For humans, with their poor vision, weak bodies, and pitiful magic, the night was deep and full of terrors.

It was different for dragons.

A dragon's sight was no less keen at night than during the day, and there were few forces left in the world that could threaten a dragon at the peak of their powers. Instead of being something to fear, the night was a time for contemplation, a chance to dwell on matters that were often pushed aside by the many responsibilities and duties that occupied the day.

And so Doomwing contemplated.

Not in his lair and not upon the slopes of the great mountain range that formed the heart of Regal Flame's domain. instead, he contemplated in the sky with nothing but wind and moonlight on his scales, held aloft not by the beating of his vast wings but by the strength of his telekinesis alone. There, bathed in the rich currents of ambient magic that flowed through the sky, he allowed his thoughts to drift freely, trusting that they would eventually find their way to what truly mattered.

It was another gift from Brother Tiger, one of many he had received... and one of many he had been unable to repay before his friend's demise.

"Let the mind be free," Brother Tiger had told him. "For it knows best what matters, and will find its way there in time. As a smith may damage a blade by asking too much of its steel at the forge, so too may even the keenest mind be harmed when too much weighs upon it."

As a dragon known for his wisdom and knowledge, such mental wandering had not come easily to Doomwing. His mind was powerful, and his thoughts flowed with swift, sure sharpness. In many ways, his mind was a blade, and a blade swung carelessly was prone to causing harm. Yet in time, Doomwing had come to accept that there was wisdom in his friend's words as well. No blade, however sturdy, could go without rest and maintenance. To let his mind wander was to let it rest, and to let it come naturally to what mattered was to hone its edge once more.

Indeed, there was wisdom too in the words that Mother Tree had once shared with him: those with limitations often learn how best to overcome them.

In the same way that a mage with unlimited magic might never bother to improve their efficiency, so too had Doomwing, with his peerless intellect, grown complacent, pushing his mind ever harder without allowing it time to rest.

It was a pity that it had taken the Sixth Catastrophe to realise how deadly and insidious such fatigue could be. But he had survived, and as always, he had learned from his mistakes. With little to do as he struggled to recover from his wounds, he had used his fleeting years of waking to slowly but surely master the meditation Brother Tiger had sought to teach him so long ago. He had not been ready to learn it when his friend had still been alive, but the death of another friend at his own claws had made him ready to learn.

And now he was a master of it.

The benefits were many, but chief amongst them was a renewed sense of mental vigour. The slow but steady accumulation of mental fatigue could be undone, allowing his wits and senses to operate at their peak.

There were unexpected benefits too.

The meditation techniques that Brother Tiger had sought to teach him had been designed for beast-folk. But Doomwing was a dragon, and dragons were, in some ways, far beyond beast-folk. Even now, despite allowing his thoughts to wander, he could feel his connection to the currents of magic in the sky deepen.

The earth had a pulse, as did the sea... and the sky. And he could hear that pulse. It was a steady rhythm born of the sky, the clouds, the wind, and the storm. As he fell deeper into his meditation, the pulse of the sky went from mere rhythm to something that could almost be called words. It spoke to him of the great storm to the west, a wall of black clouds higher than mountains, their insides riven with lightning and the crack-boom of thunder. It whispered too of the ice and snow to the far south, of the tearing winds that lashed the mountains and the blizzards that had yet to form. And to the east there were dry winds and searing gales. Smoke rose upward alongside the prayers of those caught in the path of the wildfires that scorched the plains. And to the north, a hurricane struggled to be born, the warm ocean waters giving rise to a swirling column of air that might, just maybe, become something more than a mere storm.

All these things and more came to Doomwing. He let those thoughts linger momentarily and then let them go.

And at last, his mind drifted to what mattered: the path ahead of him.

He knew, in some instinctive way, that even the power he currently possessed would not be enough. He had seen, albeit at a distance, the Broken God, and he had heard from Mother Tree of the power it had taken to slay that foul creature. Doomwing was no braggart, but he was no fool to underestimate his own abilities either. His knowledge and wisdom would compare favourably to any dragon, even the legends of the First Age, and he would dare to pit his mastery of magic against even Fractal Reign's father who had been the greatest magic user amongst the dragons of that bygone era.

But power... that was the problem.

In knowledge and wisdom, Doomwing did not lack. Likewise, his magic lacked neither in versatility nor in depth. And although he could not match Ashheart in pure strength of arms, he was not lacking as a warrior either. His experience, too, was outstanding, honed over Ages of struggle and toil.

And yet the Broken God was proof of how little those things mattered in the face of overwhelming power.

Against that sort of power what good were skill, courage, and experience? Only in a contest of equals did such things matter, and Doomwing was not fool enough to hope that the Last Catastrophe would be so merciful. They had been lucky, very, very lucky that the Fourth and Sixth Catastrophes had ben somewhat lacking in pure combat power. Oh, they had made up for it in other ways.

