"I know it!" Baro stared at Furfur smugly.
The pup responded with a head tilt
"Yeah we're gonna go buy meat and bless it and then sell it at the market square" said Baro proudly.
Somewhere else...
Arrived at the front gate of the Righteous town, Gauss stood still and enjoyed the view.
"Halt! What's your business here?" roared the guard.
He waited a second. Then spoke, not loud—just enough for the moment to hear.
"You're not alright," he said. his gaze gleaming with a golden light
The guard flinched. Not from offense, but recognition.
"Just tired..." the guard muttered.
The old man smiled, not kindly, not unkindly. Just truthfully.
"No. Tired's just what we call it when we don't know where we stand anymore."
The guard looked away, toward the hills.
"I keep doing everything right," he said. "But it doesn't feel right. Not lately."
The old man nodded slowly. Like a clock ticking once.
"You're trying to be good," he said. "But being good isn't always the same as being true."
That landed. The guard's hand shifted slightly.
"Let me ask you something," the old man continued. "When was the last time you said something you really meant, even if it made things harder?"
The guard's throat worked. "Can't remember."
The old man stepped closer. Not threatening. Just near.
"Then maybe that's why you're tired. Not from the work—but from not belonging to yourself."
The wind shifted. Leaves somewhere behind the gate rustled like they agreed.
"People think peace comes from rest," the old man said. "But sometimes it comes from finally doing what you were scared to do."
The guard looked at him. Not all the way convinced—but no longer guarded, either.
"You want in?" he asked after a moment.
The old man didn't answer right away. Just looked past the gate, then back at the guard.
"I'll wait," he said. "You're not done becoming who you need to be yet. But when you are, you won't need to ask who gets through."
And with that, he sat. Cross-legged in the dust. Patient as stone.
And the guard—he didn't speak. But he didn't look away again, either.
"You know what? Most people do feel off.
It's hard not to, in a world that sells you a thousand versions of "happy" that all fall apart the second the novelty wears off. You cannot be a saint forever." Gauss then continued
"We all mess up. We all act selfish, say dumb things, or slack off when we shouldn't.
Eudaimonia doesn't vanish when you screw up. But it does get louder when you come back to what matters."
"Eudaimonia?" the guard never heard the word before.
"Eudaimonia starts when you stop trying to win in life—and start trying to live it well.
Not perfect. Not polished. But honest."
Gauss took a deep breath
"And here's where it gets a little uncomfortable:
Sometimes you feel empty because the life you're living isn't yours."
"Did you ever choose to be a guard?"
"I come from a family of guards, I only followed my parent's path"
"I see so you picked what you were told would work.
You did what was expected.
But something got lost along the way. "
"I see..." muttered the guard as he stared at the old man
"Eudaimonia doesn't care what you have. It cares how you carry it. It doesn't need you to win. It needs you to mean it. It doesn't need your life to look perfect—it just needs it to be yours. And if you get to the end of the day and your hands are a little dirty, your heart's a little tired, and there's nothing you need to lie about?
You're probably close."
"Maybe not all the way there. But close enough for eudaimonia to sit beside you. Quietly. Not asking for anything. Just there."
"How would I even start?" asked the guard curiously
"Start by noticing.
Noticing when your actions feel clean.
When your mind feels steady, not because everything went right, but because you did."
"That seems difficult..."
"Start small. Pick one thing today that matters—and do it well.
Not for applause. Not for credit. Just because it's right. That's how eudaimonia finds you."
"Thank you old man, I feel something changed in me, I'll try to have eudaimonia find me" the guard clasped his hands in a prayer and bowed.
"Don't mention it, I'll see you around." Gauss stood up from his cross legged position and went inside the Righteous town.
'How nostalgic, I used to be so young. I wonder where should I first go?"
The old man wandered to the market square. Not the busy stall, not the one that's always crowded with chatter and fast transactions. No, he went to the smaller market stalls, tucked to the side. The ones where the sellers know the names of their customers. He stopped at one of them, take in the scents of blessed fruit, the weight of the vegetables in his hands. He'd ask questions—ones that seem casual but aren't. "How's the harvest this year?"
"Stop rambling old man, do you want to buy or not?"
Gauss gasped, surprised, he asked, "Is everything alright?"
"Ever since this new guy came over, my sales have been plummeting, you see that busy stall over there?"
"What's so special about that stall ?" Gauss was intrigued
"Go see for yourself old man."
Arrived in the back, he could hear Baro shouting.
"You think that little prayer could possibly be enough to buy my valuable blessed meat!? Try again, I want to feel the passion!"
'The passion? What in the world is happening, how is he here?'