either. They did actually have a message board set up about the volunteer positions—the council just hadn’t decided on a distribution method to the masses yet.

“Sorry bout that, we got so focused here we must’a forgot we sent that out!” Daxter laughed nervously and scrubbed at the back of his head. “Any of ya got a copy of that message? Wanna make sure we’re on the same page an’ all. Get ya that necessarily intel an’ stuff, y’know?”

An elderly man stepped forward and handed over a small pad that prominently displayed the message and relevant information. Jak and Daxter looked it over with slightly widened eyes.

Calling volunteers. City needs help. People displaced, ill and in need of supplies some medical care. First transport of rescues today inbound. Injured KG and Underground forces, plus relief efforts. All backgrounds welcome, medical encouraged. Please see attached link for further details and sign up information.

Marquess of House Asul Duchess of House Karga Baroness of House Praxis Lord of House Haggai King of House Mar

Jak sucked in a soft breath when his gaze landed on that last title, and then carefully he handed the pad to Torn who promptly paled. Jak smiled a little nervously at the crowd, glanced to Daxter with a soft utter of thanks, and then let the ottsel take control again.

“Uhh, right! Yeah that looks accurate. Man I’m sorry guys we got so distracted—” Daxter laughed nervously and scrubbed at his head again. He gave the crowd a sheepish grin that often made people turn into goo—especially women. “Please ya’ll just form some orderly lines over at the Stadium ticket centers! We’ll get ya all checked in shortly here!”

Torn weakly handed the pad to Jak, eyes wide and face not-quite slack if only due to the fact that he’d schooled it into a blank mask. Jak held the pad back out to the elder man.

“Here,” he said softly, a faint red to his cheeks. “I’m really sorry we—”

“No, no, son, I understand,” the elder man uttered. “Ya got a lot going on here. Still good of you—kicking ‘em all into gear like this. Nice having House Mar back home.”

The tips of Jak’s ears turned pink.

“Haha, don’t be so nervous boy!” the man laughed kindly and Jak rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Not all of us are blind, y’know? Sides it’s obvious this was sprung on ya. You’re doing good under all this pressure.”

“Thanks,” Jak whispered and ducked his head. Daxter narrowed his eyes at the elder man and mumbled something about observant old fogey��s in Jak’s ear. Jak offered his hand to shake after a second and mumbled a faint, “Jak.”

“Alain,” Alain replied cheerfully and happily shook Jak’s hand with a firm grip. “It’s good to see you boys back after twenty years gone. Now I’ll just help corral all these people while you get yours in place.”

Before Jak could even say anything Alain toddled off toward the moving crowd of people. Jak stared after the old man, and then at the crowd of people for a long second, before he whirled around to Torn, wild-eyed.

“Call Zoe,” he said quickly. His hands shook a little, and Daxter gripped Jak’s hair tightly.

“They weren’t suppose ta reveal ‘im,” Daxter whispered wide-eyed and also shaking a little.

“Torn, call Zoe now,” Jak snapped out, breath sharp. Torn jerked in surprise at the sudden command. “Find out what happened. Dax—”

Daxter patted Jak on the head before he could say anything further, saluted, and scampered down from Jak’s shoulder with a sharp, “On it!” He snagged Jak’s communicator on his way down and then darted off to make the call Jak wanted him to make. Jak scrubbed a hand down his face, breath shaky. Torn reached out, concerned, and gently squeezed Jak’s shoulder until the teen pulled away. The commander nodded once and stepped away to allow Jak a moment of privacy as he went to contact Zoe.

Jak breathed heavily in and out to steady himself. He looked up to the sky and pressed his lips together. This was really happening. People were informed, he was pushing Haven to rebuild. He was King. Jak bit his lip and fought down the manic laughter that worked to bubble up at the sudden rush of hysteria. Precursors this was really happening. After weeks and weeks it was finally, actually, happening. The truth of it hit him like a freight train and Jak had to close his eyes and hold a hand over his mouth to stop himself from completely losing it.

He was King Jak of House Mar and people fucking knew it.

Like so many others Sig received a message this morning. Normally Sig would’ve listened to the message without question if only to look for Mar in the crowd, or even in the people who’d arrive from the parts of the city inaccessible. He refused to believe the little boy would reside among the dead. Today however Sig answered the call for one reason, and one reason only. The last name upon the list struck a strong cord within him, enough that while he kept a genial smile on his face his heart burned.

Sig looked for anyone who could possibly be the bastard claimant to the title of House Mar while he settled in to volunteer. Certainly he could also look for Mar while here as well, but the majority of his focus settled on finding the lying fucker who dared claim to a title that rightfully belonged to one of his dearest friends and a bright little boy. He didn’t even contemplate that the title might’ve referenced little Mar. That, out of everything, didn’t bare thinking about because the complication of that wanted to make Sig sick.

Eventually the Wastelander reached the front of the crowd. He blinked once he noticed the Firecracker sitting among the slew of people that entered the Stadium not too long after the crowd of civilian volunteers arrived. She had a small computer in front of her and lacked the typical Underground apparel Sig had grown used to seeing on her. In fact she actually looked to be dressed in functional highborn attire much to his surprise. The bright lines of yellow instantly caught his attention and he raised his eyebrow in curiosity. Beside her stood Jak’s female friend Hot Sauce (not that he’d ever call that to her face, or Jak’s for that matter) who leaned over and pointed out something to Firecracker. She also wore something that looked like functional highborn attire with lines of bright green.

A little ways further Sig could see the Commander getting berated by the blond Cinnamon who held her hands on her hips, lips pressed thin. He didn’t look to be having a great time of it, and for a moment Sig wondered just what he did to get read the riot act—because that definitely was the riot act. Sia’d took the same stance to Damas enough times for Sig to know that exactly what being read the riot act looked like. Heck she’d done the same thing to him plenty of times too!

“Name,” Firecracker asked, gaze focused entirely on the computer in front of her

“Sig,” Sig drawled, and grinned when Firecracker jerked up in surprise and Hot Sauce twisted to stare at him curiously.

“Sig!” Firecracker got up and leaved over to give him a big hug with a wide smile. Sig noted that her eyes were no longer chocolate brown now that he could see them, but instead a shocking mix of fire-bright orange-gold. “Thanks for coming,” she said happily. “Skills?” She gave him a bit of a sly smile, already aware of his skillset.

Sig laughed. “Aw no problem firecracker. An’ you know, shootin’, heavy liftin’, and I’ve got some skill in medicine.”

Firecracker hummed and tapped twice at the computer.

“I’ll put you on assist then,” she said. “Supply runs, second gun if needed. Mostly moving eco barrels for now.”

Sig laughed heartily. “Sounds right up my alley!” He let his chuckles trail off and leaned forward. “Say….”

Firecracker looked up at him while Hot Sauce tapped something additional into the computer.

“…what’s up with this House Mar thing?” Sig finished, and he let a purely curious look cross his face. In a sudden response Firecracker’s smile turned plastic, and her form suddenly stiff. Her response threw Sig for an ever bigger loop, especially at the way it rang hollow to him.

“Haven business, Wastelander,” Firecracker chirped. Sig glanced to Hot Sauce and saw that she too suddenly closed off, gaze coldly calculative as she stared at him with a laser sort of focus that she didn’t have before. Sig shuddered faintly and wondered what he stepped in now by the girls two suddenly frosted looks. “Head to the left, over at the zoomer garages. Alain will direct you from there,” Firecracker finished, and called for the next person to come up.

Sig nodded and played oblivious to the sudden shut out. Once away from the two girls did he allow himself to frown. Something odd was up, he could practically taste it, but he couldn’t put a name to whatever was going on. All he knew was that this whole mess didn’t sit well with him. He just hoped it didn’t really have anything to do with Mar. Damas’d have his head if Haven somehow crowned a five year old King. Contemplative, Sig drifted o the left side of the garages in search of this Alain who turned out to be an elder gentleman with a kindly smile. The man looked utterly pleased to see Sig walk up to him and cheerfully directed him toward the barrels of green eco.

“Third garage,” Alain said. “We’ve got five transports incoming, at least one dead.” Alain turned to greet the next volunteer happily while Sig stared after him perturbed, a barrel of eco in his arms.

Eventually the Wastelander shook himself and turned toward the garages themselves with a faint huff of, “Havenites.” Only these mad kangarats would be cheerful about a transport of dead. The barrel itself rested heavily enough on Sig’s shoulder once he hiked it up, so he made it a lazy stroll to the third garage and set the barrel down next to the others. He glanced around the place to see who happened to be in charge of this particular pit.

Daxter, the little Chili Pepper himself, scrambled around the floor with a broom and a mop both. He didn’t even glance up to say, “Thanks!” at the delivery of eco. Sig raised an eyebrow at the very focused ottsel teen. He’d only seen the boy this attentive when it came to combating metal bugs, or to handling Jak. After a moment Sig shook his head and turned to go back to Alain and get his next assignment when Daxter called out suddenly, “Jak! ETA?”

“Five minutes inbound,” Jak called back and slipped around the curtain at the back of the room. By this point Sig’d been halfway out the door and the sound of the Cherry’s voice had him half-turned back around to greet the teen when he froze stock still. The boy’s normally shaggy green hair was done up all neat in dreads and braided locks, and his clothes eerily reminded Sig of the work designs Damas used to wear before he realized layers in the desert wasn’t the smartest idea.

Cautiously Sig slipped back through the doorway enough that Jak couldn’t see him if he turned to glance at the entrance, but so that Sig himself could see the Cherry conversing with the Chili Pepper.

Daxter set the broom and the mop down and trotted up to Jak. He looked the other teen up and down, tugged at the hem of the top until it rested straight under the channeler’s ring Jak always wore with a huff.

“I look ridiculous,” Jak grumbled. “I don’t know why they insist on this. I thought the whole idea wasn’t to make it this obvious?”

“Well that was before the jerkface that outted ya, outted ya,” Daxter snapped back. “There. Snazzy! Ya got the firestarters?”

Jak jerked his head back to the curtain. “Yeah. Lined up neatly, like Kiera directed. Also set out the camera and the scanner so we can try and get some ID’s for people.”

Daxter nodded. “Right. Well, floor’s clean and pit’s clear! When’s Keira gonna take command?”

“After the transport’s arrive,” Jak said softly. “C’mon Dax, let’s go check on the Stadium itself.”

“Puttin’ on a show, eh?” Daxter crowed teasingly and climbed onto Jak’s shoulder.

“You know I’d rather be shootin’ metal heads and not be all gussied up,” Jak grumbled annoyed. Sig started to back away and head towards Alain, mind whirling.

“I know big guy, I know,” he heard Daxter say before he completely lost earshot of the duo.

It didn’t hit Sig until he found himself lined up to get the next set of directions that Jak looked scarily like a young Damas. The coloring was more Wastelander, but the peach fuzz, the hair, and the cut of the clothes that the teen wore….

“You okay there?”

Sig jerked and glanced to Alain.

“Yeah,” he laughed and hid behind a passive smile and drawl that fooled every Havenite so far.

“Good! Garage two, right side!” Alain told him cheerfully.

Sig nodded and headed over to grab a barrel. He resolved to find a way to get the Cherry alone—he needed to figure this shit out. Maybe sneak out of the city and make sure Damas didn’t have any hidden cousins or something. He still didn’t quite believe the Chili Pepper’s story about time travel—far more likely the lads came from some behind-the-times village, probably in the Badlands. It’d explain a lot at least.

Koray slipped down into a maintenance line just outside of the Palace District. It’d taken him the better part of a day to unearth the best route into the Market District after the explosive aftermath of the meeting. He still felt bitter over being shut down by Alyín like he had, but Koray rolled with what the world gave him. Finally though after hours of research Koray did unearth all of the details he needed to plan the most expedient route to Onin’s hut, and perhaps the most safest.

Fingers grasped and reached into the bag that Koray held slung over one shoulder, eyes glowing a bright gold to help offset a little of the darkness around him. This shaft hadn’t been used in quite some time, and a good chunk of the power remained cut off since before Damas’ exile—even more power had been rerouted recently since the power station existed firmly in Metal Head territory now. With a huff Koray pulled out a small light stick and snapped the thing over his knee, forever grateful the phosphorescent light contained no eco—and thus would attract none of the monsters.

Koray raised the light high above his head, adjusted his pack, and unholstered a small yellow eco gun from his hip with his other hand. He moved slow, crouched low and cautious, with his ears perked right up to catch whatever sound he could. His gaze shifted around the line, searched through cables and wires and pipes just to be certain no bugs would surprise him. Sometimes the creatures wormed their way into maintenance lines like this one.

The line itself would pop back out into the Market District, specifically the Bazaar that Onin tended to reside her tent in. From the maps Koray obtained the line would open up about three blocks away from the open center that Onin resided. While Koray would’ve preferred to arrive right at Onin’s tent, three blocks was a better chance than traversing the whole District to get to her.

The slow pace between the Palace District and the Market District took upwards of an hour, but Koray considered it time well spent if it meant getting what Veger wanted—and avoiding the man being upset, again. With a grunt and a huff Koray shoved aside the paneling that led to the outside; first a crack to peer out of to make sure the sand streets were clear, and then the rest of the way so that he could slip out and find the nearest cover. He left his light behind in the maintenance line.

Cautiously, with gritted teeth, Koray picked his way around corpses and puddles of dark eco; fallen debris from the buildings, from product stands—from anything, really. The streets that were normally barren aside from traveling shoppers and KG patrols, were coated thick with obstructions of all kind. It made moving quickly a hassle, especially with the amount of puddles of dark eco that lingered about like a bad smell. Eventually he did make his way to cover and peered out around the corner. Thankfully the coast remained clear and quickly Koray moved to his next hiding spot down the block. He eased himself towards the next turn.

Three blocks; two to the left, one right. That was the route to Onin’s tent from what he could remember. Koray crouched low, crawled under some boxes, and listened intently. By the soft crunch of debris and sand, Metal Heads moved a block over. They moved slow, it sounded a bit like a sweep—some sort of patrol? Koray glanced down the street, wormed his way out from his cover, and dashed to the other side. He slipped and ducked and weaved to the next corner and huddle under an easement and between more debris to peer around the next corner.

There they were. The beasts swept back and forth; their movements were slow, steady. They were on a patrol, and the oddity of that struck Koray hard. He frowned. Without Kor the creatures should be more disorganized—in fact all reports indicated they were a mess without the influence of their Queen. It’d been suggested that the creatures had a hive mind like whumpbee’s did. Perhaps all research into the beasts wasn’t entirely accurate, since the research had been done when Kor still lived. Perhaps the hive mind they observed in fact wasn’t quite a hive mind at all. Could the disorganization have been temporary?

Everyone honestly didn’t know what the death of a Metal Head Queen would do to the masses, so, Koray mused, anything could be possible. They could be more adaptive than anyone realized. Koray breathed in slowly and refocused his attention. He could ponder Metal Head biology later, get together with a few other like-minded scientists and review the data again. For now Koray needed to get to Onin.

The patrol swept past him, and Koray waited until they’d turned the opposite direction he needed. He waited a good deal longer than that, even, to be assured they wouldn’t even have the chance to see him before he dashed into the open. Once more he ducked and weaved in and out of cover until he reached the next corner. There he wiggled again under and between more debris to hide while he assessed the next block.

Within seconds after Koray settled a heavy Metal Head foot slapped down right by his head. Koray held his breath and glanced upwards as best he could—two more sets of feet landed down in front of him. A patrol of three, then. He grimaced. The beast shifted in the sand and muck—dried blood, dark eco, destroyed bits of fruit. The fragrance stung Koray’s nose and he wondered if Onin even had a sense of smell after so long among rotting corpses.

No matter. Carefully Koray absorbed the creature, watched it twist its head. The three Metal Heads sniffed at the air, growled to one another in some sort of guttural language. They could speak and that tossed out the theory that Kor provided them some semblance of intelligence. Koray tightened his grip on his gun. He didn’t want to use it, didn’t want to risk drawing more attention, but if he was discovered….

Quite suddenly the beasts took off at a run, loud howls that sent chills down Koray’s spine echoed along the empty streets. A distant scream pierced his ears. Koray winced, wiggled and tugged himself from his cover, and bolted. He abandoned all pretense of hiding among the dead and destruction. Instead he raced straight around the corner, skidded through dark eco and dried blood and who knows what else. He could see the tent, dove, and rolled right through the front flaps. Koray twisted around fluidly and raised his gun towards the entrance, breath heavy, and waited.

Nothing.

“What in the hell!?” Pecker squawked in a whispered sort of hiss. The sudden vocalized noise startled Koray and he twisted around again, gun now aimed at Pecker, wild-eyed. “Who’re you?” the bird demanded.

“Rescue,” Koray snapped, then sighed and holstered his weapon.

“Where’s Jak?!”

“Not coming.” The words were clipped and sneered. Koray shifted his gaze to Onin and dismissed the bird easily enough. “Veger wants you.”

For a moment silence engulfed the hut, and then Onin nodded once. With a creak of aged joints she climbed to her feet. Normally Onin would’ve merely float upon her seat, but the discus required a concentrated effort of eco to do so, and with Metal Heads about in abundance such danger was foolhardy.

Koray grimaced as Onin hobbled closer. He calculated the distance, the screams, and the speed of the patrols from what little he’d seen. Onin would slow matters down considerably, and Koray doubted her aged frame could easily fit into the hiding places he did. They’d be more exposed, especially with the old woman’s pace, but Koray kept his mouth shut and peered through the tent flap, gun once more unholstered.

“Onin,” Pecker hissed. He settled upon her shoulder and fell quiet. Koray pulled himself back into the tent and glanced at the duo.

