Author's Note:

Thank you for reading everyone, and I hope you join me for my next story! It has been lovely writing this story, and lovely to have so much feedback! I hope you follow my next adventure, because I have a lot planned!

Epilogue:

Bahl, 2996 years after the Plague

The Niscorites are famous for their celebrations; the lights, the music, the laughter, the dancing. Throughout the Nu galaxy, millions upon millions of life forms would make the journey to Bahl to witness one of their incredible celebrations.

It had been nearly three thousand years since the celebrations suddenly stopped and Bahl went dark. It had been nearly three thousand years since the poison rain and the wrath of Ithanor. Some still remember the screams of their parents, their brothers and sisters, their friends, their families, as they twisted in pain. Some still remember the pain itself and how it coursed through their veins and ate away at their very souls. But the Niscorites never speak of their pain. They never speak of their sorrow when a loved one was infected. They never speak of the wrath of Ithanor.

But they do speak of her.

They speak of the one that saved them. When the rain lifted and the light of their suns hit the top of the church, they looked into the light and spoke of her. They speak of the one with the bravery to save them all.

They speak of Artima.

Three thousand years later, when the Niscorites celebrate, they celebrate the lives she gave them. The Niscorites celebrate the sacrifice she made and the bravery she showed until the very end. They watched civilizations rise and fall through time, but still they stayed strong. Bahl was strong for their Queen. And each day, they raised their voices in joyous song. They lifted their heads high and, bathed in the light of a thousand colors, they sang.

The Young Queen lives on.

The Young Queen lives on.

Sneak Peek:

"Doctor, this doesn't look like New York City." Clara commented as she stepped out of the Tardis. "It doesn't look much like the future either."

The Doctor stepped out behind her and scooped up a handful of dirt. He licked the soil before he spit it back out again, his nose wrinkled. "New Guinea, July 1st, 1937." He stated as he turned over his palm and let the dirt fall back to the ground.

"You can tell just by taste?" Clara raised one eyebrow.

The Doctor grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "I'm the Doctor, I can do anything!"

Clara folded her arms across her chest before she picked up a piece of newsprint on the ground. "Or you read it off today's newspaper."

"Technicality." The Doctor grinned and stuck his hands in his pockets, leaning over Clara's shoulder to read the newsprint. Another piece of the paper fluttered by and just as the Doctor leaned to grab it a foot stopped the paper from blowing away. The Doctor looked up at person the foot belonged to, his hand still on one corner of the paper.

His eyes followed up a worn leather bomber jacket, past sandy ginger hair, to the freckled face of a very familiar woman. She had her hands on her hips and flight goggles perched on a leather cap.

"Excuse me," She said, "I'm afraid to inform you that you are not authorized to operate in this airspace."

The Doctor stood up, his eyes scanning each bit of her face. He craned his neck, looking at her face from above and below before he moved really close to her face, then backed away again. All the while, the woman watched him with confused intrigue.

"Doctor, who is that?" Clara asked, her brow furrowed as she took a few steps closer to the Doctor. The Doctor did not turn to her, but a wide smile cracked over his face.

"Clara Oswald," He said, clapping his hands together excitedly. "Meet Amelia Earhart!"

Please join me for my next story: The Adventure Worthwhile