The dusky sky was the color of blood. Colonel O'Neill let a breath out through his lips as he tilted his head to look at the stars above him.

He was never a man of science, or a man of faith. But watching the gleaming lights – so different from the night sky he knew – he began to wonder if either philosophy could explain the mystifying aura he admitted to feel.

What did he believe?

He swiped his hat from his head, twisting the stiff fabric in his hand, and sat down gingerly on the sandy gravel ground. The warm night enveloped him, broken only by the gentlest of breezes. His eyes slipped closed, head leaning back on the rock behind him.

The Agorans believed the stars were the immortalized souls of their ancestors, the sunset a symbol of their spilled blood. His people's scientists told him they were giant balls of gas caused by nuclear fusion something-or-other. Both explanations couldn't fit.

Could they?

The crunch of approaching footsteps shattered the stillness. "Sir, we're ready to leave if you are."

Eyes lowered, he stood up slowly. For once, he was less than eager to see Major Carter standing before him.

"Colonel?"

Pursing his lips, he scrutinized her expectant expression. He suppressed myriad thoughts that bubbled up.

"Yeah," he said quietly. The blood in the sky was dissolving. "Let's go."