“Come on,” he said sharply, “it’s clear.”

#fic: patriciate #fic: semblance #fanfic #accidentally king of haven #jak and daxter #wip #crossposted #canon divergence

5 notes · View notes

xadoheandterra · 2 years

Text

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

The path of fate has changed, so what does that mean?

Pecker kept himself small, huddled in between boxes and crates to not cast a shadow on the tent walls. He glanced cautiously over toward Onin who sat cross legged surrounded by various trinkets while she meditated. Pecker shivered while he listened to the telltale shuffling of the Metal Heads outside the tent canvas. He watched through the thinnest cracks along the bottom of the tent the creatures sniff around. With bated breath Pecker waited until they shuffled off, the sounds becoming distant.

“That was close,” Pecker huffed. Onin tilted her head, turned it in his direction calmly. “Oh please don’t give me that look.” Her lips twitched up and Pecker could easily read the minute gestures that told him all he needed to know.

“That is bullshit and you know it,” Pecker pointed out in response to what he read. He huffed and flew over to Onin exhaustedly. “How much longer are we going to be stuck here anyway?”

Onin sighed breathlessly and shifted. Pecker watched for the signs of communication, the twitches of fingers that were far subtler than when she made grandiose gestures at her guests. Pecker frowned best he could at what he read there.

“You needn’t be so hard on yourself,” Pecker said quietly. “Please, Onin.”

Onin twitched her head and pushed air through her nose in another huff. She opened sightless eyes and turned them toward Pecker tiredly. This time she made a sharp gesture with her hand, twisting the rest and curling the fingers. She shifted in her spot, face curling with more words.

“Well yes something is obviously different,” Pecker agreed. “This rescue is taking far too long!” He let out a faint squawk. “That doesn’t mean you should doubt yourself.” Pecker poked her in the head. “You haven’t been wrong yet.”

Onin frowned. She poked Pecker back and moved her fingers in an intricate pattern. She drew faint lines of light eco into the air, and then waved her hand through it the next second to wipe the trace. Pecker glanced to the front of the tent, tensed, and waited to see if any Metal Heads made their way back at the scent of eco. He breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened.

"Honestly Onin you worry too much,” Pecker said bluntly. “We’ll be out of here soon enough and Jak will finish his destiny. So what if it’s a little different? That’s just the minor details.” Onin arched an eyebrow. “Well yes I’m upset! This rescue is taking far too long. You think they’d come get us first thing, won’t you?”

Onin frowned and poked Pecker in the forehead. She made a small gesture, then sighed wordlessly. Pecker frowned.

"This doubting is not like you," Pecker said. Onin rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. Just wait and see. As you've forseen so shall it come to pass." Pecker paused, then slumped over with a sigh. "Although I admit I am not looking forward to that bit with all the sand. Or that Vegan fellow. Or any of it with the daystar thing." Pecker stared down at the ground and completely missed Onin's silent response. "I know it is fate, but to pin it on him? On them? It feels like a sham."

Onin placed her hand atop Peckers head and bowed her own in understanding. More than anyone they understood the chains of fate.

"We need to discuss the eco situation before we get any further on the recovery efforts," Jak brought up before greetings could be provided.

"Eco situation?" Keira questioned with a frown. She glanced around the table and noted that out of everyone only Samos and Zoe seemed to know what Jak meant.

Jak licked his lips and flicked his fingers against the table. Abruptly in front of everyone the reports began to scroll. "These are the records we have on Praxis' exchange of eco with Kor." Jak made a gesture and the lines of red, blue, and yellow eco lit up. "From what he recorded Praxis traded in red, blue, yellow and dark eco considering the overabundance of it. Not once did he send Kor a barrel of green."

"Considering how green and dark interact," Keira murmured in understanding. Alyin glanced to her, then to Jak. Ashlin blinked.

"What do you mean?" Ashlin questioned. "How they interact?"

Keira looked over to Ashlin, and then made a short gesture. "Green eco and dark eco interact poorly. With an overgrowth of dark green is used as a cleansing agent. It counteracts the corrosive influence and rejuvenates. That's why we need green eco in the cleansing process; fire'll work for disease but to cleanse the taint of the dark eco we do need to bathe the pits in green...."

"So that's why you mentioned the green eco," Aylin said surprised. "That makes sense...."

"Except we're short," Jak said slowly, and that grabbed the younger generation's attention. Torn stiffened at his back. "It went largely unreported but the hospitals have a green shortage; while there are unreported missing barrels of all types of eco, the unreported missing barrels of red, blue, yellow, and dark match up with the records we do have of Praxis' deals with Kor."

"An' then there's the green stuff that's jus' missin' entirely," Daxter said darkly. "Which means either someone's been hoardin' shit, or somethin' else is going on."

Jak pulled up the information on the green flows and pointed out the discrepancies. He highlighted the comments on blockages and the room descended into silent, contemplative reading for a minute. He didn't say his thoughts out loud just yet, instead glanced to Keira. Keira knew most about eco flows out of everyone back in Sandover. Her intense interest into precurian technology helped, and then with Samos for an adoptive father she learned plenty on how the eco flows worked. From her seat Keira stood up, moved her hands alongside the report and then pulled up a map to coincide with it.

"Keira what are you doing?" Samos harrumphed tiredly but stalled when Zoe held up a hand. She also got to her feet and shifted around the table to see what Keira saw.

"What do you notice, child?" Zoe questioned quietly. She glanced between Jak and Keira curiously. "What do both of you notice."

Keira blinked and looked to Jak. "You see it too, right?" Jak nodded slowly.

"Like when the blue lines were closed," Jak said softly. "When the Acherons...."

"That's what I thought," Keira agreed. Carefully she tapped out a few quick commands--Zoe took the time over the past few days to get her acquainted with the system. "The question becomes how long and if there is a pattern...."

"There is," Jak agreed softly. He got up and quickly pulled up the relevant files. In between reading through the reports for the preparations to the Stadium and the Waterfront, both performed as quietly as Keira and Daxter and the Underground could make it, Jak delved into the reports and history in regards to the eco flows in an attempt to suss out a pattern for the eco shortage if he could. "See here? These records go back to before Praxis took over."

"I'm not the only one lost, am I?" Koray muttered quietly, and Alyin shook her head with a frown.

For a moment Keira and Jak went back and forth in half-sentences and thoughts while the rest of the Council tried to follow. Daxter occasionally would pipe up some nonsensical comment that only both teens understood. Out of the entire council Zoe and Samos seemed to have some vague idea what what they three discussed. This back and forth continued for some time until Ashlin grew tired of the lack of explanation, stood up, and slammed her hands down onto the table to gather everyone's attention.

"Jak!" Ashlin snapped out and Jak jerked his head up. "What are you two even talking about?"

"The eco lines," Keira said bluntly when Jak just blinked in surprise. "They've been turned off. Why would you even remotely do that?"

Torn shifted and frowned at the three teens. "It attracts the metal heads," the commander said carefully. "Historically the council decided to shut down the eco lines for the protection of the city itself."

"That makes no sense!" Keira threw her hands up in a huff. "You crippled the city to protect it? What kind of nonsense--" Jak sighed and Daxter let out a loud, "Hey, hey, hey!" before the table could erupt into arguing.

"Lemme get this straight," Daxter said sharply. "Ya'll shut down the eco lines cuz the metal heads are attracted to eco, right?"

Ashlin nodded. "Yes. The Council made the choice several generations back."

Daxter frowned, then glanced to Jak who sighed irritably.

"Metal heads are attracted to liquid eco," Jak said slowly. "The eco lines filter vaporous eco to the vents which the metal heads aren't even interested in. Meanwhile you've broken open who knows how many dark eco silos and practically polluted whole sections outside the town walls with liquid dark eco that the metal heads can gorge themselves on. They have an easy source of liquid eco, dark eco, readily available. They don't need to try and harvest any from the eco lines while the dark eco from the silos is still so abundant."

"The lines still hold liquid eco," Ashlin pointed out.

"Yeah, but that's so far deep down that not even the precursor ruin with the control switch can reach it," Keira pointed out. "You know we barely interacted with liquid eco before the metal head invasion right? If any of the Sage's wanted to touch eco in its liquid form they had to condense it back down after harvesting the vapor from a nearby vent."

"That's what always bugged us 'bout the whole tradin' eco thing with Kor," Daxter pointed out. "They didn't need it."

For a moment the table remained silent in complete shock. Then, carefully, Ashlin asked the question that lingered on the older council members mind. "How...do you know this?"

Jak blinked. He glanced at them one by one. "I was taught it," Jak said carefully. "During my...stay in Praxis' care." He didn't like to honestly think about the knowledge Praxis and Erol stuffed into his head during the two years he stayed in their tender mercies, between the eco treatments and assessments. Jak breathed out slowly. "Did honestly none of you know this?" Jak glanced to Samos and to Zoe who both held thoughtful frowns on their faces.

Zoe sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand down her face with sudden exhaustion. Samos tightened his grip on his cane.

"We were informed that the 'dark eco' outside of the walls in fact contained poison," she said softly, "and indeed all tests done by House Azul proved such."

"Agreed," Samos said. "We were lead to believe the dark eco outside the walls in fact meant nothing to the metal heads. The research and the data backed it up." Samos sagged. "To think he'd gone so far..."

"We don't even have records of where the switches are anymore," Zoe said bitterly. "They were destroyed some sixty, seventy years ago...."

Jak exchanged a glance with Keira and Keira nodded. "Look, I have a few suggestions for that, things to look out for, locations from Sandover that I can remember. We never dealt with the green line, never needed to, but the blue, yellow and red ones I can give you rough approximations based from there."

"If we follow the pattern of the other eco lines, we might be able to pull up where the green line is as well," Zoe agreed. "First things first though we need to focus on the recovery efforts."

"Eco is just as important, especially green!" Keira argued. Samos' hand stopped her from continuing.

"Keira," Samos said lightly and Keira glanced back to him. "Let Zoe and I handle the eco lines. You, Jak, and Daxter provide the information on the previous locations and we'll run from there. The rest of you should focus on the recovery efforts and where to spend our attention. We've got a lot of work ahead of us, and for the time being we can make do with what green we do have. We're short, but we're not in the red just yet."

"We will be if we don't take care of it," Ashlin said softly.

"Definitely," Aylin agreed, "but Zoe and the Shadow are right. We need to prioritize. So, back to the recovery efforts and the space requirements; what do we have to work with?"

Koray knew his own strengths and weaknesses like the back of his hand. Hunt down Onin in the middle of Metal Head infested territory amounted to suicide, but Koray knew to ignore Veger on something so important spelt trouble. Easily enough the answer settled with the Sage Lines and the Council that the freak designed. The Market District sat closest to Main Town aside from the Agricultural District which made it a prime target for immediate rescue. Koray planned to bring it up in favor of the people of Haven; not even Alyin could refute him that. After all House Karga focused on the people.

While the rest of the group discussed the logistics of removing the equipment in the Stadium pits and the Stadium itself, Koray flipped through the reports on the most damaged areas and House Praxis' assessment of the damage thus far. While they brought up Eco storage and the shortage concerns, Koray dragged his fingers along the comments towards the advantages and disadvantages of their current position. He noted the rate of food, the concerns in regards to metal head incursion in the Agricultural District, the supplies potentially remained in the Market District.

With the freak and his sycophants Koray knew he'd need to phrase his change to the plan just so in order to get them to go along. If not Jak then at least Aylin and one of the other Houses. When the meeting began to die down in regards to the plans--somehow the Waterfront became refugee location number two for those not sick and infirm, which meant that they'd need to build shelters for the people and given the amount of open space over the water the shelters would be housed there--Koray could see the outcry of turning such a centralized location into essentially a secondary slums district.

"I have a proposition," Koray said cautiously in a slight lull in the conversation where Zoe, Samos and Ashlin made notes and adjustments. Aylin shot him a look, an arched eyebrow that conveyed the cold 'and what are you doing now?' that found itself in all House Karga women. Koray continued on and ignored the look. "We've made a note on the eco shortage and on how best to settle the refugees but we're ignoring two major districts that could provide additional room to house people temporarily."

Koray quickly brought up the Agricultural District and then the Market District. "You can see here that reported damage to both districts are minimal," Koray highlighted primarily the borders. "In fact for the Agricultural District borders itself against both the Waterfront and Main Town. Freeing that space would ease the public's understanding and raise open, land bound areas to house refugees not deemed a health risk."

Aylin leaned forward and looked over what Koray marked down. "Interesting," she murmured, and Koray knew she could see the same he could--the strangeness in the revelation that only one path between the Waterfront and to Main Town that focused solely on the Palace itself.

"Plus there is the concern of an increase in metal head activity within the Agricultural District itself," Koray pointed out carefully. "The corruption of crops and food will lead toward an increase in disease and dark eco levels among the common populace."

Samos frowned and Jak furrowed his brow in thought. Koray watched House Haggai put together the details and waited. Keira spoke up instead of her father though, and Koray twitched her head in the young girl's direction.

"In order to free up the agricultural areas of Haven we need to use the green eco to cleanse what damage the crops already suffer from," Keira pointed out. "Green eco we don't have to spare."

Aylin nodded. "The space increase you bring up, and the health increase, are good points Koray," she said calmly, fingers steepled together, "but in this case I feel that even House Karga can't support the change in focus. While we might gain space to place cleared refugees we run the risk of an increase in sick and inform, lowering the locations where we can store them and increasing the rise of disease among the populace without a clear way to keep them down."

"Plus you need to think of the bodies contaminating the rest of the city itself," Ashlin agreed. "We need to clean out the heavily infested areas first, focus on reclaiming sections of the city we've lost entirely. We haven't completely lost the Agricultural District or the Market District; they're under attack, but still fairly clear of metal head incursion."

"Beyond even that," Zoe spoke up, voice sharp, "the shield wall needs immediate repair, especially if we are to take back any part of this city. The equipment for that resides only in the Industrial District under the purview of House Azul."

Koray clenched his fists and glanced about the room. While the others considered, his plan still removed itself from the table. He clenched his teeth.

"What about the Prison," Koray said cautiously. "The medical facilities there--"

"--are not worth dredging out," Jak said shortly and everyone froze. "The Prison doesn't house any green eco on site, therefore reclamation of the Prison is not a priority."

Ashlin exchanged a glance to Torn who stiffened behind Jak, and Aylin looked over at Koray whose lips tugged into a faint sneer.

"The other stores of eco alone could increase our fire power, not to mention the use of the KG supplies that were contained there--" Koray started, but Aylin cut him off by dragging him right back into his seat with a sharp glare. Her normally amber eyes glowed bright yellow with her fury.

"Koray, enough," Aylin said coldly. "Sire, House Karga apologizes for speaking out of turn." Jak inclined his head. "It is our consideration to leave the Prison as it is. When we reclaim the Industrial District we can look towards that path if we find ourselves short on the eco supply. That is House Karga's suggestion in regards to the reclamation."

The sudden turn toward formality left Koray frozen solid. Obviously he'd overstepped into something, and with a gentle incline of his head for apology Koray observed the group as a whole. Praxis knew something, as did the traitor and Zoe, although Koray couldn't be certain toward what. Most likely something that Erol worked on, given the stiffened nature of Torn's spine or the way Ashlin seemed to suddenly regain the privileged stick up her ass.

The eco freak's silence and near black eyes helped cinch the matter toward something Erol worked on. Most probably something in regards to the Dark Warrior Program, then. Koray pondered for a moment what secrets the prison could be hiding before he settled back to silently observe the rest of the meeting. A minor setback, the thought to have the recovery efforts designed by Jak to rescue Onin was a good one, but the opposition meant that Koray would have to seek this out on his own. The thought of entering territory claimed by the beasts, tainted by the dark eco--well, Koray wasn't a fighter at heart. That didn't mean however that he didn't know how to fight when necessary.

Jak breathed a settling breath through his nose while the room cleared out, the meeting finally come to an end. He stared down at the streets of Haven, hands clenched tight to mask the faint tremble to them. Daxter kept himself rather still, fingers on his hands gently tugged through his braids, a silent form of support. Once the meeting finished Torn shifted to settle against a wall and kept one eye on Jak, and one on the departing members. Jak felt rather grateful that Torn out of everyone recognized Jak's reluctance to deal with any member of House Karga and carefully steered Aylin out of the room with a shaken head and a soft word.

When finally everyone left, aside from Samos and Torn--Kiera lingered in the doorway, curious and cautious and not-at-all like the Keira Jak could remember. Jak glanced to her before he kept his gaze solely on the streets below.

"The boy had a point," Samos spoke as he moved over toward Jak. The soft clump of his feet thudded heavy to Jak's ears. They drooped faintly. "We might need the eco stored at the Prison." Samos slapped his staff into the ground with frustration. "There is no telling how much eco Praxis stored--"

"There is no green eco in the Prison," Jak said stiffly, voice clipped, "and that is the only eco we'd need at this time."

Samos frowned and hummed in thought. He sighed exasperatedly after a second. "Just because the inventory records state one thing--"

"The inventory records say nothing on the eco stored there," Jak tightened his fists and dug sharpened nails into his palms. He closed his eyes and hunched his shoulders inward a bit, ears dropped down. "There is too much blue, some yellow, some red, but no green."

"Jak," Samos said slowly, but before he could continue Torn stepped in, shifted from his position against the wall. Keira also spoke up, a soft, "Daddy," to get Samos' attention before Torn completely overtook her.

"Jak's right, Shadow," Torn said. "Praxis never felt the need for green eco to be stored at the prison, there's always been too much blue eco anywhere near the Guard and the locations they frequent, and the little yellow and red also stored there worked as spare ammunition than anything."

