"I had a friend once. We ran together when I was little, and I thought we were the same. But when we grew up, we weren't. Now she's trying to tear the world apart, and I can't run fast enough to hold it together."
*
Gallifrey's twin suns hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the Citadel. The great dome shimmered in the distance, its spires catching the last of the golden light. The city's time-locked streets hummed faintly, the echo of countless temporal shifts whispering through the air. Beyond the Citadel's austere perfection, the orange fields stretched out in every direction, their tall, shimmering grass swaying gently in the breeze like a sea of fire. It was in this vibrant expanse that two young Time Lords dashed wildly, their laughter carried on the wind.
Koschei was ahead, as usual, his dark hair catching the sunlight as he ran. He'd discarded his ceremonial robes in a crumpled heap by the hillside, leaving him in a simple tunic and trousers that made him look more like a farmer's son than a student of the Academy. He glanced back briefly, grinning like he was the ruler of all creation.
"Keep up, Theta!" Koschei shouted, his voice bright and teasing. He leapt over a small hollow, landing gracefully and spinning back to look at his friend.
Theta Sigma—later to be known as the Doctor—was trailing behind, his movements less fluid and more hurried, a study in perpetual near-mishap. His robes had been left in a haphazard heap somewhere by the hillside, but even without them, his stride lacked the effortless grace of his companion. His longer limbs, slightly too lanky for his growing frame, caught repeatedly in the swaying orange grass, each tangle nearly sending him sprawling. Yet, despite his clumsy progress, there was no frustration in his expression—only a mix of determination and the slightest hint of exasperation.
He pushed himself forward, his breath coming in quick bursts, his chest heaving with the effort. Stray locks of untidy hair fell across his face, sticking to his forehead, but he didn't bother to brush them aside. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on Koschei's retreating figure, a glimmer of stubborn resolve shining in his eyes. Theta was no athlete, and he knew it. Running wasn't his strength. Thinking, solving, fixing—those were the things he excelled at. But none of that mattered here. What mattered was keeping up.
"I'm coming! Wait for me!" he called out, his voice breaking slightly as he tripped over a clump of grass, barely catching himself before he hit the ground. The words were part plea, part protest, but even as he stumbled, there was a wide grin spreading across his face.
Koschei didn't wait. He never did. Patience wasn't his strength, and waiting meant conceding control—something he loathed more than anything. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel, the movement quick and decisive, and charged further into the field. The tall, orange grass parted for him like waves, brushing against his legs and catching on the edges of his tunic. His laughter rang out, bright and defiant, a challenge to the world and to Theta alike.
He was a blur of energy, a whirlwind of motion that seemed out of place in Gallifrey's orderly landscape. The pristine symmetry of the fields and the distant perfection of the Citadel stood in stark contrast to the wild, chaotic boy weaving through the grass. There was a freedom in the way he moved, a reckless confidence that he belonged to no one—not the Academy, not the High Council, and certainly not the carefully laid plans of his elders.
He didn't look back, but he didn't have to. He knew Theta was there, stumbling and grumbling but always following. That was the thing about Theta: no matter how far Koschei ran, he always expected his friend to be behind him, trailing just close enough to catch up—but never quite ahead. That expectation, more than anything, was why Koschei kept running. For all his bluster, he needed Theta to follow. Without him, the chase would lose its meaning.
That morning had been spent in careful evasion. They'd slipped away from their tutors just as the lecture on temporal mechanics was about to begin, ducking out of the Academy halls with the ease of long practice. Theta had hesitated, as he always did, murmuring something about responsibilities and the inevitable trouble they'd face when caught. But Koschei had brushed it off with a dismissive wave, his usual grin firmly in place.
"We'll have centuries to study boring things," Koschei had said, his eyes sparkling with that particular brand of mischief that made it impossible to say no. He'd spoken with the casual authority of someone who didn't just believe he was right but knew it, his grin daring Theta to argue. And, as always, Theta hadn't been able to. Koschei's logic was reckless, but it was also irresistible. Besides, deep down, Theta had agreed with him. The prospect of hours spent dissecting temporal equations in the shadowy halls of the Academy paled in comparison to the lure of a day like this.
Now, as they tore through the fields, Theta had to admit—perhaps begrudgingly, perhaps with a touch of wonder—that Koschei's version of "important" was far from the worst idea he'd ever had. The air was warm and fragrant, filled with the earthy sweetness of grass and the faint metallic tang of the nearby mountains. It was the kind of day that seemed to stretch endlessly, as though time itself had slowed to allow them this moment.
"There!" Koschei skidded to a halt, nearly tripping over himself as he pointed excitedly at a tangled patch of vines. The dark green stems were dotted with tiny purple flowers, and among them hung clusters of bright blue berries, their skins glistening in the fading light. "I told you they were here!"