The Mad Vampire had used grand rituals and necromancy to weaponise an entire continent. Had he managed to avoid their notice even a little longer, the sum of his might, measured not only in personal strength but also zombies, rituals, followers, and more, might have grown beyond their ability to defeat. But once they had stripped those things from him, once Doomwing had managed to reduce the conflict to a battle in which the Mad Vampire was forced to face him alone, the battle, though by no means easy, had nevertheless ended in his favour.

Kagami had, in some ways, been even worse. Her mental attacks had turned people against each other, transforming what should have been a hopeless numerical disadvantage into an advantage. And though she had not possessed the same sort of intellectual brilliance as the Mad Vampire, her cunning had been far greater. Had Doomwing been less aware of the depths of her cunning, he would have perished to one of her many tricks and secret weapons. Indeed, had he been a little less fortunate, the god-metal spear would have been his end. A little slower to dodge, a little slower to react, a little less paranoid of deception... and he would have died before ever getting the chance to destroy it.

And yet that same blow, the one that had taken him a thousand years to heal from, had also given him some idea of the path he had to follow.

He had felt it as his life's blood spewed from his chest and his soul hovered on the verge of breaking: the god-fire within the spear.

God-fire... it was the essence of the gods, a power only they possessed. If god-metal was their flesh and bones, then their souls were wrought of god-fire. He had seen both many times in the First Age. After all, Dion, one of his best friends, had been a god, and there had been many other gods at the time as well. Yet searching his memories of those ancient days, Doomwing had come to realise a simple thing.

Dragons were intrinsically linked to fire. It was in their blood, in their very souls. Yet god-fire was different. He had not been able to feel it the way he was able to feel other forms of fire. As a young dragon, he had believed it was simply due to his age and power, that with time and strength, he would be able to sense it the way he could mundane and magical fire. Now, however, he knew otherwise. God-fire was qualitatively different. It differed from mundane and magical fire not in simple numerical terms but in kind.

In the same way that the blind could not see, those who were not gods could not fully perceive god-fire.

And yet, in that moment, on the border of life and death, he had felt the god-fire within the spear.

That, combined with his own understanding of Awakenings, pointed him toward the truth of the Fifth Awakening.

The Fourth Awakening destroyed the body and reforged it, removing imperfections and transcending purely mortal limits like old age. Certainly, such a thing was beneficial. But given the soul of the average Fourth-Awakening dragon, a body of that level wasn't strictly necessary to contain a soul of that strength. There was room to spare. But dragons had been created by the gods, and the gods, regardless of what mistakes they had made, had never acted without reason.

Why would a Fourth Awakening result in a body that surpassed the soul it contained to such a degree... unless the intent was to create a body capable of withstanding an even stronger soul, one that vastly surpassed the reinforced soul obtained in the Third Awakening.

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Yes.

The pieces fit.

A Fourth Awakening to create the body of a demigod... and a Fifth Awakening to create the soul of one too.

And yet, even if his conjecture was correct, it did not solve the more obvious problem: what conditions had to be met to achieve a Fifth Awakening?

Several came to mind, but he dismissed them with scarcely a thought.

Great trials and tribulations? It could not be that alone. Doomwing had personally played a key role in defeating six Catastrophes. There might not be a single person in the world whose deeds matched his own.

Wisdom and knowledge? Again, Doomwing was proud of his achievements. Few indeed could match the depths of his wisdom or the breadth of his knowledge. There might be those who better grasped a specific topic than him, but in terms of overall wisdom and knowledge, he was confident of holding his own against anyone.

Skill and experience? Apart from the long-ago days of his youth, Doomwing had never slacked in his training and practice. The cruelties of reality had shown him how dangerous that could be. If skill and experience were pre-requisites, then he should meet them easily.

Was it simply power then? Was there some threshold of power necessary to achieve a Fifth Awakening? Perhaps. If the stories Mother Tree told of the power she'd sensed from Sovereign Flame before his fall were true, then perhaps he had managed to go where no other dragon had. And even now, Doomwing was confident that no dragon had the same raw power that Sovereign Flame had possessed in the days before the Broken God. Regal Flame's father had been a marvel, crafted by the hands of the Seven Gods and blessed with every conceivable advantage they could give him. He had not been lazy either, and his courage and resolve had been famous even before his death.

And in the long years since the death of the gods, Doomwing had realised the full ramifications of their loss. He and his fellow primordial dragons were stronger than their fellow Fourth Awakening dragons, and not simply because of their age or experience. They possessed a power that was difficult to pin down or quantify, but it made them mighty in ways that younger Fourth Awakening dragons were not. Mother Tree had not spoken of it - she had died before the difference grew too obvious - but she had made several remarks before passing that had led Doomwing to a conclusion.

The presence of the gods empowered their creations, changing them on a fundamental level. Without the gods, the younger dragons had been born bereft of this change, and they were weaker for it. Doomwing and his fellow primordial had continued to grow stronger over the years, but that strength was simply quantitative. It was greater strength, but of the same kind. To achieve a Fifth Awakening was a qualitative increase in strength necessary? And... could such a thing even be achieved without the gods? After all, if the Fifth Awakening was about obtaining a demigod-like soul, then surely the gods would be involved in some fashion.

But, now, all the gods were dead.

Was the door to a Fifth Awakening thus closed forever?