Samos seemed paused, a frown tugged at his mouth as he stared at Torn and then glanced to Jak and the way Jak's shoulders trembled faintly. He reached out a hand to place on Jak's shoulder, meant to be a calming or understanding gesture. A spark of dark eco snapped at his fingers and Samos jerked back with a hiss. He looked between his hand and then over at Jak. For a moment Samos wanted to say something--something about the dark eco that bubbled just beneath Jak's skin. For a moment Samos wondered how he never saw it, saw the depths of the eco that coiled in the teenager.

Then Samos pulled his hand back, let out a soft sigh even as Jak tensed further. He kept his thoughts to himself, intent to puzzle this one out further--and for a moment he wondered if he'd forgotten something, somewhere, that happened between now and Sandover. Samos knew he probably had; a lot of what Samos once knew he'd lost already due to age and distance and probably something to do with the rift and timetravel and two of him existing in one space--Samos huffed, and then turned.

"Very well," Samos said. "That shield wall is the priority for the moment." He paused to say something else, Samos thought toward all that he'd seen out of Jak these past weeks, before he sighed and carefully began to lead Keira from the room as well. Jak remained stiff and tense, small sparks of dark eco jolted from his shoulders. Daxter dug his claws in a bit deeper against Jak's skull as he dragged them through the braids.

For a moment the room sat in tense silence, and then Jak let out a heavy, shaken breath. One moment he stood tense, and then his knees felt weak and his vision felt hazy and all Jak wanted to do was settle into the ground. He didn't even notice Torn slip from the wall and grip his upper arm, tight but loose enough that if Jak wanted he could break free without any enhanced strength. Torn held on despite the eco that singed at his skin; instead the commander tugged until Jak settled down onto the floor and he knelt next to the teen.

"In, and out," Torn said carefully, "breathe with me, Jak." Jak glanced to him and Torn exaggerated breathing in and then breathing out, and Jak slowly began to follow. "That's it. In, and out."

In, and out. The haze began to settle a little, the trembling to his limbs eased up just the slightest bit. Jak could feel Daxter's claws in his scalp, a steady pressure of faint pinpricks. In, and out. The tightness in his chest began to loosen, and for a moment his breath wavered and hitched. In, and out. Jak's hands began to slowly unclench, the faint coppery scent of blood hit his nostrils and the sting felt sharper, more intensive.

"That's it, Jak, in and out."

In, and out. In, and out. His eyes burned and Jak choked lightly on his breath before he sucked in another. It began to hit back at him, hit home that even Samos agreed until Torn backed Jak up, backed up his knowledge with cold efficiency. Even Samos felt like they should unearth the prison just for what might be contained there. Samos who knew, who had to know--

"Jak! In, and out. With me," Torn snapped out and Jak sucked in a sharp, hitched breath and the burning in his eyes eased with tears. "There you go. You with me? In and out, Jak. Come on, kid."

It crashed down on him at once and Jak leaned his head forward until it rested against Torn's clavicle. His shoulder's shook, and his breathing came in soft, steady breaths as his black coated eyes stared down at Torn's lap.

"Come on, kid," Torn murmured. "You're here. You're here."

Torn could admit he'd never quite seen Jak just crumble before. He'd found the kid in terrible situations, and those first few weeks once he'd escaped from the prison Torn often found himself seeking out the kid in whatever alcove he'd holed up in before Jak fully accepted that in the Underground's HQ he was welcome, he was relatively safe, and could sleep without fear. As far as Torn understood Jak broke down in private, with just Daxter around to pull him back out--there wasn't a chance Jak didn't break down, unless he'd actually been pressing himself onward for a year without letting himself quite reach the reality that no longer was he there, in the prison, in the Program.

Torn sighed out heavily, kept his breathing steady even when it hurt just the slightest bit to do so.

"It took me a long time to wake up in the morning and feel like each day wasn't a mistake," Torn said quietly. "It took me a long time to be capable of sleep without seeing someone I'd once trusted implicitly take my knife and kill me with it." Jak stilled for the most part, just breathed although his shoulders shook. Given the way his ears perked Torn had his attention. "To go to sleep and not feel myself choke, to be capable of breathing, of even touching a knife without trembling or being sick." Torn's voice shook faintly and he focused on his own breathing for a moment.

"How did you do it?" Jak asked, voice a dead whisper.

Torn closed his eyes. "For a long time I didn't. I repressed and suppressed whatever I could. Every memory, every bite of betrayal I shoved it away and dealt with every day as a job. Work to be done, couldn't focus on it, not now." Jak stilled almost completely. "Until one day I couldn't anymore."

Jak pulled back a little, and Torn could see the blue in his eyes again. Torn licked his lips and glanced away.

"Tess found me," he said hoarsely, "bleeding." Jak pulled back further. "She didn't leave me alone after that. Stayed at my side, forced me to rest, forced me to take care of myself and when I didn't, did so for me." Torn looked to Jak. "She ingrained herself so fully into my life, brought me back from that edge...." Torn breathed in and out. "Tess was my Daxter," he said eventually, glanced to the little rodent on Jak's shoulder and Jak blinked in understanding.

Daxter grabbed a few of Jak's locks tightly.

"No one needs to know anything of what happened if you don't want them to," Torn said carefully and Jak stared at him with such a broken look that Torn wanted to resurrect Erol and Praxis if only to give them a taste of the hell they'd put this kid through. "Ashlin and I have been working on removing all of the records so that only you can let others read them."

Jak swallowed. He breathed, "You know?"

Torn closed his eyes and nodded once.

"We kept an eye on the program," Torn said, "and when you joined up with the Underground I needed to know what to expect from you, and what to watch out for." Torn sighed. "Vin got the information. He made me swear to never use any of it, especially in regards to you." Unsaid went 'or against you' and Jak could pick up the subtleties there, that Torn knew what Praxis and Erol did to attempt to control him, to control the beast they'd created in two years of torture.

"How...much?" Jak asked.

"Anything in an official capacity," Torn said. "Anything further than that..." Torn shook his head. "It's not my place to know unless you want me to."

Daxter leaned forward and stared at Torn's face. "An...that's it? Nothin else?" Daxter questioned.

Torn looked to Daxter. "It's not my place," Torn said calmly. "If you want to tell me, then that's your choice." He looked back to Jak. "Your health is my job, Jak. I take care of my own. I always have." Torn squeezed Jak's arm. "If you want to talk, I'm here. If you need to break down, I'm here."

"S'why you kept dragging us in outta the cold," Daxter murmured, as if he suddenly just got it. Torn knew they'd figured that much out long ago, he'd overheard them discussing it in the dead of the night once or twice. Torn inclined his head in agreement either way.

"How did..." Jak struggled, not sure if he should ask, but Torn gave him a bitter smile.

"What happened to me?" Torn asked, and Jak nodded slowly. "You saw Dead Town." Jak swallowed and nodded again. "My squad was sent there to...save it, we were told." Torn sighed. "We were actually sent there to die." Jak froze. "Praxis...already deemed Dead Town a loss. When we tried to evacuate, when we asked for reinforcements he..." Torn sighed. "He sent in another squad to slaughter us instead, to ensure we didn't save anyone."

Torn let go of Jak's arm and rubbed at his neck.

"I thought they'd come as back up," he murmured, "instead as I went to call to my men Erol grabbed my knife from my belt and slit my throat." Torn stared off into the distance. "I later learned I'd died for several minutes, and only the Shadow and his underground is the reason why I survived, why anyone survived."

"Erol...?" Daxter hissed between his teeth, almost inaudible. Torn opened his mouth to agree, yes, Erol because he knew what that sounded like. Erol at one point his friend? The man who'd single handedly ruined so many lives for fun, a friend? Torn didn't have an explanation for it, aside from he'd honestly thought he could trust Erol, trust Praxis--he was naive.

Then Jak blurted out before he even could say anything, a weak sort of hoarse whisper, "I was raped."

Torn froze, then let out a slow breath. That explained everything.

"As--as a means to control me. I...he..."

Torn closed his eyes, got to his feet, and offered Jak his hand. Jak blinked in surprise.

"Come on, kid," Torn said tiredly. "Let's go somewhere...else for this. More comfortable." He paused, then added, "With booze." Jak stared at him and Torn looked down. "Strong booze. Pretty sure there's some stashed away somewhere in this maze of a palace."

"You..."

Torn's lips twisted and he said, "We can share our respective stories over a good drink if you really want. Share what an asshole Praxis and Erol were, what twisted up pieces of shit they've done and rejoice in their deaths." Torn chuckled darkly. "Honestly they got off easy."

"Yeah," Jak murmured in agreement, voice deeper, almost darker. "They did." He took Torn's hand and let the commander tug him to his feet. He licked his lips. "Thanks."

Torn shook his head, let out a bitter laugh, and just lead Jak from the room. He didn't want the thanks; he didn't deserve it. Torn wanted nothing more than to drink himself into oblivion because he should've seen it. He should've known. After all he alone knew the exact depths Erol fell to; he provided the means once, even. He took Erol to that edge, and Torn didn't bother to stop him from falling.

#fic: patriciate #fic: semblance #jak and daxter #accidentally king of haven #fanfic #wip #crossposted #canon divergence

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xadoheandterra · 2 years

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Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVI | Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

Veger was not prepared for the Wastes to be in disarray, or for the memories that come with it.

Veger glanced out the window of the transport vehicle as it landed. The sight of the sand and desolate climate brought a bit of a curl to his lips—he’d always hated the visits to this place but needs often must and for Veger they must often. He turned his gaze from the window to Onin who sat next to him covered in a long white wrap that he found in her closet. Her fingers were wrapped tightly with the bracelet that Pecker had given her once upon a time. Veger sighed.

“Mother,” he said, and kept his tone soft as he spoke, well aware of her delicate state. “We have arrived in the Wastes.”

Onin glanced up at him from the bracelet and then back down to where her fingers were wrapped tight.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Veger murmured, and placed a hand upon Onin’s shoulder. She looked to him with blank and near unseeing eyes, and Veger wondered where her vision rested. With Pecker as he was torn apart by the Metal Heads? Or some far off future that she had no real comprehension of? Veger wondered, and then shook his head of it.

As a man of science Veger really did not like to ponder Onin’s penchant for ‘Prophecy’ and the foolish notion that it truly existed. As her son however he’d grown up with Words and words and Veger often knew the effects of Eco upon elfin kind were vast and varied and resulted in some very unusual abilities. Prophecy, of course, being the one that primarily ran itself through his side of the family. Veger felt rather happy that the whole mess skipped his generation, even if it left the girl to take the brunt of it.

“Afan,” Veger said shortly toward the transport technician; Afan turned his head and regarded him through red tinted goggles, well used to these frequent visits of the Count. “Don’t let any of those…people near the transport. We should be back within a few hours if all goes well.”

Afan nodded. “I’ll radio if anything changes, or if I need to leave before your time is up.”

With a nod Veger turned around and carefully began to gather up Onin in her wrap. “Come Mother,” he said gently, “let us go see Seem.”

Onin’s mouth moved, formed the name Seem silently and Veger felt a little bit of himself relax. If she could focus on the girl, then she could probably recover to be useful enough in the future. Onin always knew the right words to point him in the right direction, and Veger really needed that now more than ever. With the line of Mar back in power, once more spreading their divine nonsenses and blessed bloodline foolishness Veger found himself at a standstill of how he could get everything back on track. That damned Jak—the weapon of Praxis’ remains that walked about as if it were King—pah, Veger would handle that soon enough; he just needed Onin well first.

The transport door opened and immediately the desert air brushed against Veger’s face and he grimaced. The climate never agreed with him—too hot, too humid and arid and every -id under the sun, really. He detested the warmth, the way it seeped beneath his clothes and made him sweat something unholy. Carefully Veger moved Onin down the steps of the ramp into the sand that dug into the seams of his shoes. He lifted one and shook it; damn things would need to be replaced now. Sand remained that one impossible thing to remove.

“Come, Mother,” Veger said, and pushed Onin away from the transport and out into the desert heat fully. The sun baked down upon them as they moved; thankfully the transport pad rested close to the shadow of a cliff face, and one of the entrances to the Precusor Monks’ vast chambers. It always amused Veger how people seemed to think so little of the Monks, when really they numbered almost as large as a small encampment. A pity that they were all known to one another; good channelers were hard to come by in this day and age.

Curse Brandon, Veger thought bitterly. He could’ve had more chances to study the way eco interacted with a channeler that had no baseline substance if the man hadn’t swept every possible candidate into his weapons program. Look what it got them in the end, too—nothing but a broken tool, with too inflated of an ego to see the damage it was doing. Veger huffed as he shifted Onin now out of the sun and into the blessed cool breeze in the shadows.

“There we go,” Veger said gently as he settled her against the cliff. “I will go and check on the entrance. You stay here, Mother.”

Onin signed out one word—fingers shaky as they moved, and clumsy around the bracelet. Return?

Veger crouched down next to Onin and tried not to imagine the way the sand would get into the hem of his pants or his jacket—he’d need to replace those too, damn it all. Instead he gave Onin the best, reassuring smile he could given everything that had happened. It might’ve wavered at the edges of cold, but Onin knew him well enough to understand that cold was just Veger’s way.

“Obviously, Mother,” Veger said. “I will have Precursor Monks as my guard.”

Onin regarded him, eyes clear and serious for a moment, and then she nodded sharply and drifted back off into the distance where Veger couldn’t follow her. He sighed heavily and climbed to his feet, watched the way her gaze tracked down to the bracelet, and then turned sharply on heel as he moved away from her.

The temple was a mess, more than Veger felt used to seeing. Monks moved back and forth through hastily piled mounds of debris, broken shards of pottery or mountainside from some event that Veger lacked the knowledge of. They pushed pallets that contained barrels of eco from the Monks' personal stores that they hoarded like gold, now out in the open for any visitor to see. Not that the Precursor Monks ever really had visitors inside the temple; they kept their secrets guarded close to their chest after all. More than once since Veger entered the temple he had to quickly duck out of the path of the rushed pallets as Monks paid him little mind as they moved about their sanctuary.

Veger pressed his lips thin; he wondered if this had any ties to the mess back in Haven, or perhaps Pecker's untimely, and unexpected, passing. He knew Onin suffered from visions since the event, more incoherent than ever before. Veger could barely pull her back himself, hence this trip to the desert wasteland and the Precursor Monks inner sanctuary. Only Seem, the reckless child that she was, could parse the mess that was Onin's mind now. At least Veger hoped she would; it would be his damned luck if the girl turned out useless as everything else, after all.

"Master Veger."

Veger turned and regarded the lithe, painted and armored form that had made its way to his side silently. He recognized this Monk, the one who often took Seem under her wing ever since she'd been left to the Monks' vaunted Order for safeguarding. Veger inclined his head slightly in greeting. "Elder Shale," Veger said, voice deceptively light.

"Your presence was not anticipated," Shale said. "I apologize for the poor greeting. Please, follow me." Shale dipped her head and turned silently to lead Veger through the debris and hallway. Veger noted how she took him from the main thoroughfare where the pallets of eco barrels were being quickly moved. Instead she led him down smaller corridors that provided pathways to personal rooms. Even here the debris had not yet been cleaned, but hastily swept aside.

"Busy, aren't we?" Veger murmured as he toed around a pile of debris.

"There as been an Emergency," Shale uttered. "If we had known of your coming we would have warned you to reschedule." Veger's lip curled at the faint rebuke in her words, and then curled further when he recognized where Shale brought him.

With lips pressed together Veger gripped his cane tightly in one hand and stopped in front of the door Shale led him to. He turned on heel and looked at her, gaze stony. "Where is Seem."

Shale dipped her head. "Young Master Seem at this moment is overseeing the Emergency. I apologize, Master Veger. She is not anticipated to return for some time." Shale gestured toward the door. "You may rest here, for now. I must return to oversee the Acolytes who are taking inventory at this time."

Veger fought the urge to snarl, and instead said tightly, "I did not travel alone," before Shale could take leave of him. This brought the Elder short, and she looked to Veger almost surprised. "I require Seem's presence. Immediately."

"I am sorry, Master Veger, but Seem is not within the Sanctuary," Shale said, words short. "Who is this companion of yours and where have you left them? The Sands are not safe, right now."

Veger waved a hand. "I know that thunder season is upon us but I hardly consider that a threat--"

"There was a quake," Shale interrupted. She gestured to the mess around them. "As you can see we too have suffered some structural concerns. We were not the only ones hurt. The Sands are not safe, Master Veger. Who is your guest?"

A quake--Veger tightened his grip. There hadn't been any quake in the desert in decades. Not since the volcano had settled into some manner of slumber before Veger had even been born. The ground didn't even suffer from any sort of fault lines like those seen closer to the Brink shrouded in mist as that area of the world was. Veger sucked in a deep breath and relaxed his stance slightly; if this were truly some form of quake then no doubt Seem would be in the right middle of it, with Damas at the helm for whatever mess surrounded them. Veger didn't want to bother with Damas, which meant he'd be forced to wait until whatever business the girl hand concluded, as much as it irritated him to do so.

"I have brought Mother," Veger said, words light. "She waits in the shade outside."

Shale, conversely, went stiff with Veger's words. "Prophet Onin?" Shale questioned. "You brought her here?"

Veger pursed his lips. "I said I require Seem. Now do you understand why?"

Shale scrutinized him, then closed her eyes with a heavy breath. "Very well. Please wait here Master Veger and I shall receive the Prophet. A missive will be sent to Young Master Seem at the earliest convenience. For your safety I ask that you do not leave the apartments."

