Okay, guys. I have a good feeling about this. I'm a little scared, because I feel like Whovians are the most brilliant people in the world and I want to remain as close to canon as I can. So, if I do something wrong, PLEASE message me and tell me about it.

I don't own DW.

PROLOUGE

Lone Survivor

The air was torn with screams and shots. Renalla cowered over the cradle, sniveling in fear as she protected her baby with her body. But nothing penetrated the ramshackle house her husband had built. Not yet, anyways. It must've been a small squabble among the gangs of the ghetto. They had become more prevalent as the war ravaged the planet, with no police to watch over them.

"Ren." Feyn's voice called and Renalla instantly looked up as he ran through the door, slamming it shut behind him quickly. Her husband's face was stained with sweat and the dust from the war, his white curls wild. There was a cut on his forehead, blood dribbling slowly down the side of his face. He came to her quickly, desperation burning in his eyes. They kissed passionately, Renalla's tears mingling in their shared love.

"Feyn." She said shakily.

"Arcadia has fallen." He didn't hesitate as his voice tripped to get out. "The Daleks are coming for the Citadel. We have to run."
"Where?" She demanded. "Where can be safe? If Arcadia has fallen, and the war is as vast as you say..." The answer was in Feyn's hopeless face. "We are doomed, aren't we?" There was a pause, where the only noise was the cries from outside, as Gallifreyans rushed to gather their meager belongings. Most would flee to the Citadel, the last stronghold of the planet. Leaving Gallifrey was not an option. Travel outside the planet had been arduous before the war for those without a TARDIS; now, it was impossible.

"The Timelords have a plan." Feyn finally said. There was an edge to his voice. Their so-called brothers had driven them to the brink of war, where they were sure to tumble into desolation.

"We are doomed," Renalla ignored him, lamenting loudly. "We are doomed, no!" The baby in the cradle began to cry, silencing her and gaining her attentions. Slipping off her ratty dress, she offered the babe her breast, which he accepted greedily. As the child began to suckle, it's parents were quiet as they marveled at him. He was only a few days old, not even old enough to be given a name, having only known the ravages of war.

Now, Renalla thought bitterly. He will know nothing more.

"We can run, Ren." Her husband insisted. Her nickname seemed hopelessly distant, tragic even. "We can find a place, in the mountains maybe. A place where the war won't find us." But this hope was false and they both knew it.

"Feyn," Renalla began.

"No." He said firmly. "No. We'll run. We'll live. We'll live, Renalla." He cupped her face delicately in his weathered hands. The war had aged her, taking the geometry of her jaw and the supple glow of her skin. Her hair, having once been a shimmering chocolate color, was dull and streaked with silver. This was her second generation, but her eyes still glowed with that beautiful spark he had come to adore. They had lived hundreds of years together, alone, but happy and safe. The curse of their people had left them barren for years, unable to afford to Loom like the Timelord families. But when the curse was lifted, they still refrained from children. It was by accident that their son was conceived, for they would never bring in a child in the horror of the Time War. Now, looking down on the innocence of his son's delicate face as he settled into sleep, Feyn felt a rush of guilt for creating the child's life.

"Come on," Feyn stood, pulling his wife to her feet. "We must get ready. Gather our things and I'll go out and get a map, we can leave tonight." Renalla's face was distant, absent, so he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. "Renalla."

"Okay." She agreed weakly. "Okay." Gently, Feyn kissed her on the forehead, her skin tasting old and dusty, before he quickly ran out of the home. Slowly, Renalla gathered their things, sparse to say the least. A few threadbare dresses, a couple shirts and pants. An old pot, a wooden spoon. They had a little money, which Renalla tucked into a secret pocket sewn into the dress she currently wore. Tucked under their bed was a small box, containing their only real treasures. Laying flat on the floor, Renalla reached under the small cot, pulling out the worn box. Opening it slowly, she smiled sadly at all the lost memories.