Theta finally caught up, collapsing onto the ground beside him with a huff. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. "You were guessing," he accused, brushing his untamed hair out of his face.
Koschei plucked a berry from the vine with theatrical nonchalance, popping it into his mouth. "I was right," he said around a mouthful of juice, his grin as wide as ever. "That's what matters."
Theta frowned, eyeing the berries suspiciously. "What if they're the wrong kind?" he asked, leaning closer to inspect them. "... What if we end up in the infirmary again?"
"Then it'll be an adventure," Koschei replied with a shrug, his lips now stained a vivid blue. He stretched out on the ground, completely unconcerned, and stared up at the sky.
Theta sighed, his skepticism warring with curiosity. Finally, he reached out and picked a berry, inspecting it for a moment before taking a tentative bite. The tart-sweet flavor burst across his tongue, surprising him with its intensity. He couldn't help but smile a bit.
"Told you," Koschei said smugly, plucking another berry.
For a while, they ate in companionable silence, the world around them fading into the background. The only sounds were the rustling of the grass in the breeze and the occasional satisfied hum from Koschei as he plucked another berry and bit into it with relish. The bright blue juice stained their fingers, sticky and sweet, and left streaks on their cheeks and chins where they had wiped their mouths absentmindedly. The tangy flavor of berries lingered on their tongues, a taste so vivid and wild it seemed almost impossible that it had grown here, in the carefully cultivated fields of Gallifrey.
The pile of berries dwindled quickly, the vine soon stripped bare of its bounty. Koschei, always the more restless of the two, was the first to move. He let out a contented sigh and flopped onto his back with a dramatic flourish, stretching out in the grass as though claiming the field as his throne. Folding his arms behind his head, he gazed upward at the vast expanse of sky, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.
Theta hesitated, his hands still resting in his lap, sticky with juice. He looked at the vine, now empty, then at Koschei, who seemed utterly at ease. There was a carefree defiance in the way Koschei sprawled out, a challenge to anyone who might try to interrupt their stolen moment of freedom. Theta glanced at the horizon, where the suns were beginning their slow descent, and then back to his friend. After a moment, he gave in, leaning back and stretching out beside him. The grass was softer than he'd expected, bending easily under his weight, and as he turned his gaze skyward, he felt the tension in his body begin to fade.
Above them, the sky was a masterpiece, its oranges and golds swirling together like molten fire, the suns hanging low and heavy on the horizon. The swirling clouds, ever-shifting and alive, caught the fading sunlight, their edges glowing as though they had been set aflame. It was a sight they had seen countless times before—Gallifrey's skies were legendary, after all—but in this moment, it felt different. More vivid. More alive.
The first stars were beginning to emerge, faint pinpricks of light against the deepening blue. They shimmered hesitantly at first, like timid creatures venturing out after a storm, but soon they grew bolder, their light sharpening as the suns dipped lower. The constellations they had studied in the Academy that were so neatly cataloged in Gallifreyan star charts began to take shape above them, but out here, lying in the grass, they felt less like data points and more like promises. Infinite, unknowable, and waiting to be explored.
"Theta... Do you think we'll ever leave Gallifrey?" Koschei asked all of a sudden, his voice becoming quieter than usual.
Theta turned his head, studying his friend's profile. Koschei's usual bravado was absent, replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. "Of course we will," Theta said after a moment, his tone resolute. "One day, we'll have TARDISes of our own. We'll see the stars, all of them."
Koschei's brow furrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. "But what if we don't?" he pressed. "What if we're stuck here forever, like the High Council? Trapped in a routine of endless debates and meaningless rituals."
"That won't happen," Theta said firmly. "We're not like them."
For a long moment, Koschei said nothing. Then he turned his head, meeting Theta's gaze. "Promise me, then. Promise we'll leave together. See everything. Do everything."
Theta hesitated, the weight of the promise settling over him. Finally, he nodded. "I promise."
Koschei's expression softened, his usual smirk returning. "Good," he said lightly, though his voice was laced with relief. "Because you're hopeless without me."
Theta laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "And you're unbearable without me. We balance each other out."
Koschei rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the stars, his smirk fading into a thoughtful smile.
The boys lay side by side in the tall grass, their silhouettes framed by the glowing horizon. They didn't know then that time would pull them apart, that the stars they dreamed of would one day be battlegrounds. But they knew the bond they shared was something special, something unspoken and strong, as if the entire universe itself had aligned for them to conquer together.
For now, though, all that mattered was the promise they had made—to never stop exploring, to never stop dreaming, to never let the sky above them close. The universe felt like it was waiting for them, and in that moment, nothing seemed impossible.