Veger inclined his head in agreement. A moment longer of staring at one another and then Shale turned on silent feet and left. Veger watched her until she turned the corner, and then let his gaze linger upon the door in front of him. His hands clasped the head of his cane tightly in an effort to still them as he stared at the nameplate upon the door, the one that signaled the owner of these apartments.

Jetta ; Nimat

Veger closed his eyes and breathed to steady himself before he pressed the door open. He expected a fine layer of dust; it had been years after all since he last visited this place. He had no desire to relive the memories here, so he often kept his visits brief when he came to the temple and the Sanctuary. Yet the counters were clean, not a speck of dust in sight. The entire space was kept as it was when Veger had last stepped foot into the apartments--including the glass on the counter, although no water filled it now, and Veger noted it had been shaken out of place.

The cane in his hand Veger settled into the small stand by the door once he picked it back up from where it had fallen. He shrugged his coat off and slipped it onto the coatrack as he stepped further into the apartments that he once spent so much time in. He ran his fingers along the couch, an old thing he'd brought with him from Haven once. It's color had faded, and there were more signs of wear on it for not having been used in nearly a decade. Mothflies, Veger figured given the few holes in the fabric. He stepped around the couch and looked to one of the doors that led to a further room. After a second Veger turned his head away.

He lacked the desire to see that old room, for now. All it would do is to serve as a reminder of times he'd rather kept behind him as much as possible. Seem was plenty enough of a reminder for Veger these days; her face in that heart shape that he once knew so well. Veger shook his head and shuttered the thoughts and memories. Jetta was gone. He didn't need to delve into the past again, even if here all it did was stare at him in his face.

"I do not like this," Seem said in a rasp as she watched Damas gather together an offering for the Clans and Chieftain Aermsmin.

Damas shook his head and uttered softly, "If Aermsmin has asked for me, after everything, I will honor his request." Damas knew how the Clans viewed him. They had their reasons to deny him, and to deny Spargus both. The tensions between Spargans and the Clans were an older thing, and Damas knew his own presence and his family bloodline certainly hadn't made things any better. Aermsmin had been kind, for a given meaning of the word, once in the early days of Damas' time in the desert wasteland. At least until Sia and Sig came into his life.

"The Clans are not known for their understanding," Seem pointed out. "You have not been a part of talks as far as my memory holds, Lord Damas."

"For good reason, I assure you," Damas said wryly. His shoulder burned with the painful memory of the last time he saw Aermsmin and the Clans.

From his corner of the room Talin rolled his eyes. "We shared drink, Master Seem. Aermsmin will honor truce for this meeting, no matter what bad blood is between the Clans and Spargus." Seem pursed her lips, but she knew when she was outnumbered.

"Master Talin," Damas gestured for Talin to come over and look at what he had gathered. "Anything here that might offend?"

Talin walked over and looked at the gathered items, then carefully sectioned out the few Spargan beacons that were scattered on the table, set aside the chip marked water and another chip marked medical supplies and tapped one chip that was marked with cactus wine.

"This will be your best option," Talin said. "Cactus Wine is easy enough for both sides to acquire if they so wish, and so will not be seen as an insult to provide. Instead it offers a drink to bind agreements, and you bringing it would show your willingness to bend to those agreements." Talin glanced up at Damas and licked his lips. "I know the Clans do not look favorably upon you."

"Yes," Damas said rather bluntly. "I am aware of the moniker that...Aermsmin has taken to calling me." He huffed a sort of bitter laugh. "Deceiver, isn't it?"

Talin ducked his head. "Yes, sir." He breathed out. "While I can see your other offers are meant in good faith, providing water, food, or medical supplies without the Chieftain discussing it with you can be seen as insult and flaunting wealth. There is enough bad blood between Spargus and the Clans that it would be better not to perpetuate more. If the Chieftain relays the need of the Clans for such, then you can bring these items to the table." Talin touched lightly on the chips, and then moved to the chip marked for Spargus beacons. "As for the beacons..."

"I offer them in good faith," Damas said. "I know Aermsmin has family."

"Yes." Talin looked at the beacon with a complicated gaze, brow furrowed and lips pressed together as he thought. "The Clans have...very different views about their people and safety. We--they--are trained to handle the desert and Her Gifts--the difficulties within. Since there is typically no stable camp, and the Clans move based upon the winds and the shifting of the sands, they need to be hardy. If one dies, it is either their time, or their failing at survival. To ask for help..." Talin bit his lip for a second and then shook his head. "If you need help, then you are not ready and should not have gone in the first place. Your failing is your own."

"He will not accept the beacons, then?" Damas questioned quietly. "Not even for you?"

Talin touched the chip, and then pushed it away. "I would rather he didn't." In silence Damas took the chip and handed it over to Dag, then pocketed the remaining chips for aid and picked up the chip of cactus wine.

"Dag," Damas said, and Dag tilted his head. "How quickly can we get some Cactus Wine?"

Dag cocked his head to the opposite side and ran some quick calculations in his head. "An hour or so, I think. We have some stored in the wine cellar, if I'm not mistaken. Do you want me to ask Sia to grab some?"

"No," Damas shook his head. "I'll call my wife myself." With a heavy breath Damas stepped away from the table and pulled out his communicator. He stepped out of the tent and into the desert heat and flicked through files and names until he landed upon Sia's contact information. For a moment Damas walked through camp, communicator in hand as he tapped it against his palm, lips pressed in thought. He reached the edge of the camp and looked at her contact name again, for a moment, hovered over the call button--and then flicked his thumb and changed it to Sig last moment.

You're stalling, Damas berated himself silently as the communicator beeped steadily in an attempt to reach Sig. Why bother stalling? It isn't as if she won't receive you.

Damas chewed on his lip and began to pace. Would she, though? he wondered. How long had it been since he'd honestly looked upon Sia, since they'd spoken? She'd cloistered herself away almost a year ago now; silence permeated their home between them like a rift--the reason souring the distance between them, embittering any sort of communication they might've had. Damas clenched the communicator tight and grit his teeth at the thought--Mar, his sweet child, gone for a year and a half now.

Static crackled through the communicator, a faint squeal, and then hazy and nearly masked by interference Damas heard, "Damas?" in what he guessed were Sig's dulcet tones. Damas slouched against a stone and sighed heavily.

"Sig," Damas said tiredly. "Do you have any news for me?"

For a moment the interference cut across the communicator, and then Sig's voice cut back in. Half of the words he said were lost, but what little Damas could hear had his lips pressed thin and downward into thought. "not--little Mar--commu--embargo."

"The fuck is Brandon doing?" Damas ground through his teeth. "A communications embargo....?"

"--dead--" more static and a squeal of interference cut through Sig's words. "--Kor--city atta--" Damas rubbed at his face, let the partial words and quarter sentences wash over him while he thought. "--wrecked--restor--work--by--King." Damas straightened at the last word as Sig went silent.

"That title belongs to my House," Damas said, words soft, brow furrowed. "Who..."

"--looks like you," Sig said, half sentence gone but enough to make Damas still completely. He could take a guess at the words, but it still left him just a bit on the edge of breathless as he uttered a faint, "Mar?"

"No," Sig said, clearest he'd been so far. "Not--" More static cut across and then a short squeal and half of the word 'teenager' came through, enough to tell Damas that either there was a bastard line out there, or something worse. Damas didn't want to think about what that something worse could even be. What it also told Damas was that there was still no sign of his missing son, a son he'd been certain stolen to Haven. Damas hand shook and he bowed his head.

Perhaps Sia was right to mourn, Damas thought. Maybe it was time to admit to a truth he dared not believe. His hands clenched tight over the communicator and he murmured a short thanks to Sig before he cut off communication. The Wastelander would contact him when he had a better connection, if only to make sure Damas hadn't gone and done something stupid given the abrupt disconnection. Damas stared at the device, thumbed Sia's name, and before he could trick himself into calling someone else he pushed the button to connect.

Sia picked up immediately, but she did not speak. Damas didn't for a moment either; they both just listened to the sound of their own breathing through the tinny quality of the communicator--and then Damas sighed, heavy with words he couldn't say--thoughts he couldn't name. Instead Damas said a soft, "Love," to Sia, filled with everything he felt and everything he could not let himself being of House Mar.

On the other side of the communicator, Sia sighed in response. A softer, quieter, "Love," was given back to him and Damas had to fight back the sudden burning in his heart, the pain in his eyes, and the way his breath wanted to hitch. Right now there were other things he had to focus on--things to keep his people safe from the dangers below their feet. Right now it would have to be enough. They would speak once the crisis had been handled. Sia deserved that much.

#fic: patriciate #fic: semblance #accidentally king of haven #jak and daxter #fanifc #wip #crossposted #canon divergence

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xadoheandterra · 2 years

Text

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

The desert is harsh and unforgiving, but sometimes a light in the darkness could be found. Sometimes.

Sometimes though there are more steps before a resolution can be met.

The excavation work of the eco crystal would take time. Seem knew that they didn’t have all the necessary tools for the removal of crystal without it blowing up in their face. Mar knew that Damas might just attempt it despite the risk and lack of proper materials in the sudden urgency Seem saw him filled with once they began to return to the surface. Damas marked the position of the crystal that presumably housed the Acheron's. Seem worked to map spotted safe routes from Damas' back as they returned to the sands above.

“I need to speak with my Order,” Seem said, voice quiet. “The Council of Elders needs to know.” Seem frowned faintly. “I also need to see how the envoy to the Marauder Clans is doing. I haven’t received a report yet.”

Damas nodded. “We shall reconvene at a later point then Master Seem.”

With the agreement and understanding reached Seem and Damas went their separate ways. Seem headed over to her Monks purposefully. The materials they would need were with the Marauder Clans, and that meant she would have to prepare to enter their domain. She tended to avoid the Clans whenever need of them came up. Instead Seem sent proxies to deal with the barbarians and criminals. Recently the young Warrior Master Talin had become her proxy of choice.

Talin caught Seem’s eye rather quickly. He wasn’t as old as most of the Masters of the Order were for one thing—he barely crested his twentieth year. The Sage’s and Elder’s reported only good things about Talin, too. A calm and level head surprisingly unseen for someone born of Marauder ilk. Seem’s interest piqued there and crested when she learned how well the boy had taken to civilized folk. She could barely see a lick of Marauder in him, and yet he still knew their traditions by rote. A true young prodigy, and so well taken to the Warrior role.

When Talin came to request a team to work with, Seem found herself pleased with his choices. Irma, while in her thirties and only just a Master, had a good grounding in the work required of one of Seem’s Guardians. She’d taken on a Novice in young Finn, and Talin wanted to take upon Liren for Apprenticeship. Liren had more of a hot head than Talin, but Seem wondered if Talin could prevail in getting the boy to embrace a cooler form of thought. Then Talin approached her with the final member of his team—a Sage.

Kira worked as a Healer for as long as Seem knew her. She worked near exclusively within the medic division during the time of Seem’s mother, as she cared for the Monks until dark eco took her. Kira looked after Seem too when her father couldn’t be bothered, and her grandmother found herself lost to Prophecy and uncaring of the world around her. Already Kira approached the position of Elder, and with her gentle but firm nature Seem felt she could do well to direct the otherwise young and impressionable team under an equally young and impressionable leader. In private Kira informed Seem that she looked to the assignment as a vacation.

Seem did not understand how Kira could take the fact that the team would work closely with the various Marauder camps in keeping the peace as a vacation. Still the fact that Kira felt comfortable with the position and was willing to follow the lead of Talin Seem allowed the reassignment. As long as she didn’t need to deal with the Clans and none of her Monks were harmed, Seem could care a little less about who settled as part of the diplomatic envoy’s. Of course Kira had leeway anyway being so close to the position of Elder to make her choices in assignments with or without Seem’s say-so. Seem herself was only a Master for all she led the Monks as a whole.

The Precursor Monks portion of the camp outside the crevasse was busy as Seem anticipated when she stepped into their midst. Healers moved back and forth between the injured that they’d worked to rescue, settled into a make-shift tent for delicate work. They were only the stabilizing force until the Spargans could be transferred back to their city where their own caretakers would continue treatment for their injuries. Further still several Guardians worked to shift barrels of eco off of transports for the medics to use—blue to stimulate nerves, green to push regrowth, red to rebreak and resettle, and yellow to burn away what could not be conducive to green’s gentle touch. Each eco had its own use to the medics, after all, as each affected the body in different ways.

Healer Elder Fors oversaw the various Apprentice’s, Master’s and Sage’s that worked with the eco and the injured. Fors had always been a rather crotchety old man in Seem’s memory, but well suited to the role to bark orders at the younger members of the Order as they rushed around and worked themselves until Fors demanded rest and breaks. He rotated out his team of medics, which had grown from the initial ten sent out with Seem to the full contingent of twenty—and those were only the medics still active and capable of using their gifts. There were several more that Seem knew were back with the Order working in a more managerial series of roles if only because they weren’t trained enough, were healing from an injury, or just could not handle the strain of channeling anymore.

For a moment Seem watched the Healers, Guardians, and Warriors bustle about. She watched as Fors barked orders with her bones weary from exhaustion and the discoveries of the past day. Still more needed to be done, so Seem squared her shoulders and made her way toward Fors, dirty, tired, but determined.

“Master Seem,” Fors greeted, voice like reed paper with how faint and cracked it sounded. The sand soaked air did not do the man justice, but he bore the burden well.

“Elder Fors,” Seem deferred with a slight dip of her head. When she raised it her gaze darted back over the tent and the bustling medics. “How are the efforts?”

Fors grimaced, lips pulled down in a way that only seemed to amplify the wrinkles in his cheeks. It made him look gaunt and hollow as he spoke in grim tones and even grimmer facts. “We’ve lost at least five, and another five look to be on their way. We’re running low on water to provide and the resupply from Spargus is late.”

Seem pressed her lips together, brows furrowed down in contemplation. “An attack, do you think?”

Fors scoffed. “From the Clans? With how much of a struggle they must be in? No. No, child, but perhaps the Hora-Quan, perhaps another creature. Who knows? Perhaps Spargus deigns not to listen to their Lord when He speaks?”

Seem doubted that. Spargus may not believe in the tales of Mar in the way of Havenites, but that didn’t mean that they could deny Damas had power and the means with which to wield it. The blood of Mar ran strong in the exiled monarch; stronger than the King before him, and the King before that even if what Seem had been told were true. Still in this desert and heat, with the chaos of the incident, a delayed resupply could be the cause of many things—but always a question and a concern.

Eventually Seem sighed and murmured, “I would hate to drag you away from your post, then.”

“But you must,” Fors replied.

“I must,” Seem agreed. She waited, and then cautiously prompted, “Do you have someone to oversee in your absence?” A moment of silence before Fors called for one of the apprentices and spoke in low tones with the girl. Seem didn’t bother to listen in to the conversation; her thoughts drifted through the various causes behind a delay in the resupply. She worried her lip as each concern coiled within her gut like a lead stone snake.

“Master Seem,” Fors interrupted her thoughts and Seem jerked her head in his direction. He laid a wrinkled hand upon her shoulder and began to steer her from the tent. “It is handled. Come.”

“Yes, Elder,” Seem mumbled, and allowed Fors to lead her away.

Damas peered over the maps of the crevasse cobbled together from several members of the rescue efforts from underneath the tent, but found his attention drifted from the conversation around him. His mind moved constantly back to the crystal deep down into the earth, and the pulse that he felt beat out from within it. The combination of dark and light eco intertwined into one another had never been considered to be possible—what could the effects be, Damas wondered. Could it have preserved the Acherons life? Or perhaps their remains in some pristine condition? When even did the eco crystalize? Had that been when the volcano erupted or was it a result of the two severely different types of eco interacting? A part of Damas itched to gather up Mar’s journals and read through the thoughts of his ancestor. Mar had quite a bit to write about the Acherons in his later years; thoughts on their research, how things ended up the way they went, and regrets on their fate and what happened to them and to the Sage that stopped them.

Quietly, at his side, Dag murmured, “Lord Damas,” and drew Damas’ attention away from his thoughts. The tent had cleared; whatever discussion between the leaders of the rescue efforts already completed without Damas’ input. Damas didn’t mind—he trusted the Spargans to do what they needed, and he trusted Dag to relay his own findings appropriately if he were to be so lost in his own head.

“Can you repeat that, Dag?” Damas asked.

“What has you so troubled?” Dag quarried. “You barely paid attention to the casualty list, and you didn’t even react when the supply run was noted to be late.”

“Walk with me?”

“Of course, if it helps with your thoughts…” Dag said, and together they stepped out of the tent.

Damas watched the young man that his wife thought would do him good in silence for a moment as they walked through the desert air. Dag’s Spargan native blood was apparent in more than just his name; he had the dark skin of the city’s native denizens, and the hair that locked and braided neatly. Dag walked straight backed, and even with his diminutive height he seemed to tower over most people; this included at times even Damas. Damas glanced away, looked out over the camp, and gathered his thoughts.

“We need to build a barrier over the crevasse immediately,” Damas said eventually. Dag tilted his head slightly but said nothing as he listened. “Master Seem and I reached the bottom—any who dare to venture that far need to also be warned. A majority of the ground is eco crystal,” Damas frowned. “Dark eco crystal.”

Dag sucked in a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit,” he said plainly, and Damas nodded.

For a moment they said nothing as they reached the edge of the camp, and then Damas sighed tiredly. “How many of our beacons have been recovered?” he asked.

Dag snorted with a grumbled, “So you weren’t listening?” and ducked under the playful slap of a hand that brushed against the tips of his fiery hair knotted on the top of his head.

“Impudent brat,” Damas said, a small smile on the edge of his face, and Dag laughed. A second later the air turned somber again.