No.

Doomwing refused to accept that. There had to be a way. He had also seen the crowns in the Dreaming Lands. If there was no way forward, they should not exist although it was likely that at least one of the paths forward was a treacherous one that he should avoid at all costs. Once again, however, the spear Kagami had struck him with came to mind.

God-metal and god-fire. The spear had possessed both - plenty of the former and a hint of the latter.

Doomwing could never - and would never - forger the feeling of being struck by such a weapon. If he could better understand those feelings, then perhaps he could better understand the spear, and through it the god-metal and god-fire it was made of. And from there, perhaps he could find a path to the Fifth Awakening.

With that, he founds his thoughts wandering in another direction.

What would he do after the Last Catastrophe? If they were able to win - no, they would win, somehow - how would he occupy his days?

Certainly, he would continue to study magic and other subjects. There was no reason to stop. Indeed, he might even be able to focus on less immediately useful subjects for once without the threat of a Catastrophe hanging over his head. But apart from that..? His thoughts drifted to Regal Flame and the words they had exchanged.

In truth, he had rarely given much thought to matters of the heart. As a young dragon, he had considered it, but the end of the First Age had dashed those hopes. The dear friend who might eventually have become something more had perished alongside so many others. Later, there had been another, but she too had left, and it stung even more because she had not been taken by some nightmarish evil. Instead, she had chosen to leave. Even if she returned... even if she returned, he would never be able to look at her the same way.

Because she ran.

And if there was one thing that Doomwing would never do, it was that. If Doomwing was going to die, it would be here, upon the world that had birthed him and his parents, the world that his parents had died defending, the world that he had shed tears and blood protecting. It was here that all his friends had been born, and it was here that so many of them had died. No matter the foe, no matter the impossibility of victory, Doomwing would not abandon this world. He would rather die defending it than flee and live.

Regal Flame... he held deep respect for her, and no small amount of affection either. A future with her... he could imagine it, but he needed time. Not merely time to deal with his domain but also time to better grasp his own feelings and decide how best to approach the matter. He was no coward, but Regal Flame deserved better than half-measures and timidity. If he was to agree, then it would be whole-heartedly, and he was not yet sure. But even so, mutual respect and affection were good foundations to build upon. Certainly, he had seen dragons make do with worse.

Unbidden, he found himself recalling words his parents had spoken to him long ago.

He had asked them what they wanted for him in the future. Their reply had been simple: be happy, be strong, be wealthy, and have some hatchlings.

Happy? Doomwing was... happy, he supposed, but he would be happier still when the Last Catastrophe was dead and the world was safe. Strength and wealth, he had certainly achieved. There were few who could face him in battle and hope to emerge victorious, and his wealth was considered impressive even amongst his peers. Needless to say, outside of his fellow primordial dragons, there wasn't a single dragon in the world who even came close.

As for hatchlings...

He would need to have a mate for that. Besides, what did he know of raising hatchlings? To be sure, he had occasionally watched over the hatchlings of others, but playing babysitter was very different from being a father. And though his scholarly leanings were useful in many ways, he had seen enough to understand that fatherhood was something to be experienced not simply studied in advance. If he were to have hatchlings, he would have to rely on his mate to aid him and on his friends for advice.

Ashheart could be counted on to give solid advice. His friend spoke simply and clearly and he had already raised a good son. Alas, the one who knew the most about hatchlings amongst his fellow primordial dragons was also the one most likely to be obnoxious about it. Stormbringer had raised more hatchlings than any of them, and she had helped greatly in raising her grandchildren as well. There were probably few dragons alive who could match her wisdom and experience in that regard... and yet, he knew that asking her would be troublesome.

If he was ever that desperate, he might have to approach Tyche first. The dryad was infinitely more sensible and could be counted on to rein in the worst of Stormbringer's habits. He would also have to prepare a gift - some exotic animal she'd yet to throw into that wretched Pool of Ascension. Or perhaps he could prepare a catalyst, something that could boost the Pool's power. Was such a thing possible? He'd never given it too much thought, but maybe. Then again, if he did that, she'd pester him for ever stronger catalysts.

A new sensation flickered across Doomwing's scales, and his eyes opened.

Dawn had come, and the once dark horizon had given way to shades of gold, pink, orange, and red.

He had spent the whole night deep in meditation, and yet he felt more mentally rested than he had in weeks. Slowly, he clenched and then unclenched his claws. What would Dion and Mother Tree think if they saw him now? What would his other friends, long departed, think? Would they be proud? Would they be happy for him? He shook his head. In the end, they were gone, and he remained. All he could do now was make sure their sacrifices meant something.

"You were up here all night." It was Regal Flame. She had emerged from her lair, and she glided on the wind beside him. "Are you hungry?"

"Not particularly," Doomwing replied. "But... a meal might do me good all the same."

"In that case..." Regal Flame gestured with her tail. "Whales have been sighted off the coast."

"Whales?" Doomwing nodded. "A whale would not be a bad way to start my day."

"Then let us hunt together," Regal Flame said.

"Yes..." Doomwing shook himself and then angled toward the coast. "I would like that."

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