Galifrey burns. Burns. It burns with the flame of a thousand screams, death cries and moans of the wounded. Dalek ships burn in the sky, the ground burns underneath, and the once beautiful and mighty citadel shatters under the pressure. And he walks. The Doctor, once so admired and feared, just a small piece of a much larger puzzle, goes back to his TARDIS. He can do nothing. He is saddened. He has just regenerated, and it burns for him. Everything. He can hear her final words, echoing in his ears; Grandfather! Leave us! Please! Go, go- And the sound of shattering, of collapsing. He turns the dials on his ship, and can only observe as the planet collapses, as so many fleets and warriors and friends and family implode and die. He turns away. He must do. He has to carry on. After all, as he once said to himself, there's such an awful lot of running to do.