“Truthfully, we’ve found most of the beacons,” Dag said, and he turned his gaze away from Damas and out over the desert landscape as he spoke. Damas frowned. “Our search parties have marked the locations of each beacon without a body for further searching.”

“How many of our people…” Damas trailed off, a knot of worry deep in his gut. How many died in this disaster? How many Spargans? How many children?

“We’ve recovered close to twenty-five,” Dag said slowly. “Of those only…only eight are surviving. We lost five in the night, according to the Monks, and another five are severe enough that we don’t anticipate survival by days end.”

“The rest?”

“Already gone.”

Damas closed his eyes in grief and bowed his head down. Mar the ripple effect of the mess caused here Spargus would feel for days. He didn’t want to think how many of the Clans were lost—their numbers were smaller than Spargus, and they were spread far out into the Wastes. Some might not be affected, but the closer Clans that had taken to the area for the season—such a waste of life, Damas thought. The desert was a cruel place; harsh to live in and some days the reward didn’t seem worth it to Damas. He wasn’t Spargan born, however, and he knew they would never give this life up for anything else. Not even the Clans would do so, Damas knew now after years spent among the desert people.

“We’ll recover the rest of the beacons,” Damas said, and from Dag’s look he already knew that the meeting he paid no attention to had decided so without him, “but we’ll put the search for any further survivors aside. They are…likely already gone.” It hurt Damas to say, but it was the truth in the end and Damas and Dag both knew it.

“What would you like us to do instead, then?” Dag asked.

“Begin building a cover for the crevasse. We are in thunder season,” Damas said grimly. “One wrong strike….”

Dag sucked in a breath. “There is that much crystal?” he said, tone just the bit on this side of faint.

“Enough to possibly reach Haven.” Damas pressed his lips together and rubbed at his temples. He could feel a headache building. “Furthermore there is…something at the bottom. We need excavation equipment.”

Dag blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it with a contemplative look. “This is near the underground molten rivers,” Dag said. “According to old maps there was an entrance into the heart of the Volcano nearby at one point; and if the stories are to be believed…the Citadel?” He looked to Damas, who looked to Dag and the nodded. “The Acherons?” Damas nodded again. “Are you sure?”

“I saw their machine,” Damas agreed. “It looked as Mar described only…covered in crystal.”

“You think they are recoverable?” Dag said, and his hands clenched into fists as he looked at Damas with eyes as dark as his skin.

“It is crystal,” Damas said, “but it is still eco.”

Crystal, Damas figured, could be channeled like anything else of eco. If a properly trained channeler could manipulate liquid eco into vapor, then why could one not manipulate crystal back into liquid? Sure they had no clue as to how eco crystalized in the first place—in the crevasse it looked as if the eco boiled first, so perhaps heat could be applied to part of the catalyst for the change—but that didn’t mean the process wasn’t undoable.

“Your mad,” Dag said.

“Maybe I am,” Damas agreed; he wouldn’t deny the thought. Mar seemed quite mad after all, learning to control dark eco in a time where it was taboo—still taboo, really, despite the mess they’ve made of the world with it. “Now,” Damas murmured a minute later, gaze on the horizon, “who is that?”

Dag turned his gaze off into the desert and reached up to the goggles settled over his eyes. He twisted and manipulated the lenses to grant himself more of a zoom to his vision off into the distance. After a moment he stood straighter, arms dropped and clasped at his back in a practiced motion that Damas recognized from whenever one of the Precursor Monks were present.

“It’s one of the sand riders,” Dag said, “but a Monk is astride it.”

“One of Seem’s ambassadors, then,” Damas sighed, a bit of his tension leaving him. “Let us hope he bears good news for us.”

Talin downed the drink offered to him in the tent to soothe his parched throat. The ride from the camp had been long, and the struggle with the Clans to get a hold of a rider took too much time in Talin’s not-so-humble opinion. One of the few things he honestly didn’t miss about Marauder life had been how unnecessarily complicated they made what should be simple things.

The water dribbled down his chin and Talin quickly wiped it away with a grimace, well aware that he’d probably messed up his own face paint but beyond tired enough to really care about it at this time. He glanced to Lord Damas from under his eyelashes, then to the Spargan ruler’s attendant with a tilt of his head.

“Master Seem will be here shortly,” Dag uttered.

“Seem called a Council meeting,” Damas explained as he poured more water into the cup which Talin quickly squirreled back close to his chest to swallow more. “I take it your expedition bore fruit?”

Talin set the cup down with a soft breath and said, “After a fashion.” He looked at the cup and wondered if he should wait for Master Seem to arrive before he explained, but then he thought about the long drive and the mess of the Marauder Camp and sighed. “The Chieftan will only entertain the idea of a truce as long as you are there to present it to him, Lord Damas.”

Damas pursed his lips. “Aermsmin said that?” he questioned, and Talin nodded sharply.

“The Clans are not in a good way.” Talin bit his lip, comfortable in the presence of Damas despite how initially he’d been raised wary of the idea of the man. “The crevasse tore near through the main encampment. There’s been plenty of loss and injury on their end as well.” It didn’t take Talin much to conclude that Spargus’ own losses were significant either; not if Master Seem was in a meeting with the Council of Elders.

“It’s even worse,” Damas said, gaze off in the distance. “We’ll need the Clans to help cover the whole of the crevasse.”

Talin blinked. “Cover it?”

“Master Seem and I made a discovery at the bottom,” Damas looked right at Talin, gaze sharp enough that Talin shivered from its intensity. “The entire of the desert is at risk if we leave the crevasse as it is.”

Talin carefully set down his cup and looked at Damas with his brow pinched down. He wasn’t a fool; Talin could read between the lines easily. He’d spent his whole life on this desert. He knew this place better than most even with time spent mostly among the Monks these past handful of years. After a second Talin nodded and murmured a faint, “I see,” in time for Master Seem to enter into the tent.

“I apologize about my delay,” Seem said shortly with a dip of her head in Damas’ direction. “Master Talin, was your trip a success?”

Talin glanced to Seem and quickly stood to his feet. He made a short gesture with his hand in greeting and ducked his head. “To an extent it can be viewed that way, Master Seem,” Talin replied, “however Chieftan Aermsmin has some caveats before he fully agrees to a truce or armistice at this time.”

There was a flash across Seem’s face, quick enough that Talin couldn’t quite decipher but Damas could. Still, once pressed back into composure expected as the Head of the Precursor Monks Seem tilted her head back in acknowledgement of the news Talin brought.

“Very well,” Seem uttered, hoarse whisper just the slightest bit covered in steel that made a shiver run up Talin’s spine. “Let us hear the Chieftan’s demands.”

#fic: patriciate #fic: semblance #jak and daxter #accidentally king of haven #fanfic #wip #crossposted #canon divergence

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xadoheandterra · 2 years

Text

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

History doesn't always get remembered correctly.

Talin glanced to the contingent of guardians as they came to a stop at the main Marauder camp. The camp itself situated far enough from the crevasse that it suffered no damage, but even so Talin could see the group of what many considered to be barbarians move about with a sort of frenzy. A few glanced to the Monks but went about their business as they stepped into the camp itself. Talin knew they mostly recognized him; he’d been born into the Marauder Clans before his weak talent of channeling resulted in his placement with the Monks as a young child. He kept in touch; worked hard to garner the Monks favor with the Clans if only to provide some semblance of peace within the Wastes.

No one, Talin deemed, deserved to be left out of the Monks’ protection. Not even what many considered to be thieving barbarians.

“This is not how the camp usually is when we come to deliver supplies,” Irma said softly to Talin. Talin glanced back at them and pursed his lips.

“No.”

“The Quake has effected even here,” Liren noted tiredly. “See?” He jerked his head toward a spot where the sands had shifted and destroyed one of the central structures. Talin pressed his lips tightly together; the structure in question housed the camp’s food storage. The Clan’s no doubt now suffered a shortage, which would make things even more tricky.

“The day’s travel is not yet over,” Talin said instead of his concerns.

“A long day’s travel,” Liren mumbled. “You pushed us through the night.”

“As was needed,” Talin snapped out. Master Seem trusted him with this duty, even if she didn’t expressly ask him to take on the handling of the Clan’s currently Master Seem trusted him with their negotiations. Talin knew this well. “To maintain peace while those who have been lost, we needed to arrive as soon as possible.”

“And we lack the means of travel that the Spargans and the Clans have,” Irma noted tiredly. “Pity we can’t ask them for one.”

“We have no need of it,” Kira said shortly. She’d so far been quiet. “At least not until now.”

“Do you think the volcano is active?” Finn asked as he lingered at the back.

“It’s always active,” Kira sighed.

“But…I mean…what if it erupts?”

“Then we handle it.”

Talin ground his teeth together, breathed to calm his ire at the idle chatter, and said shortly, “Enough. We need to find Chieftain Aermsmin. Idle chatter will not help us now.”

The group fell silent and Talin wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. He didn’t. Instead he focused on the main structure of the camp, roughshod and carefully supported with scavenged materials. Chieftain Aermsmin would be there, Talin knew. The structure served multiple needs for the camp from dining, meeting, and governing. In a crisis Aermsmin would handle things from the structure while it remained intact. The place in the camp served as the most heavily defensible. The Clan’s would protect their Chieftain with their life if need be.

Talin likened it to how Spargus viewed Lord Damas, even if the comparison didn’t really match when one considered Lord Damas descended from Mar Himself.

“This way,” Talin uttered and led his guardians between Marauders as they moved about their frenzied business. Talin could see injured carried toward the House of Healing which didn’t appear to be as structurally sound as it should. Dead were piled off to the side, prepared to be burnt in a large group funeral pyre once they were all found. Briskly Talin ignored the mess around him; he couldn’t dwell upon the tragedy at this time.

“Master Talin!” Irma quickly reached out and jerked Talin back by the edge of his armor in time to miss one of the single-riders to careen where he stood. Talin let out a shocked breath.

“You must be more careful,” Kira scolded Talin who flushed and turned his gaze away. He’d been so caught up in cataloging what the Clans were doing he’d forgotten to keep an eye out for stray vehicles. The Clans didn’t bother with things like roads or streets strictly for walking within the camp; drivers moved where they needed from where they wanted, freely.

“I am sorry,” said Talin. He brushed himself off and quickened his pace. Hopefully Aermsmin would be agreeable to the Monks help and suspend hostilities with Spargus until the crisis passed. Hopefully.

Damas’ feet touched solid ground and Seem hopped from his back. He lit a flare, and then broke a small eco light to help guide them further. Seem felt happier when the Monks brought the small sticks out of their stores. While they didn’t have many, and they didn’t last long, they lasted far better than the flares as a light source.

Seem surveyed the large, open area. The ground stood stable and stretched on for a long while. Seem glanced back up toward the sky. It seemed so small from this distance, the opening of the crevasse. The sun barely even touched the ground here; the light so faint and dim. She tried to calculate the distance but found herself more in awe with the fact that the earth held caverns this deep—deeper than any Precursor ruin she’d had the chance to explore, at that.

Instead Seem focused on the area around her and Damas. Aside from sand that occasionally rained down upon and around them, and the way it lightly coated the ground, Seem found a surprisingly lack of debris.

“Do you think this is the bottom?” Seem questioned as she stepped forward, curious about the large empty space.

Damas reached out and grasped her shoulder. With a sharp tug he pulled her back.

“Watch your step,” Damas said shortly. Seem glanced to him, confused and curious. “Look at the ground.” Damas tilted the eco light downward and rubbed away some of the sand with his foot. Seem paled.

“Dark eco,” Seem said. “The ground, it—”

“Crystalized, spilled from a silo perhaps,” Damas noted. “Look at the wall here, see?” Seem looked behind them and could see broken pieces of what had to have been part of a dark eco silo melted and embedded into the volcanic rock.

Seem glanced around with a sharper an eye sucked in a sharp breath. All around them she could see crystalized dark eco. Now that she paid attention she could see how in places it jutted out of the ground in sharp spikes. It looked as if the eco had boiled, and then crystalized in the middle of doing so.

“How could this—we have no records of a dark eco silo this close to Spargus!”

Damas hummed at Seem’s horrified comment. With care he lifted her back up until she clung to his back.

“Let us see what secrets are hidden here,” Damas uttered instead.

“What of the beacons?” Seem questioned quietly.

“We have found most of them,” Damas said. “If any are down here I doubt we’ll find them living.” At this distance if any Wastelander had fallen into the crevasse Seem couldn’t be certain they’d even recognize the corpse.

“You are right,” Seem sighed. Perhaps it would be better to leave those this far down; the horror of it might be too much for some of the Spargans. For all that Spargus lived on combat and care for the whole, they rarely resorted to butchery. Spargus had a code of honor to it. The dead here would be far beyond what most Spargans experienced.

Damas moved forward carefully. He was right to be cautious; they knew precious little about crystalized eco. What knowledge they held could be summed up simply: crystalized eco was volatile. A small spark could set off an explosion. Even jarring the crystal could set it off. Experimentation to learn more about crystalized eco needed to be treated cautiously for that very reason. Seem had lost plenty of Monks to the endeavor to understand it, but they did know one important thing; something as simple as a static shock could result in catastrophic events.

With this much crystalized dark eco Seem didn’t even want to contemplate what the result could be if it went off. This—this waited to be a disaster to the Wastes. It could wipe Spargus and the Marauder’s off the map. They would need to contain it, protect it from any sort of harm that might come from a shock. The crevasse would need to be sealed, permanently. Her Monks could handle some of it, but the amount of dark eco that they would need to traverse concerned Seem. None of her Monks worked with dark eco. That privilege, and she hated the term in this regard, remained solely with House Mar. No other could channel the foul substance.

Seem didn’t want to know why even House Mar could. Dark eco corrupted, corroded, and mutated everything around it. One only needed to look at the historical context of Gol and Maia to understand the dangers and risks. Further Seem was saturated with light eco. It burned into her blood like a thousand suns. This much dark eco was poison to her. It’d corrode the light within her until it killed her. She feared that. Seem had watched as her mother had been devoured by dark eco. She watched as the light within her had corroded away until her mother turned into a desiccated corpse.

With a tremble Seem clenched her fists and kept her eyes out for any changes in the landscape while Damas moved forward.

“Did the heat of the volcano do this?” Seem wondered. “The eco it—boiled.”

“And then crystalized,” Damas mused softly. “Perhaps. It broke the container at the least, which shouldn’t have worked. Those things were meant to be made of precurian metal.”

Seem frowned. “Something else had to have broken it,” she said. “But—why? After the Acherons the silos were guarded, protected, to prevent any breakage. No one wanted to flood the world with dark eco.”

Damas shook his head. “Eventually we did,” he said tiredly. “Haven….” Seem ducked her head down.

Haven was full of dark eco. It poisoned the waters around the city, the earth of the crops. It dripped and wormed its way into everything, even the very air of the city. Haven had been that way since long before Damas had been born. No one had any record for why the silos had been broken, or who had done so. Seem held her suspicions close to her chest, shared only with Damas. Suspicions that House Mar were the ones to break the silos to foster peace with the Hora-Quan. No peace was had, and instead the world suffered for it.

“Still, this is old.”

“It is,” Damas agreed. They’d finally reached a structure that climbed high. The precurian metal in some places crumbled. Whole chunks of the structure were embedded into the crystal. The impossibility of it boggled Seem. Precurian structures were built to survive. To see one in such complete ruin? This was a rarity.

Damas rapped his knuckles against one of the broken slices of the precurian building. “This? The damage? Five hundred years old, probably.”

“How could you tell?” Seem asked.

“The eruption, the depth, implies when this had to have happened. Shortly before Mar began to gather the villages to form Haven, the volcano erupted. It drove those who mined within her out and killed several more. Including Prochazka’s father, the then Red Sage of the time. His research lab was within the volcanic tunnels.”

Seem hadn’t know this tidbit of history. She wondered how Damas gained this knowledge.

“This building here, and that tunnel there—” Damas gestured off to the side where a tunnel of solid lava rock half collapsed in upon itself rested. “—these indicate that we are probably at the Acheron’s citadel. The silo must’ve been the one that the Acherons tried to open when the first Light Sage defeated them.”

“Mar?”

“No. Probably his father, though. We don’t have many records on the Light Sage. Not even his name within the journals from the various Sages, and he didn’t leave anything behind either.” Damas stepped away from the broken structure. “He appeared with an ottsel, stopped Gol and Maia, and then vanished from history.”

“That sounds like Mar,” Seem pointed out.

“Far too early to be Mar,” Damas disagreed. “The Red Sage was old and grey when this eruption happened. Blue had already passed on to Eichel, and Kara was next to rise into the position of Yellow. This was at least two decades after Gol and Maia.”

“Perhaps he was a teen?” Seem asked.

“No Sage would put a child in that position.” Damas sounded adamant but Seem couldn’t be so sure. She’d been a child when she was granted the position of Master of the Precursor Monks. If she were honest, Seem still was a child. A teenager. Far too young for her position. And Damas? He’d been crowned King at the tender age of ten. Children were often pressed into positions that they couldn’t handle by the Sages, or at least their descendants.

“Mar couldn’t have been older than twenty when he worked to found Haven,” Damas continued. “At the time of Gol and Maia he would’ve been perhaps one? Maybe two?” They didn’t have the exact dates anymore. Most of those records were damaged from time.

“Far too young,” Seem mumbled. She could see Damas’ point now. An infant certainly couldn’t defeat Gol and Maia.

“Let’s move on,” Damas said, and drifted away from the ruined citadel. “There must be more.”

