After the war’s end, we slowly rebuilt our world. Our children learned to play without watching the skies for Eurondan bombs. Now I often see O’Neill out with them, in meadows or alleys, teaching silly games, laughing, teasing. He helps the small ones understand that peace means no more fear of sudden death from above.

We were reluctant to trust him at first. Just before the end of the war, our reconnaissance crafts intercepted friendly communications between Euronda and the First World. It was then that we feared our battle was ending. The weariness of years of loss left us hardly able to carry on the fight. If the Eurondans allied with the powerful Ones of old, how could we hope to survive?

Nearly a year after the unexplained collapse of the Eurondan bunker, we unearthed our Stargate. Shortly afterward he came through, his team following behind him. They promised us food and medical supplies.

I hesitated, unwilling to trust, remembering the captured snippets of radio conversation.

Then a tiny girl, not yet old enough to understand caution, broke free from the gathered crowd and toddled toward this stranger, smiling, brown-skinned arms outstretched.

O’Neill knelt and lifted her into his arms, speaking soft words of encouragement and approval of her wobbly steps. With her arms around his neck, he looked at me across the little girl’s curly black hair.

“We will make sure your children are safe and healthy,” he stated quietly.

Our eyes met and locked, and I saw the depth of honesty in this man.

“I promise,” he said, and I believed him.

FINIS