The cool air of the garden was a sharp contrast to the sterile atmosphere of the prison room Elias had just left. He took a deep breath, feeling the tension in his chest ease as he stepped into the shade of a tree. The time travel had shifted him once again, this time to a quiet, peaceful setting. The sounds of birds chirping and the rustle of leaves above him were calming, a far cry from the dark conversation he’d just had with Ted Bundy.

Aristotle sat at a stone bench, a scroll in one hand, his robes flowing loosely around him. His face was weathered, his expression thoughtful as he turned his gaze toward Elias.

“You look troubled,” Aristotle said in his calm, deliberate manner, his voice like the slow and steady rhythm of the universe itself. “I take it you’ve been wrestling with matters of the mind, perhaps even the soul?”

Elias let out a bitter laugh as he took a seat beside him. “You could say that. I’ve had... conversations with some rather unusual people. Death’s been on my mind a lot lately.”

Aristotle raised an eyebrow, setting the scroll down beside him. “Ah, death. The end of life, and yet, the beginning of understanding. I take it you’ve come to see it as a mystery. But what if I told you that death, in and of itself, is neither something to fear nor to run from? What if it is simply... a part of nature?”

Elias blinked, surprised at the sudden shift in tone. “A part of nature? You’re not going to tell me you think death’s a good thing, are you? I’ve just had a conversation with a killer who... well, he finds death to be an escape.”

Aristotle chuckled softly, his gaze shifting to the horizon. “Ah, yes. I see. You speak of a man who took life, seeing in it a release from his own pain. A selfish release, I’d argue. He fails to recognize that death itself is not a means of escape, but rather a conclusion. It is natural, necessary, and indeed, even beneficial to life.”

Elias frowned, his frustration from earlier bubbling to the surface again. “Beneficial? How the hell is death beneficial? How can it be something good when it leaves nothing but emptiness behind?”

Aristotle nodded as though expecting this reaction. He took a deep breath, his eyes thoughtful as he began to speak again. “I understand your confusion, Elias. You are looking at death through the lens of personal loss, of grief. I do not wish to belittle that pain. But you see, death is not the absence of life. It is the complement to life. Without death, life itself loses its meaning. The contrast between life and death gives our days purpose. It is what drives us to seek knowledge, to create, to love, and to live fully.”

Elias’s brow furrowed. “So you’re saying death... it gives us meaning? By reminding us of our fragility?”

“Yes,” Aristotle said simply, his voice calm but powerful. “That is one aspect of it. Death makes us value our time here. It is what drives us to live with virtue, to leave behind something of value, to learn and grow. When we acknowledge the inevitability of death, we are more likely to make the most of our lives. Without that end, we might become complacent. We might forget what is truly important.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Elias sighed, leaning back on the bench. “I don’t know, Aristotle. I’m not sure if that helps. My wife... she’s gone. I don’t feel like my life has more meaning because of her death. If anything, it just feels... pointless. Like everything I’m doing is for nothing. All the questions I’ve been asking—trying to find answers—seem empty now.”

Aristotle’s gaze softened, his eyes taking on a look of deep understanding. “Ah, I see. You’ve been searching for meaning, not in life, but in death. But meaning cannot always be found in tragedy, Elias. Sometimes it is found in the everyday moments, in the relationships we form, and in the actions we take to better ourselves and the world around us.”

Elias’s eyes darted to the ground. He was tired—tired of the endless searching, tired of trying to make sense of a world that felt broken. His grief had taken over, and now, even in this peaceful place, he couldn’t escape it.

“I understand what you’re saying,” Elias replied, his voice quieter. “But it’s hard to find peace in something like this. In a world that’s so... messed up. And even harder when you lose someone you loved.”

Aristotle leaned forward, his expression more serious now. “Grief is part of the human condition, Elias. It is a natural response to loss. But it is also an opportunity. A chance to reflect on the life that was, to cherish the moments shared, and to seek wisdom from the pain. The answer is not in escaping from death or running from it, but in accepting it as part of the greater whole. Life cannot exist without death, and death cannot exist without life. It is the eternal cycle.”

Elias looked up at him, his frustration ebbing slightly, replaced by a slow, hesitant curiosity. “And you think that’s the answer? To accept death and let it guide you?”

Aristotle nodded slowly. “Yes. Acceptance does not mean giving up, Elias. It means embracing the reality of existence. To live fully, we must acknowledge that all things come to an end. And it is through that recognition that we are freed to live more meaningfully. Not in the fear of death, but in the understanding that it is not the end—it is simply the closing of one chapter.”

Elias was silent for a long time, staring out at the horizon. The wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the soft scent of blooming flowers. It wasn’t an answer Elias had wanted, but it was one that settled in his mind, forcing him to look at death from an entirely different perspective.

After a long silence, Elias spoke, his voice quieter now. “I don’t know if I’ll ever fully understand it. But I think... I think I’m starting to see what you mean. Maybe... maybe death is just part of the cycle. Part of life itself. And maybe that means... I don’t have to keep searching for answers. Maybe the answers are in how I live, not just how I die.”

Aristotle smiled, his eyes warm with understanding. “Precisely. To live well is to live in harmony with all things—life and death alike. When you accept both, you free yourself from the weight of seeking meaning in the wrong places.”

Elias nodded, his mind still whirling, but with a sense of peace beginning to settle in his chest. He wasn’t sure he had all the answers, or that he ever would. But he was starting to understand that death wasn’t an enemy to be feared or something to escape. It was simply a part of the flow of life—a flow that could teach him how to live better, even in the face of grief.

As the sun began to set behind the trees, Elias stood, looking at Aristotle one last time. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For helping me see it differently. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.”

Aristotle gave him a small, knowing smile. “Hope, Elias, is something you can always find in the midst of life’s greatest challenges. You only need to open your eyes to see it.”