They spent hours within the bottom of the crevasse. Damas walked them from place to place and Seem didn’t even bother with an attempt to measure the distance. They passed ruins and broken artifacts from a time long ago and that held Seem’s attention more than anything else. None of what remained in the darkness held any sort of power, thank Mar, as otherwise the place might’ve blown up long before the quake unearthed it.

Damas knelt and ran his fingers along the ground. He made a noncommittal noise as he dug through faint grooves and indentations in the crystalized dark eco. The terrain here, Seem noted, seemed far more volatile than where they first dropped to the floor. Whole sections of dark eco crystal lay about shattered while spikes from others protruded against the wall. On the edge of her senses there was something else—something familiar, too, that niggled in the back of her mind although she couldn’t place what.

“Signs of battle,” Damas uttered. “Old signs.”

“Signs of drilling, too,” Seem mumbled and motioned toward a section of crystal. “When could this have taken place?”

Damas walked closer and inspected what Seem pointed out. There were pockmarks, grooves, and indentations from cruder drilling implements but no signs of the necessary equipment to create them. The insidious dangers of drilling against the crystal made Seem shiver. How recent was the knowledge of eco crystal’s instability, she wondered? Seem resolved herself to look it up.

“After the eruption,” Damas mused, “but…not recent. Not with the advances we’ve made.” There weren’t many advances to be fair, but they’d come much farther than when Haven had first been founded and the world first plummeted back into war with the Hora-Quan.

“What could they have been drilling for?” Seem glanced around. The signs of drilling stopped rather abruptly, which also left the question of why? Had those who’d come here found what they wanted? Or had something else prevented them from finishing their work?

Damas noticed what Seem didn’t. He moved around and beyond the damaged eco crystal toward a small spot of land that stood as solid rock. Here a partially excavated crystal surrounded a large insectoid head of precurian metal. There were scorch marks still on it, and within the dark purplish light of the crystal there were obvious trappings and wires as if the head had been forcefully removed from a body. Stranger still within were faint swirls of light intermixed with the purplish hue of the dark.

“They were drilling for this,” Damas said, and he sounded almost awed as Seem climbed down from his back. He reached out a hand to press against the mostly crystal encased head. His brows furrowed with an intensity Seem rarely saw on him when she spent time with the banished King outside of their respective duties.

“This is ancient,” Seem hissed. “A precursor excavation droid? Maybe?” She couldn’t be certain. Either the head belonged to an excavator, or to a builder. There were a mix of broken parts from a precursor droid all over, both excavators and builders. Seem had never seen a head as complete as this, though. Most of the droids were destroyed by the Hora-Quan and left as ruins when the precursors fled the planet, and with them drew away the Daystar; or at least the Monks had determined from their studies of the Precursors.

Seem stepped a little closer and the tingle in the back of her head lit up into a spark. She sucked in a shocked breath even as Damas muttered, “Dark and light eco….”

“That should be impossible!”

Everything they knew of dark and light eco, which was not much if Seem were to be honest, solidified the idea that they were complete opposites and indicated that placed together they’d cancel out. Yet here light swirled with the dark and created a devilishly bright purple crystal that covered most of the precurian head. Further at the time of the eruption and the creation of this crystal light eco had been barely even touched upon. The only known channeler had been the one to defeat the Acherons.

Seem paled. The Acherons. The stories told of the Acherons indicated they used precurian artifacts to further their goals. They were as much a Sage of Dark Eco as they were a Sage of Precursor Technology. Maia had been a fount of information; her journals before their descent into madness helped the Monks further their understanding and development of precursor technology. Gol had been no slouch at the material himself either, but his expertise lay more within the sciences of eco rather than the sciences of technology.

“Lord Damas,” Seem asked, “is this…is this the Acherons grave?”

Damas pulled his hand back and stared down at his palm. Seem waited for him to provide her with his thoughts. She couldn’t fathom what the elder man could be going through. If this really happened to be the resting place of the Acherons—well, they knew how to siphon crystal into liquid. They could provide two of the greatest Sages a proper burial that they long deserved, insane in the end or not.

After a minute of silent contemplation Damas spoke, and his words tilted Seem’s world onto its axis.

“Master Seem, there is a pulse.”

Talin sat upon his knees with his guardians behind him, cup of the finest cactus wine that Aermsmin offered in a way of peaceful greeting held tightly in his grasp. He sipped from the cup three times, a customary gesture, and then set it down upon its tray.

“What brings you, Monk?” Aermsmin asked only once Talin finished with the mild pleasantries. “I have much to be. Damage need fixing, dead need burying, injured need healing.”

Talin nodded. “I saw,” he said. “The crevasse has affected the Clans greatly.”

Aermsmin scoffed. “Sands threatening to swallow whole, what is new? We have no Spargus resources, but we surviving. We thriving.”

Talin said, “Yes. The Clans thrive, but even the Clans need help with this disaster.”

Aermsmin turned his head away and the jewels of the Hora-Quan gems clacked from where they surrounded his headdress. “What son of my sister loins, born to be His gifts, know of Clans and this?” he demanded as he jerked his head back around. “You toying with Spargus. Is this theirs?”

“No.”

Talin picked up his cup and sipped three more times before he set it back down. The gesture eased some of the sudden hostility from Aermsmin and Talin watched as his eyes softened ever so slightly. Talin took this as a sign to continue.

“The Monks don’t need help, but we offer it to the Clans,” Talin said. “The crevasse has broken through some of the camps, right?”

“Yes.”

“The crevasse stretches for many kilometers, Chieftain,” said Talin. “We want all who dwell in the Wastes to come out of this disaster as whole as can be.”

“All?” Aermsmin narrowed his eyes. “Spargus to be hurting?”

Talin nodded once. “We are already working with Spargus, but Master Seem would like to extend the help to the Clans as well. We want peace for now, Chieftain. Neither Spargus nor the Clans are in any position to further hostilities.”

“Theirs full of resources,” Aermsmin hissed. “Hoarding, greedy little thieving fingers. Why taking no advantage? Serving right, is it?”

Talin pressed his lips together. “To attack Spargus would only do further damage to the Clans! Please, you have to see that—they have defenses! They are on the alert! The Clans have their weapons, but Spargus anticipates an attack when they are at their low—and you can ill afford to waste any more people!”

Aermsmin huffed. “Sister spite in you,” he said. “Well be. Saying to be having peace. We need Deceiver telling us. Monks are Monks. From Deceiver lips we believing in this, and only in this.”

Talin wanted to sigh in relief, but he held it back. He didn’t know Lord Damas well enough to know how this information would be received, and he knew Master Seem’s thoughts on the matter even less. He fought back the urge to worry his lip, aware that it’d be a sign of weakness. He feared that this mess would come to blows either way. Damas and Aermsmin in the same location, with Lord Damas to offer the branch of peace? Spargus and the Clans’ hostilities extended far beyond Lord Damas’ rule, and there was a reason why the cold war between the two had boiled to the point now. There was a reason why the Clans called Lord Damas Deceiver.

Talin shivered, picked up his drink, and took three more sips.

“Agreed,” he said, and his voice didn’t tremble for which he was thankful. “My contingent will stay behind and help. Irma can channel green, and she has some healer training. Kira worked as head healer for many years. The rest are good with repairs and building, as well as decent in a fight.”

“Accepting,” Aermsmin nodded, picked up his own wine, and took three sips. Talin relaxed. The deal was now officially sealed. All that remained was to explain this mess to Master Seem and Lord Damas.

#fic: patriciate #fic: semblance #fanfic #jak and daxter #accidentally king of haven #crossposted #wip #canon divergence

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xadoheandterra · 2 years

Text

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

Master Seem has found herself in the midst of a crisis. Not a day goes by that something seems to happen in the Wastes, after all.

Seem lit each of the candles around her room carefully before she settled upon the mat in the center. With a soft breath she relaxed herself and slipped her eyes shut. Seem focused on her breath, focused on the sounds of flickering flame. With each exhale she extended her senses outward. She touched upon the monks in the halls one by one; took in the small, barely there beacons of light that signaled the eco they touched. Her senses shifted to the eco stores at the bottom of the temple, checked the quantities and basked in the glow before she shifted upward toward the surface; toward the Spargans that crawled like ants so focused on survival and freedom they often missed the bigger picture. Then, at the center, a beacon—bright, charismatic, enthralling in its presence. Awareness stoked her, amusement, contentment.

Hello.

Seem.

Seem drew back and began to compress herself down into her room, her breaths, her candles. She then pushed back out and began the process again. When she reached that beacon once more, that level of awareness—a fond chuckle—

Again?

Practice.

Ah.

—she pulled back once more and started to repeat the motions again. A second later, mid-draw back into herself, the ground shook and dust dropped from the ceiling. Seem’s concentration snapped, her eyes slipped open, and she frowned. Carefully Seem uncrossed her legs and blew out her candles. One of the acolytes would stop by no doubt with further information about the quake. The ground rumbled a second time, rolled and shifted like the tides of the sea while Seem worked. Then a third, fainter. Aftershocks.

The acolyte who stepped into the room in a rush caught Seem’s attention as she blew out the last candle. The aftershocks now were almost negligible, although the rush outside her room let Seem know that each of the monks worked hard to find the damage, make a note of what they needed to repair—and check upon the eco stores. If any dark eco slipped into their sanctuary they’d need to relocate—and probably relocate all of Spargus too, although Seems’ mental map indicated that there shouldn’t be any liquid dark eco for at least a fair eight kilometers or so.

With the shifting of the earth, however…Seem looked over to the acolyte. “Yes, Kyla?” she rasped.

“I’m sorry Master Seem, but Lord Damas has put out an urgent call. Part of the sands shifted and collapsed. Wastelanders’ beacons are shining.”

Seem closed her eyes. “Creators preserve us,” she murmured. Seem shifted her fingers into a prayer and bowed her head over her hand. A second later she raised it, red eyes sharp. “Go. Tell Damas I will meet him at Spargus’ entrance.” She paused. “We will no doubt need an update on our eco stores,” she added. “Make sure the guardians know to prepare our stores of green, just in case.”

Kyla ducked her head in acknowledgement and fled from the room. Seem took another second to gather herself and her thoughts. Collapsed and shifted sands in the wastes meant uncovered caverns and possible ruins. Uncovered caverns or ruins meant the risk of dark eco. The green would help mitigate the dark eco’s effects for a time and help heal any injured Wastelander. That Wastelanders were caught in the shift also meant these caverns were vast. Seem pursed her lips. This could be provident with the coming of the Daystar—but ultimately lives trumped discovery. With a deep breath Seem swept from the room and out into the hall.

Monks, acolytes, trainees, and guardians swarmed through the halls. They moved swiftly, silently, and many carried broken pieces of pottery damaged in the initial quake. A few siphoned eco; they carefully manipulated liquid globules into new containers that had spilled into the halls. The sheer number of people in the sanctuary halls would boggle the mind of most outsiders. No one ever realized the true numbers of the Precursor Monks, barring Damas—but then there were reasons for Damas’ unique knowledge of their Order.

Seem reached out and grabbed a free acolyte. She didn’t even look in their direction as she grasped their arm; instead Seem focused on the organized chaos around her.

“Master Seem?”

“Gather all of our healers,” Seem said. “We have a collapse in the wastes and active beacons.”

“Right away,” the acolyte murmured, bowed, and then dashed off.

With that out of the way—green eco stores, and now healers—Seem moved into the throng of people. She weaved through toward the armory to dress for a visit to the Wastelanders. While none of the monks truly needed the face paint or armor it did serve to define themselves to those out of the Order. In some respect the paint and armor provided a sense of divine purpose—it inspired those around them. Once it inspired Havenites, now it inspired Wastelanders. It further ensured that they received privilege out of their enclaves, and even now it held some manner of importance among the Marauder Clans.

Everyone knew of the Order of the Precursor Monks, even if they didn’t believe in Mar and some sort of divine lineage gifted by the Precursors themselves. Official dress was important, and the additional measure of protection certainly didn’t hurt matters either.

Inside the enclaves, and even sometimes outside the enclaves, most monks honestly preferred to just wear their robes. Even Seem gave in to the temptation to leave the temple in just her robes and a clean face. It felt in some ways freeing. People didn’t recognize her without the distinctive armor and paint—aside from Damas, but then Seem suspected Damas knew quite a bit more than he tended to let on. That, and he’d often babysat her as a small child. Damas, for that reason alone, automatically got a free pass in recognizing her—and in making demands, although no one would say that to Seem’s face.

Seem made certain her armor tightened down enough to allow for breathability, but also would keep her safe. She tugged the unnecessary folds out of her robes from beneath the leather and precurian metal just to make things comfortable, and the grabbed a brush and the cans of paints. Carefully she applied the colors of the Creators across her skin, and once that too finished Seem headed over to the transport. She glanced to the guardians who gathered around barrels of green eco, nodded toward the pilot of the transport, and grabbed a rail inside the bay as it rose into the air.

For five minutes they followed ancient precurian tunnels before the transport moved out from beneath the desert. Another five minutes back in the general direction they came from and they were at Spargus. The only other exit from the tunnels the Monks occupied—aside from the teleporter that lead to a temple most thought they resided in; they trained there, not lived there—was in the Palace of Spargus. For public inquiries or summons of the Monks they often came from this exit. Elsewise if Damas called upon them in privacy—a rare action all things considered—they traveled through the Palace. It was a bit of a convoluted route, but it eased the Spargans’ minds and left them unaware of the tunnels and undercity beneath their sands that the Monks truly occupied.

The transport settled down within the gates of Spargas and Seem carefully debarked. She motioned for the guardian-healers to stay with the barrels of eco for the time being. Seem didn’t know where the collapse resided in the sands. Damas would inform her of what he required of the Monks, and Seem would distribute orders as necessary from there.

“Seem,” Damas nodded as he stepped up toward the young Monk. Seem dipped her head in respect and signed a brief prayer that Damas slightly grimaced toward. Around them Spargans hurried about. They loaded crates and barrels of medical supplies into spare vehicles—bandages, emergency tourniquets, intravenous solutions—and double-checked weapons and vital machinery. Seem noted everything around her silently. “What do you know?” Damas questioned. He turned towards his own vehicle and returned to his preparations.

Calmly Seem moved up beside Damas. “The quake pushed me from my meditation,” Seem said dryly. “The number of aftershocks is what concerns me the most, especially since there is also the volcano to consider.” Seem glanced off in the direction of the volcano itself with a faint frown. “Though to be fair it hasn’t been terribly active, there is still enough of a chance…and then there is the amount of beacons you indicated—”

“I never said how many,” Damas interrupted as he pulled a tarp over his own supplies in the back of his vehicle.

Seem hummed. “The manner in which I received your message was telling enough.”

Damas didn’t laugh, but he did smile. “Very well. You are correct; there are too many beacons.”

Seem nodded. “The number of active beacons suggests a large, buried, cavernous structure,” Seem moved toward Damas’ side instead of just behind him, lips pressed thin. “We have no knowledge of its state and should proceed with caution, Lord Damas.”

Damas grunted. He climbed into his vehicle and raised an eyebrow in Seem’s direction as she stood there. “And?”

Seem huffed, climbed in after Damas—she had to crawl along the back edge of the seat to get to the passenger side, determined not to go around the vehicle with Damas at the wheel—and tugged her own scarf and goggles she’d brought especially for this occasion up around her face. “And there is a chance of something to help with the coming Daystar,” Seem said, voice only slightly muffled. “However, research is for the moment secondary. My Monks’ primary concern is the lives of the Wastelanders. To that end we have brought our guardians and green eco stores.”

“You expect dark eco?” Damas questioned. Around him Wastelanders piled into their own vehicles and the pilot for the Monks’ transport lit up the A-Grav engine.

“I expect there is more to this quake than we have yet to understand,” Seem replied dryly.

“We’ll proceed with as much caution as we can afford, then!” Damas hollered as he kicked his own engine into gear. There was a brief moment of respite—of the seat humming beneath her; leather and precurian metal humming straight into her bones in that relaxing manner that Seem hadn’t felt in years—and then they tore out of the gate and off into the Wastes.

The site of the shift in the sands was not too far out from Spargus, or even that far from the volcano. It left Seem a little uneasy—this close to the underground lava flows could easily mean the volcano might be preparing to erupt. While precurian metal had so far proven to withstand the intense heat of volcanic lava—not without harming those who touched it, unfortunately—Spargus was in no way prepared to survive an eruption. Neither were the Monks.

Damas slid his dune buggy to a stop near the edge of the gaping chasm. Seem carefully lifted her own goggles to peer off into the distance; she tried to judge the gap, noted how even now sand still slid down like little granules of rain. Eight kilometers? Sixteen? Seem couldn’t be sure. They’d need to measure the gap, and the length of the chasm to properly gauge what they are looking at.

“Mar,” Damas breathed out, eyes wide. He quickly turned to several Wastelanders. “Perimeter check! Keep an eye out for Marauder bands! Get me distance on this thing!” He turned toward another set of Wastelanders. “You! Grab a guardian, pair up, and begin to repel down! Keep your jeeps and buggy’s away from the edge. The sands unstable.” Damas turned back toward Seem. “This is worse than I anticipated.”

Seem nodded grimly as Damas kicked his car into gear and reversed away from the ledge. “How many beacons have gone off exactly?”

“About twenty from the last count,” Damas ground out. “Fifteen were excavating artifacts, the other five checking on the Marauder’s most recent conquests.”

“And how many more are out here?” Seem questioned.

Damas grimaced. “I have no Mar-damned idea, Seem,” he said gravely. “The ledger was destroyed in the quake.”

Seem hissed, “Creators,” under her breath as the vehicle came to a stop. “This could go on for several kilometers into the Wastes,” Seem said cautiously. “Probably even into Marauder territory.”

