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The pain increases, and Arthur groans and whines as the creature talks about how they are whole now. How they are one.
“No,” Arthur manages. “We are not.” He reaches for his bag—for the flute that it contains.
And a tendril, ice-cold and stronger than it should be, wraps around his wrist.
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In the mines, Arthur’s plan goes awry, and the creature that lurks in their depths shows him what it is like to be made truly whole.
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KD