Silent mountains, topped with white.

Silent mountains, topped with white.

Snowfall, slow and gentle.

Snowfall, slow, gentle, simple.

Lights glinting off of the glass dome, sunshine, exotic birds singing.

Lights glinting in the darkness, cries of wild beasts...

Cold, sterile corridors, dusty rooms, dusty people.

Cold, sterile corridors, dusty rooms, dusty people.

A figure of Eight, embossed, his culture, his home.

An embossed figure of Eight, his culture, his birthright, his home.

Dusty ground, the old men surrounding him, taking him to the place where he will be made, or broken... and he fears both - to be made like that, or to be broken into nothing.

Dark, primal torches, the ground, dirt beneath his feet, the sacred place before him, his destiny about to be forged, and he embraces it fully - whatever it may be.

And he stares into time...

And he stares into time...

Light, so bright and beautiful. So much to it, so that standing here, in the dust, with the dusty men, destined to see the same dusty sights for a millennium, just isn't enough...

Darkness, screaming, so much hatred and death, and deep in his mind the drumbeats play, tapping out a rhythm to the screams and the crying and he realises then that he is destined to follow those drumbeats anywhere, to mastery, to war, to pain, and agony, to murder, bloodshed...

And then the dome is shattered.

And then the dome is shattered.

So much death, burning away the shell of his former life, so that he has nothing left but the journey, the battle against evil...

So much fear, more then he has ever felt, more than he thought he could feel. He runs, he hides, he avoids what he knows is coming for him, darkness inescapable...

And then the Doctor wakes up.

And then the Master wakes up.