“We’ll be careful then, won’t we?” Damas glanced her way as he killed the engine. Seem nodded sharply; she left him to prepare the repelling equipment to get them down into the chasm and headed over toward the guardian’s and barrels of eco. Guardian-healers began to pair off while the barrels were offloaded—Seem watched for a moment as one was cracked open and glittering green globules were carefully siphoned away into special containment units that the guardians wore. She glanced over toward the pilot.

“Go back to the temple once everything is offloaded,” Seem ordered. “Get more healers. And a few warriors. This is going to take a while.”

The pilot nodded, and Seem moved over toward the cracked open barrel of eco. Carefully she siphoned away the green into her own containment units, and once full she turned around and headed back toward Damas. Out of either of them he’d be the better at channeling green eco, given his lineage, but Seem could, if she focused hard enough, move the eco she’d siphoned off as well.

“Are we ready?” Seem questioned when she returned to Damas’ side. Damas’ gaze swept across the group of Wastelanders. He grimaced.

“We’ll need more Wastelanders,” he noted.

“I’ve already sent for more guardians,” Seem said. “Let the rest of my guardians sit in for Wastelanders. You need to make sure Spargus is defended.” Damas hummed. “My guardians will search another section of the perimeter. We can focus here. If we portion places off and place our people strategically—”

“Yes, yes,” Damas chuckled. “Who has the most experience leading in cases like this, Seem?”

Seem flushed. “I apologize, Lord Damas.” Damas waved a hand.

“My men know what to do,” Damas said eventually. “Are you ready?”

Seem nodded, and when Damas held out a hand she grasped it tight and then, combined with his strength and the momentum of the sudden pull against her body weight, swung herself up and onto Damas’ back.

“You’ll be leading the way?” Seem questioned.

“Not the rescue mission, obviously,” Damas replied. Several Wastelanders and guardian Monk pairs were already off into the chasm below. “But between the two of us I think I have the better chance of dealing with any metal head threats, don’t you agree?”

“You do have more experience fighting the Hora-Quan,” Seem agreed. “But do not rule me out. I am the leader of the Order of Precursor Monks, after all.”

Damas laughed, headed toward the edge, and began to repel down. Seem made sure to keep her legs wrapped tightly against Damas’ sides as she twisted to peer down into the depths of the cavernous creation in the sands. After a second she reached into the pack against Damas’ back and, while Damas carefully dropped them further and further down, lit the flare for light as they moved further and further from the noonday sun.

The wall they repelled down was volcanic rock, like much of the earth far beneath the sand. It was porous material that granules buried itself into, crafted from volcanic eruptions hundreds of years ago. Interspaced here and there, surrounded by the rock, were the occasional hardened lava flows—and precursor metal. Seem noted all of this with a critical eye and tried to extrapolate just what they began to repel down into.

Damas pulled them to a stop upon a ledge and Seem hopped off his back. She knelt to peer further into the gaping maw of the newly revealed probable ruins, but they still traveled even further beneath the sands. After a second Seem tilted her head up toward the daylight. They repelled down seventy meters, and the bottom still appeared far away. Whatever this was it had to be old enough that the earth and the volcano had swallowed it whole. It was buried far deeper than the precursor ruins that the Monks occupied beneath Spargus.

The ledge Damas landed them on followed the edge of the cavern walls easily enough, jagged and twisted—but a good point to start their search for beacons. Damas reached out a hand to pull Seem to her feet and absentmindedly Seem clutched the fingers she saw in her peripheral as she dropped the flare next to the wall that they just repelled down.

“Whatever this is,” Seem rasped, “it is old.”

Damas hummed in agreement and fished out a small, square receiver that he handed over to Seem. Seem glanced it over—it seemed to function almost like a radio or sonar. She could see a small dot in the distance.

“For the beacons?” Seem questioned as she tilted her head toward Damas. He’d never once shared this with her, or with the other Monks that she knew of.

“Yes,” Damas replied. “You direct me. I’ll test the ground as we move. I do not trust this porous rock.”

“And if we come upon a beacon’s location and there is nothing?” Seem questioned.

“We go down,” Damas told her, and she nodded once, brows furrowed in thought and lips pursed beneath her scarf.

Seem eyed the ledge, and then eyed the way down again. “How many flares do you have?” she asked.

“About twenty before we’ll need to regroup and gather more,” Damas said.

“How many meters apart do you wish to drop a flare?” Seem asked. Damas started along the edge and she followed behind.

“Roughly fifty meters or so,” Damas said.

Seem nodded thoughtfully. They could travel about a kilometer’s distance before they’d have to regroup; decent of a distance that, if they moved cautiously, they could cover in a short amount of time—but that meant they’d be at this for longer, and the Wastelanders didn’t have that much time available.

“Drop a flare every hundred fifty meters,” Seem offered. “We can go three kilometers a distance that way before we need to turn back.”

Damas glanced back to eye her. “Further the distance; yes, I like that thought.” He grabbed his radio from his hip and quickly relayed the change to his men. “We’ll need more provisions with that plan,” he murmured. “Water will run out fairly quick.”

Seem shrugged her shoulders. They could do that easily enough—the Monks could ferry water out to them, just as they could ferry the injured in to Spargus. Hopefully the Marauder clans would be feeling generous as Seem thought this new addition to the Wastes ran right into a few of their camps. She’d have to make sure to send a few of her guardian-warriors off to assess the damage and mitigate any skirmishes for the time being.

The sun settled beneath the sands as Seem sipped at her stew among her guardians. Her gaze remained steady upon the tent that housed her guardian-healers and the injured they’d recovered from the crevasse. So far, thankfully, they’d found only one loss of life after a dozen or so rescued—although given the cold of the night and the dangers of travel now they might just lose a few more before the sun rose with the dawn.

“Do you think this has something to do with the Hora-Quan, Master Seem?” one of the younger guardians asked. Seem glanced over at them, watched as they stared at their own bowl of stew.

“The ruins are precurian,” Seem said. “Perhaps we could find a weapon against the Precursors ancient enemy.”

“But the earthquake?” asked another. “The volcano isn’t active, is it? Could the Hora-Quan have manipulated the earth?”

“Could dark eco?” murmured another.

Seem breathed slowly and set her stew down. “Listen to me, my guardians,” Seem said and immediately all her guardians looked toward her. “The world is constantly changing, even in its unfinished state. The volcano is active as its always been. The Hora-Quan move as they always have. The Daystar comes as it always will.” She eyed each of them as they stared at her with rapt attention. “Right now we have injured, wounded, Wasterlanders to worry about and they take precedence, but do not forget the dangers of the world around us either.”

“There’s been rumors of a rather large and strange Hora-Quan out in the Wastes, though,” muttered another of Seems guardians.

“The Hora-Quan change with time as all things do,” Seem sighed heavily and worked to ease the fears of the guardians before her, even if she worried that something was amiss herself. “Rest assured nothing about this quake is anything except natural. There has been no eco cause that I can sense, and do you really believe Lord Damas of Mar would not sense such a change himself?”

The Monks around her quieted at the idea that Damas couldn’t sense it.

“Of course we don’t think that,” one of the older guardians uttered with a sigh. “Most of these children have never felt a real quake before, Master Seem. They are scared.”

“It is a frightening event,” Seem agreed, “but we must be strong.” Seem breathed deeply. “All of you, while you search for the beacons, record what you find. Once we have cleared the crevasse we will begin the hunt for any help against the Daystar.”

“Yes Master Seem,” murmured the Monks together.

Seem picked her stew back up and took a sip. She glanced over toward Damas and raised her brows when she saw that he looked back at her with a small smile on his lips. Seem ducked her head and flushed in surprise. An uncomfortable feeling rose up in her chest, a tightness that reminded her of days before she came to live in the Wastes, live as the head of the Monks. While Seem might not ever wish to change her circumstances, she could wish that perhaps things didn’t work out the exact way they had.

Seem sipped her stew, closed her eyes, and thought of home.

#fic: patriciate #fic: semblance #jak and daxter #accidentally king of haven #fanfic #wip #crossposted #canon divergence

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xadoheandterra · 2 years

Text

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

Mistakes were made, and the girls have to clean up as per usual.

Jak stared up at the ceiling from the floor where he’d essentially passed out last night. Draped over the edge of the couch laid Torn, still completely out of it, with a bottle of the hardest liquor they could find just inches from his fingers. Daxter, likewise, snored away on the arm of the couch itself, leaving Jak to his thoughts alone. He’d known some of Torn’s past—it didn’t take much to get on the man’s radar in the Underground, and Jak could admit that for all his abrasiveness Torn looked out for everyone. He’d known that for a long time now.

Silently Jak admitted that knowing and understanding meant two different things, and here Jak was, now awake in the aftermath of accepting Torn’s brand of comfort. Vices, Jak thought bitterly. He knew Tess would have his head for agreeing to the drink; Jak didn’t have a problem with alcohol. It never quite burned right for him anyway with the amount dark eco in his system—much like how Slipstream didn’t work in the conventional sense. Jak scrubbed his hands down his face tiredly, and rolled over to his feet. He glanced to Torn, and then shuffled off to find some water to shove into the man’s face alongside some sort of painkiller for the headache.

On the table sat the communicator, and Jak snagged that when he walked passed to grab the glass of water. He quickly thumbed up Tess’ contact; whatever hour of the day didn’t matter, Tess at least deserved to know the state Torn was in. Jak could remember the little petite blonde storming into the Underground HQ whenever Torn called because of a craving, or someone else called because Torn reached for one of his many vices.

Jak wished he understood instead of just knew what it all meant back then. He sighed bitterly and shuffled back over toward the couch. He owed Torn at least to make sure he knew how to handle the man, or to at least get Tess here to handle him if needed.

“Daxy-poo?”

“Sorry, he’s out,” Jak mumbled and set the glass of water down on the table in front of the couch. He shuffled off to grab a second glass for Daxter. “Dax ‘n’ Torn ‘n’ I had a…night.”

Tess was silent for a moment, then she sighed.

“You got some water there? Any painkillers? How much did he drink?” Tess asked rapidly.

Jak grimaced. “Dunno, actually. Kind of got a bit hazy.” He could hear Tess’ groaned response.

“So he got the good stuff then. Shit.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Jak mumbled, turned on the tap, and waited. Tess sighed tiredly; Jak could hear her shuffle about on the other end. It sounded like she intended to make something to drink.

“Sweetheart it’s not your fault,” Tess cooed, and when Jak moved to protest she stopped him. “Ah, ah, I know what you are going to say. Honestly whatever was said, whatever happened, I know it wasn’t your fault. Torn’s been pushing himself.”

“Because of me,” Jak pointed out, turned off the tap, and picked up the glass.

“Nuh uh. You’ve been pushing yourself too, Jak. Don’t think Daxy and I haven’t noticed. We still talk, y’know, even if you aren’t by all that often because the old fogey’s wanna keep it all hush hush.”

Jak snorted and set the second glass down. He reached out to check Daxter and Torn’s breathing carefully and then settled himself into an armchair.

“If anyone’s at fault it’s the old man and the rest of the council. I’ve seen how it’s been hurting Aylín too, you know?” A faint beeping came from the other end of the line and Jak could imagine Tess shift around in the little kitchenette above the Ottsel. “Anyway here’s what you are gonna do, you hear me Jak?”

“Mm, yeah?” Jak asked and shifted in his seat.

“You and Torn, and Daxy, are going to take the day. Walk around town, work if you have to, but stay away from any more of his vices—or yours.” Jak grimaced. “Whatever it is, you take the day for yourselves. Shove Torn off at Praxis if you need to get him relax, I don’t care what it is. Just…do something small. Nothing big like you guys are all prone to. Please?”

Jak sighed and placed his head between his knees with a mumbled, “Sure, Tess.”

“Good. I’ll grab Alyín and Keira and we’ll do a sweep, clear out anything.”

“I’ll make sure you have clearance to come up.”

“You better,” Tess teased. “Send me a message when they wake up.”

“Kay.”

“And Jak?”

Jak hummed lightly and leaned back into the chair.

“I mean it. Don’t go near any of your vices either. Shit’s tough, and life right now is hard, but it’s better—so trust me when I say it’s not worth it to take that trip again.”

Jak sighed. “I know, Tess. I won’t.”

Tess chirped out a sharp, “Good!” and hung up without a further word. Jak dropped the communicator onto the table and stared over Daxter and Torn with a sigh. Vices, he thought bitterly. A nice and polite word for addiction. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly and listened to the loud snoring of Daxter, and the subtler snoring from Torn. Jak could remember clearly the day Torn first discovered his vices. His hand shook slightly and he clenched it into a fist.

“Fuck this is such a mess,” Jak mumbled. He shouldn’t have agreed to the drinking. Daxter already had plenty enough issues with alcoholism, not to mention Torn’s own struggles with it. Plus the whole conversation brought up far too many memories for Jak to care to have rattling around in his head. He leaned back into the chair with a groan and barely noticed when Torn started to cough.

Without a word Jak got to his feet and helped the older man up; he tugged the respirator over to get Torn more oxygen into his system while the man woke himself up from the fit. Torn groaned pitifully and grabbed at his head, and then at the mask, and peered up at Jak through squinted eyes.

“We…drank a lot,” Jak mumbled, grabbed the glass and the pills and handed them over. “Called Tess.”

“Great.”

“No drinks, no drugs, no machismo,” Jak said dryly. “She’d prefer no work, but then….” Torn coughed into the glass while he swallowed down the pills.

Daxter woke up next, moaning and groaning until Jak handed him a glass of water and pills which he curled around rather pathetically. Jak shook his head and settled down next to Torn on the couch. The older man had his head between his knees, mumbling curses under his breath.

“How bad?” Torn croaked out.

Jak rubbed at the back of his neck. “I don’t remember.”

“Mar,” Torn hissed and leaned back into the couch. “What we were talking about?”

“Shitty backstories,” Daxter whined. “’m’thinkin’ s’at?”

Jak shrugged. “I know we got into it because of Erol.”

Torn groaned shifted his hand from the respirator to cover his eyes. “That’d do it, yeah.” He could remember how the mess started now; talk about Erol and how fucked over they all were because of the bastard. Torn couldn’t remember if how far into his own dealings with Erol he’d gotten—given the amount they all drank though he very well could’ve touched deeper regrets than he’d want and probably didn’t remember.

“Now what then?” Torn mumbled while Jak picked up the communicator. He sent off a brief message to Tess to let her know everyone woke up and, aside from hangovers, appeared to be rather functional.

“Tess ‘n the girls will be by to clear things out,” Jak mumbled.

“Fuck,” Torn hissed between his teeth. One moment of weakness and suddenly once more he needed to face the disappointed gaze of the woman he basically saw as a little sister. Jak leaned back and stared up at the ceiling tiredly.

“An’ whaddya suggest we do?” Daxter bemoaned lightly, instantly regretting the loss of all the wonderful alcohol in the building—but he knew better than to whine about it right now, especially since it’d be Tess coming to clear things out and she’d give him one mean look if she found out he’d whined.

“Dunno. Something productive?” Jak scrubbed his hand over his face again. “Refugee’s will be coming in soon, right?”

Torn blinked, then grimaced. He hadn’t actually checked in on the status of the reclamation project in the past couple of days—like everyone else he’d been focused on what to do when the refugee’s arrived and completely forgot about the fact that they’d already sent troops out to clear the streets. Sure he’d looked at the basic figures they sent back—what areas were the most heavily infested and the ratio of risk versus reward, how many potential survivors they could expect, the amount of dark eco poisoning—but beyond that he set everything aside to review once they knew what they were doing.

With a mild grunt of hungover pain Torn got to his feet and shuffled over to the computer system that sat on a desk off to the side of the lounge in Jak’s rooms. He pulled up the reports that were filed in the system and quickly skimmed through them to try and get a read on how far along things were so far.

“They’ve cleared about three streets into the Industrial District,” Torn said thoughtfully. “Recovered roughly twenty survivors in good condition, another thirty more in poorer condition….”

“Precursors,” Daxter mumbled.

“Lost about twenty men,” Torn continued, brow furrowed. “They’ve piled up bodies of the remaining civilians that didn’t survive for sterilization transport. We’ve got barricades set up at the entrance from the port in the Waterfront, all the way to the first main intersection.”

Torn scanned the rest of the reports that he could quickly, and pulled back with a sigh. He rubbed at his eyes. “The amount of debris and dark eco levels are making progress slow overall.”

Jak breathed out a measured breath. “Alright. We have the pits prepared for cleansing, so let’s start cleaning up the streets of the debris we can. Get the hospitals moving to check the survivors in the safe zones and then settle them where and as needed. The more space we clear up on the streets in the Industrial District the quicker we can move things along.”

“Just like that?” Torn shifted and looked to Jak. “We haven’t even talked with the hospitals and the doctors, we’ve got barely any volunteers to help out refugees and survivors. Jak we can’t just move up operations so quickly.”

“Arguing about logistics is getting us nowhere.”

“The House’s have their own areas of management and expertise,” Torn said exasperatedly. “Their help is invaluable, and it’s how the government works.”

Daxter snorted and climbed up onto Jak’s shoulder and jerked his head toward his best friend. “Ain’t he the King?” the ottsel asked. “End all be all of the government an’ all that? Word is law, bow down t’me?” Jak snorted and Torn sighed.

“That’s not how the government works,” Torn groaned. “Dammit, kid. Just because there is a Monarchy doesn’t mean we don’t have a system in place to provide checks and balances.”

Jak shook his head and glanced down at the communicator.

“Let’s go,” Jak said after a second. “Tess is on her way with Alyín and Keira.”

