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 red eye glared down at Hari with its wide and disturbing target. The masked figure loomed over him as a vulture circles prey. Frozen in a panicked fear on the dirty street, he frantically grasped for his next move.
Should he run? No, that would be too obvious. Should he talk his way out of this? Definitely not. His eyes were wide, face sloping in fright. If he learned anything from the Inner City, it was simply that he knew absolutely nothing. All he could manage to do was sit still, waiting for the mask to haul him away.
"Sir, please move from the walkway," vexed the mask. The robed figure's voice was muffled, but still rang loud and deep from behind the plaster. "You could get hurt."
"O-oh," Hari stammered, thrusting himself off the ground, realizing the mud had soaked his clothes right through to his skin.
"You better be more careful," ordered the eye. "You never know who's out there. The curse stops for no one."
Just as quickly as they met, the eye disappeared back into the crowd of people, leaving Hari alone again to catch his breath after the dramatic encounter. Looking down at his gloves, he could see loose threads fraying from their stitches. This fabric wouldn't last forever, much like his act couldn't satisfy these streets. These cobblestones were surveilled. The eyes in each window, wall, and alley were truly watching him, analyzing his every move. He was lucky this time, but luck runs out faster than you'd hope.
This City under the Prince's nose was adorned in red targets, and the City itself was a whited sepulture; a beautiful promise carved into a luxurious gravestone.
He had to get out of here.
If he retrieved his horse now, he could reach the next town over hopefully by sun down.
Approaching the familiar stables, Hari found himself face to face to an empty and open stall; the steed gifted by Simba nowhere in sight. The apathetic stable owner sat slumped on his stool just as he did when he arrived; hat over his eyes, snoring as if the world did not concern him. This uncanny ability to sleep amidst the rowdy scene of the city was a trait the man must have developed over the years, but that didn't impress Hari enough to subdue his irritation of having his horse missing.
Hari was taught always to hide his emotions as a cursed person whose internal functions were inherently flawed, but the city's chaotic nature suddenly urged him to furrow his brows. He felt a strange heat in his chest, itching him into an angry temper. He had never felt this way before. He was never allowed to; but Nanna was gone. He could do whatever he wanted.
"Hey, get up!" Hari furiously shouted. He bent down to the street to clench dirt in his hand to throw hotly at the sleeping man's face. Hari was very tired of this sloth. Being wealthy in a land of gutter rats should have garnered an once of respect, yet this pompous oaf dared to lose his horse to the bowels of this hellish town. How pathetic.
