The land of Sanitatum is said to be filled with magic, but it is also plagued by a contagious curse that threatens humanity's survival. It is the purpose of the heir to the throne, Simba Adofo, to inherit his father's crown and find a way to vanquis...
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The first thing Hari noticed about the street market was the abundance of tomatoes. In the hand of practically every market goer was a red vegetable, and most stall owners had piles of them for sale. It was too bad Hari didn't need them.
All Hari needed was a bottle of ink and a quill, but they were nowhere to be found. Hari anxiously navigated the busy streets desperately scouting the stalls to complete his list. The sun was almost a third of the way through the sky and he was still a few items short. He began to panic, thinking about the dangers without Simba looking after him.
Despite being glad he now had the broad shouldered Prince to protect him, Hari was scared of what such a powerful man was capable of. A voice in the back of his mind warned Hari that Simba's tolerance for his affliction would only last as long as his memories stayed stowed in his mind. How far could the Prince's trust be stretched once he had outlived his utility?
Hari watched the street before him recede behind enclosing storefronts and the ever present wall that cradled the entire city. It would be so easy to run to the city gates, leaving Simba behind to free himself of the royal ploy he found himself ensnared in.
But Hari knew Simba was right. What Hari's venture into the Inner City proved was that he was callow to a world Simba knew like the back of his hand. He knew firsthand that pocket change couldn't spare him from his own ignorance. If the King was truly looking for him, he wouldn't make it very far by himself. His best bet to be free was to ride Simba's coattails complacently for the time being.
Taking a deep breath in, he refocused on his incomplete list. The Ink bottle reminded Hari of his journal he had left in the forest, undoubtedly covered in a fine layer of dust and pollen by now.
The journal's last incomplete line haunted him. An empty bottle of ink had deprived him of finishing the last thought he had left among the trees. He wondered if anyone would find his thoughts left on that bookcase, and if they would read his recollections with even a whit of interest.
Amongst the busy shops, Hari stumbled upon a rather peculiar wagon that people passed by as if it weren't there, leaving an empty gap in front of the stall. Hari slipped into this abyss, gravitating towards it to escape the dizzying hustle and bustle of the crowds that swirled around him.
"You look like a lad who likes a good story," a voice rang out to Hari. He looked up at the curious stall to see a slender man handing him a book with an inviting smile. All about his market wagon were piles of neatly stacked books, one after the other spiraling like a tiny fortress of paper. Taking the book in his hands, Hari read the cover aloud.
"'To Burn down a Library,'" Hari echoed, letting his fingers follow the looping text.
"It's one of my best," the man crowed.
"You wrote this?" Hari asked, flipping through the pages in awe.
"I wrote them all," the man crooned, letting his fingers walk the edges of the book towers around him. "I'm something of a booksmith, you see."