“Kid—Jak—” Torn started as he stepped away from the computer, but Jak ignored him and headed for the door. “Jak I’m serious—”

“Run with it Tattoed Wonder,” Daxter crowed. “Not changin’ our minds now.”

Exhaustedly Torn followed them. He wouldn’t hear the end of it from Ashelin after this.

Alyín and Tess took the stairs up the palace two at a time, Keira trailing after them silently. They’d come in to her garage while she packed up the last of her personals and dragged her away. Alyín made some sort of phone call, proceeded to assure her she’d make sure the rest of her things got out safe, and then Tess explained the situation. It still left her reeling the fact that they needed to clean out alcohol and possible drugs. Keira couldn’t understand it, really.

Lyra, the main secretary on the first floor of the Palace, stood up the minute the three of them passed through the doors. She made a sharp nod to Alyín and to Tess and quickly moved from around her desk. She held out her hand, along with a purple and white card reminiscent of the passkey’s used to get through the gates throughout Haven.

“Here’s a passkey,” Lyra said, and handed the key over to Alyín. “I was informed of your arrival by King Jak.”

Alyín took the key with a nod and gave Lyra a small smile. “Thank you. Anything specific we should know, Lyra?”

Lyra shook her head, gave a nod to the three girls, and then stepped aside and headed back to her desk. Keira, Alyín and Tess stepped up and into the private elevator without a further word, and only when it slid completely shut did Alyín collapse in on herself. She’d been stormy earlier, and now she looked defeated. Keira glanced to her, and carefully touched her arm.

“Aly?” she asked quietly.

“What are we looking at here, Tess?” Alyín asked tiredly. “Heartburn? Sharpshooter? Liquid Grace? Static Rush? Slipstream?” The last one Alyín practically spat.

“Alcohol,” Tess said quietly.

Keira looked at Alyín, lips pressed together in thought. “Those are…those are eco drugs, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Alyín replied bitterly. “Torn’s done every single one of them.” She clenched her fists tightly. Keira breathed out explosively and looked at Tess’ stiff stance as well.

“More than that?” Keira leaned against Alyín, a form of silent support. For a moment Alyín didn’t say anything, in fact she just shook her head silently and pressed one hand up to her eyes. Kiera could see the tears there, tears that gathered and she refused to let fall. The young blue-green haired woman pushed a little firmer into Alyín.

Tess glanced to Alyín and sighed. “If this is too hard….”

Alyín shook her head and pursed her lips. “No. No, Torn swore it and I swore I’d keep him to it.” She rubbed at her eyes. “Besides, it’s in the past and if there are…if it’s just alcohol then that’s better.”

The ride up in the elevator lapsed back into silence. Keira glanced to Tess, and then up to Alyín.

“Jak…Jak got into this stuff?” Kiera questioned. Tess glanced to her and pressed her lips together.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Tess said quietly. “I don’t know if he got into it, or if he didn’t have a choice Keira. I do know he’s kept himself clean, though.” She looked up. “Daxter too.”

Keira leaned a bit more heavily into Alyín when the older girl mumbled, “Doesn’t mean they’ll stay that way.”

Keira closed her eyes.

“Then we’ll make sure they will,” she said, opened them, and stood tall. “All of us.” Alyín nodded sharply, and glanced to Tess who gave each of them a small smile.

“Alright,” she chirped. “Let’s start with searching all of Jak’s place. Alyín?”

Alyín chuckled and shook her head. She never did understand how Tess could shift from serious to chipper in seconds. “I’ll gather up all of the booze. You guys check to make sure there isn’t anything else.”

Tess nodded and squeezed Alyín’s other arm while Kiera lightly shook her with a small smile.

“Got ya,” Tess agreed. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Kiera nodded. She’d seen her fair share of Slipstream since she started working at the Stadium. A lot of the racers used it, so she had some idea on what to look for. Plus she’d had rudimentary training in eco channeling like everyone else back in Sandover, and while she held more of an inclination for Green she could at least feel the sharp difference between the others to identify them. Plan determined the girls straightened, sucked in deep breaths, and readied themselves to work.

He stretched himself through the pathways and systems, shifted metaphorical limbs as he fully pulled himself back into awareness. He slipped his consciousness into everything, breathed in ways that he didn’t fully comprehend before. His thoughts shifted and churned in ones and zeros, tugged along neural pathways before unavailable to him. He looked through lenses, computers, communication devices, security systems. He settled himself in and flexed.

Vin scanned through the streets and noted the metalheads, noted their deepest locations and pits of loathing. He shifted and scanned through the eco grid and the shield wall—through the mine and the surrounding dangers in the waters outside the metal, brick, and mortar walls that surrounded the city and provided both protection and a cage. He let himself calculate and permutate and scan through documents unfettered while he processed just what happened. How long had it been since he’d been this aware?

It took a small portion of his concentration to activate the repair systems on the turrets that Jak busted, and then to initiate the response and targeting system of the turrets still active. He set them on eliminating the metalheads within the city walls, shifted the security cameras to sweep over the pile of shivering civilians and sick, the forces of Underground and KG that were tired and exhausted. He pulled a portion of his awareness into a transport, tugged along small spider-like KG bots to pull supplies that he logged and flagged and noted down as concise as he could.

In the seconds it took to fully pull himself back to awareness Vin sent off information and details that the others missed. He called upon the silent supporters and upon like-minded individuals, profiled those who would cause problems and those who wouldn’t. He restricted information, released information, and settled himself fully into the eco grid, the neural network that made up Haven. Vin shook off the last vestiges of sleep and let himself take control. He’d spent long enough settling in. He spent long enough reorganizing his own thought matrix, shifting and expanding his consciousness and awareness��he’d had to grow used to the new state of his existence.

The lack of power in the power station certainly didn’t help move matters along at a quicker pace. Vin calculated that maybe a month passed since the invasion; a month to settle himself and pull his own consciousness out of the void of data and code into some semblance of being again. It took him long enough; it took them all long enough.

Jak needed Vin. He needed Vin’s help. It was high passed time that Vin actually took a more proactive role in the state of this city. He was Vin of House Asul, last patriarch of the Blue Sage, last of the blue saturates—last of a long line and history that dated to before the metalhead invasion. His ancestor helped create this city, helped design the eco grid—the shield wall—helped pull small villages together into a cohesive unit that survived, and then that thrived.

Jak needed Vin like Mar needed Eichel the Blue. Jak needed Vin.

It was time he stepped up to the plate.

#fic: semblance #fic: patriciate #fanfic #jak and daxter #accidentally king of haven #crossposted #wip #canon divergence

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xadoheandterra · 2 years

Text

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

No matter where one looks, someone has an agenda. Even those whom are held closest.

Jak bit into his sandwich absentmindedly as he worked through the written reports from the sage lines, curled up into what Tess called ‘Jak’s booth’ in a small corner of the Naughty Ottsel. Daxter sprawled over the countertop and munched on a few snacks Tess left him. Occasionally when Jak glanced over to his friend he found the ottsel calmly drawing dicks on a spare piece of paper. Often he found himself forced to repress a snort; a few of Daxter’s drawings were quite humorous, near political cartoons of the situation and the people involved.

A lot of his drawings featured Koray in increasingly terrible situations. Jak wasn’t sure the man deserved it, but, well, whatever helped Daxter relaxed helped him relax. Besides the reports were rather dry—only Torn’s report held anything remotely amusing in it, and Jak felt certain the man put the dry witticisms and commentary in there on purpose. With a huff Jak swiped a finger along the tablet and switched to the next page.

“Eco shortage,” Jak mumbled, and his brow furrowed. He focused on the words in front of him—Samos’ mind-numbingly boring writing matched the man’s mind-numbingly boring lectures—but an eco shortage could mean no end of trouble.

“Huh?” Daxter glanced up, and slapped his tail against Jak’s hand when the teen didn’t pay attention. “Jak. Jaaaaaak.”

Jak huffed and glanced to Daxter, then back down to the report. “There’s something up with the eco.”

Daxter sat up, ears perked suddenly. “How?”

Jak scanned a few more paragraphs, mouth moving soundlessly as he read the words. Daxter’s gaze snapped to the teens lips, and his eyes narrowed in thought. He wasn’t as practiced at reading Jak’s lips like he used to be, so he couldn’t be sure what precisely Jak mouthed, but it looked to be something about an unprecedented loss of eco that couldn’t be accounted for the Baron’s excessive giving it away to the metal heads.

“Green’s in much shorter supply than we thought,” Jak mumbled. “Unreported initial hospital shortage—issue with agricultural supply amounts—back stores not updated—undisclosed blockage in the flow—missing documentation—interruptions in the green…wait. This sounds like…” Jak cocked his head to the side and his ears twitched with surprised interest.

“Sounds like what,” Daxter said slowly. He had a bad feeling.

“Remember those old ruins?” Jak looked toward Daxter, eyes beginning to light up. “The one outside of Sandover with the blue supply that powered the town, and then the one over in Rock Village and the yellow one up in the mountain by all the Lurker’s and—”

“Yeah,” Daxter interrupted. “I remember. An’ I remember near dyin’ half the time beatin’ back all kinds of shit. So?”

“We never did find a green supply,” Jak pointed out.

“Never needed to,” Daxter shot back.

“What if it’s been turned off? Like the others? What if there’s a ruin nearby that can turn the supply back on?” Jak breathed out quickly. “If we can correct the shortage of green eco than we can increase the supply, which will help the hospitals and the agriculture district—there’s some reports of metal head activity and dark eco contamination in the area from what Torn mentioned—and we know how dark eco responds to green—”

Daxter sucked in a breath while Jak rambled on, and then snapped out a quick, “JAK!” to get the teen’s attention again. Jak jerked and blinked, startled out from his sudden rambling. He flushed faintly. He used to ramble all the time when they were younger, a rush of gestures and semi-sounds when he found something interesting, and while Daxter felt a bit ashamed to interrupt Jak now he needed to slow the young man down. Words were harder to follow than Jak’s silent communication—sometimes he spoke a little too fast for Daxter.

“An’,” Daxter said slowly, “what d’you think ol’ greenie’s gonna say to this? Jak, my man, as much as I looove our old adventures—and honestly I don’t miss ‘em one bit, dealin’ with the ruins and the Acherons was fuckin’ terrifyin’ and you can’t convince me otherwise buddy—we just got outta one mess of an adventure and we’re stuck in the fryin’ pan of another.”

“Nobody knows precursor shit like we do,” Jak pointed out.

Daxter huffed. “Jaaaaak,” he drawled out, “we don’t even know where to look.”

Out of all of his arguments, that seemed to get Jak to settle down. He frowned, nodded slowly, and tried to think of what they could do.

“We’d have to find it first,” Jak agreed.

“An’ we can’t,” Daxter pointed out.

Jak sighed and stared at the tablet in thought. There must be some kind of record about ruins, something to indicate where they were. Jak wanted to sit down and hunt the information—if he could he’d spend days doing it, they needed green eco according to these reports—and yet—and yet.

Daxter’s point stood, and Jak slouched down with a frustrated groan.

“I’ll ask Zoe to look when she can,” Jak mumbled. Zoe knew most of the legends and the stories that surrounded Haven better than anyone. Jak didn’t doubt she could unearth the location—time simply remained the factor. Nobody had time.

“We’ll have to reveal him to the public at large at some point,” Samos said tiredly. “They’ll want to know that Haven has a King again.”

Zoe sipped at her drink and stared just to the left of Samos. She let out a faintly disdainful snort at the idea that the public desired to know that the Monarchy found itself reinstated. The public didn’t decry Damas being removed from the throne, they rejoiced. She knew more went on behind the chosen removal of the House of Mar—back dealings, promises of support, shady agreements. Zoe didn’t doubt even Samos’ fingers dipped in a few pies, too. The entire mess leading up to Damas’ banishment involved a lot of political maneuvering including subtle propaganda.

“The public won’t care,” Zoe said. “Most of the adults now will remember when Praxis took over. They won’t accept it. The Council and Nobility barely do.”

“Yet you were the one to crown him King,” Samos harrumphed. “Nary a thought, no protest—everyone followed your lead.”

Zoe laughed and gave Samos a sharp, bitter smile. “Did you think I wouldn’t see Damas in the boy, Samos? Did you think you could hide him from me, or from Vin? Please. I babysat that man-child, I’d recognize his son anywhere.”

Samos pursed his lips.

“I don’t know how you got a hold of the boy,” Zoe set her cup down. “Honestly I don’t quite care. If you stole him from his mother or stole him from his crib it doesn’t matter. He’s here now, a little ignorant and broken perhaps, but finally Mar’s blood is back in Haven. That’s about the only right thing you’ve done recently.”

Samos frowned and tapped his fingers on his cane. He looked off to the side. “I didn’t steal him, Zoe. I may have…participated in the removal of Damas, but I didn’t steal his only son.” Samos sighed. “I didn’t know about the boy, I don’t know his circumstances, how he got here—I only found him on the streets with Mar’s symbol around his neck.” Samos sighed. “I don’t even know if Damas still lives.”

Zoe peered at him. “Your time in the past certainly aged you,” she murmured. Samos shot her a frustrated look. “But…is that why you don’t share the name of his father?”

Samos clenched his hands over his cane. “I didn’t know, Zoe.”

“You know now,” Zoe pointed out, but she didn’t push it beyond that. Instead she tapped her fingers on the table; her thoughts drifted through the ramifications of revealing Jak to the public at large. Reinstating the Monarchy looked all well and good, and Jak certainly kept his wits about him, but with the way the public worked—so soon after Praxis’ tyranny—Zoe feared.

“After the shield wall goes up,” Zoe said carefully. “After we clear out the heavily infested districts. After the recovery efforts prove themselves—then we reveal Jak. Until such a time he must remain as he is now.”

“With his hair the way it is, we won’t keep it secret for long,” Samos grunted.

“I didn’t choose to style it,” Zoe sniffed.

“We needed the physical reminder,” Samos pointed out sharply.

Zoe hummed in agreement. “There’ll also be rumors spread by the lesser nobles, those with money…anyone with an agenda, really. We’ll need to counteract them as best as we can. Keep them quiet….”

“Or let them run.” Samos leaned forward and tapped his cane against the ground. “If we squash the rumors the public will become adamant to unearth them. Part of the Underground’s success came from those very tactics, used by Praxis; it worked to our favor, and against him.”

“And what of the embargo?” Zoe quarried. “We’ve got Wastelanders in the city who demand to be let out.”

“Until the shield is functioning there isn’t much we can do,” Samos leaned back and sighed exhaustedly. “Then there’s the eco we have to worry about, on top of everything….”

Zoe frowned.

“I do not like this,” she said. “This waiting and sitting and plotting. I do not like relying on what-if’s and scenarios we can hardly predict. Without enough facts, without a concrete understanding of the situation—the players, the people—we’re running this blind. That…worries me.”

Samos sighed. “It worries me too.”

Veger frowned over his cup as he stared at the reports in front of him. He didn’t bother to glance over at Koray who shuffled through papers and his tablet with soft, frustrated growls, as he contemplated the situation before him now. The abomination—Jak—began to actually pose problems in the grand scheme of things. Enough problems that Veger now found himself contemplating if he could spin things properly in the direction he wanted.

“This…refugee plan,” Veger mused. “How set on it are they?”

“They’re recruiting out of the Hog for volunteers to move all the stuff in the stadium,” Koray grumbled. “The Green Sage’s tart’s already cleared out her own space and is supervising the stockpiles of green eco inventory. Alyín’s doing most of the recruiting in the Hog, publicly now ‘alive’ while Zoe and Ashelin work together for the best target plan to get things cleaned up and running.”

“So…they’re committed,” Veger mused. If the Sage lines were committed the moves Veger could make became limited. The people, ultimately, will rally behind the Sage lines. The council might initially object, but once the first few refugee’s arrive most of those objections would fall to the wayside. The fact that the abomination and his friends offered up the Stadium as viable space and left the higher end district primarily alone otherwise would instantly win them favor.

That, among a few other points, leaned toward Alyín or Ashelin’s influence. Veger could see the tactical hints from Zoe around the details of the plan, and Mar’s—Jak’s—the abomination’s—brash influence practically screamed from all over the place. If nothing else this mess would endear the boy to the public. The masses, once they finally learn that the one to implement this saving plan happened to now be their King and rightful heir to House Mar, well anything Veger planned to happen then would be moot.

“How to turn this in my favor,” Veger mused. He tapped his lip thoughtfully. Most of what he wanted became moot—the brat escaped, so any of his studies were ruined, especially now that he’d been tarnished with that blasted dark eco. The whole ‘prophecy’ nonsense put a crimp into everything but Veger found ways around that; ways that were becoming harder and harder to accomplish now.

“Not really much you can do unless they fuck up somewhere,” Koray huffed.

“Try and trip them up, won’t you?” Veger posed lightly, and gave Koray a narrow eyed smile.

“Alyín knows how I work,” Koray pointed out.

“She’s not been around you for years, Mr. Aksoy,” Veger chided. “Have I taught you nothing in that time?” Koray’s silent huff told him everything. “Oh, and dear boy?”

“Yes sir?” Koray looked up from his work.

“Find Onin. She and I…have some business to discuss,” Veger mused. He set his glass down.

“But—But she’s in the Market District!” Koray protested. “That’s—”

“You’ll be fine,” Veger waved a negligent hand. “I merely said find her, didn’t I?” He walked from the room without another word, contemplating what his next move should be. Whatever Onin said would inevitably influence things as they always did—how to turn that influence into his favor merely remained.

#fic: patriciate #fic: semblance #jak and daxter #accidentally king of haven #fanfic #wip #crossposted #canon divergence

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