A glittering necklace, Feyn's mother's. An old, rust-colored leaf from the forests where they used to walk. Two tickets to a play Feyn had taken her to once. An intricate watch that had belonged to her own father, inherited from father to son, given to her because of her father's lack thereof. It was believed to have been a distant Timelord relative, though it was most likely stolen. Though scratched on the outside, the face was still clear, the hands whirling to different beats that Renalla couldn't understand. But it was dear to her father, who had been killed in the first battle of the war, so she loved it dearly.

Renalla pressed the watch to her chest, feeling it whirl against the beatings of her hearts. Not for the first time, she wished she had a TARDIS, to go to a time where the Time War was not. Where peace still had a place on Gallifrey. Where those who were not Timelords were poor, but content.

But she could not.

Renalla tied up their meager possessions, the box of treasures included, in a ratty blanket and sat by her son's cradle, waiting for Feyn. She draped her hand carelessly into the cradle, her palm loosely pressed against the head of her son.

After a while, she grew worried. Feyn had yet to return, and it was getting dark. Renalla debated leaving the house to search for him. The ghetto streets were dangerous at night, more so for a woman. But there was a weight in her hearts that told her to rise and go. And so she did, leaving her son snoozing.

Wrapping a worn shawl around her scrawny shoulders, she walked quickly along the streets, the stars watching in solemn silence. The air was foul with dust and death, making her lungs ache. Renalla rushed to the general store, only to find it close. She tried banging on the door, but no one answered. That's when she realized it:

There was no noise. No scream. No cries. Nothing. Only silence.

Renalla knew instantly that she was doomed. That Feyn was dead and so was everyone else. The fact tore at her from the inside, threatening to rip her apart. But she had to keep it together, she had to get back home. For her son. So that he would not die alone.

Renalla broke out into a run, her bare feet pounding on the dusty roads. Only a few streets away from their house, there was suddenly lights on her and she froze, stumbling to a halt.

"ALL GALLIFREYANS WILL BE EX-TERMINATED." The voice of Daleks surrounded her, screaming at her with shrill, horrid electric voices. The glow of their eye stalks made ominous will-o-wisps in the night.

"Please!" She screamed, falling to her knees. "Mercy, please!"

"YOU WILL BE EX-TERMINATED!."

"I surrender, please!" Tears coursed down Renalla's face. "Please, my child-"

A ghostly white beam shot at her. There was a course of wretched pain, and she fell on her face, no more.

In the ramshackle house, the child began to cry, cold and alone. It had no knowledge of what a Dalek was, what that meant to him. He was only hungry and wanted his mother. So, the child wailed.

Suddenly, there was a flash of golden light and something heavy and cold fell into the cradle, bouncing off the child's head, making him cry louder, with pain now. Slowly, though, soft golden tendrils weaved their way into the air, like magical dust. Pulse softly to the rhythm of his own heart, the babe was bemused into silence, cooing softly. The dust swirled together, making a humanoid form. The glow subsided and there was only a stranger, standing above the cot. The baby did not cry, just stared in awe.

A screeching sound sent his hair on end and he began crying again, shrill and piercing. A garish light flooded up the room. The stranger covered their eyes, quizzical. The blue of the Dalek eye pierced the dim light.

"ALL GALLIFREYANS WILL BE EX-TERMINATED! YOU WILL BE-"

"Scatter." The stranger said, her voice clear and strong as she held out her hand to the Dalek. There was a moment of pause, and then the Dalek's cells forgot how to be Dalek, instead opting to float in a scatter of brown dust. The child stopped crying, more out of exhaustion than submission. The stranger, her blonde hair soft in the light. Her hand stroked the cheek of the child, soft and sure.

"Don't worry." She said, her voice husky. "You'll live. And you'll find him. You'll help him." She smiled. "And you'll have to save him."

The golden light flooded the room once again, slowly and all at once. Then, there was a huge flash, blinding and exhilarating. The surrounding Daleks were vaporized by the light, leaving the town desolate. The bodies of the Gallifreyans had been gathered and were being burned, their ashes floating up into the air. The glory of the light began to fade and then there was quiet.