The great cities were in ruins. Sunlight streamed upon rubble and corpses. Glass was scattered throughout, many shards stained with blood. The howls of survivors could all around and the stench of death hung morosely. Runes and scrolls and art beyond compare were lost. The world of knowledge was destroyed and its pride forgotten. Beyond the shattered dome of the city, gusts of wind tore through trees of tarnished silver leaves. Crimson grass swayed as if the fields were on fire. The ground shook. Snow capped mountains climbed into the simmering orange sky, but the plumes of black smoke rose higher. The place of peace and solace was gone. In that moment when others would claim they stood, it was clear that the spirit of this world and its people was long dead. It had fallen long ago. All that remained was the shadow and the silence. The shining planet of the seventh system had dulled. The entire world was collapsing in on itself. Burning. Falling. Now Angels would weep and Sontarians would fight, but Time Lords could no longer do either. Because in that moment, of hatred, sorrow, malice, love, grief, confusion, fear, loss, death, and hope, the world stopped. Stopped turning. Stopped moving. Stopped warring. Stopped falling. Gallifrey Falls No More