The Last Temple / Season 1, Episode 7
Blade's Edge Descent
The water sucked at Miriam’s knees, cold as a blade’s edge, dragging at her tattered tunic as she pushed forward through the black pool. Her chest burned from the weight of the scroll bound tight against her ribs, the leather cord biting into her skin with every step. Ahead, Salome’s slight frame trembled, her hands groping along the slick stone wall for balance, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps that echoed off the tunnel’s low ceiling. The air stank of damp rot and the faint metallic tang of fear. Behind them, the sound of Roman boots—deliberate, heavy, closer than they’d been moments ago—scraped against the tunnel floor, a predator’s rhythm that made Miriam’s pulse hammer in her throat. “Keep moving,” she hissed, her voice barely above the slosh of water, though she knew Salome couldn’t hear the tremor beneath her words. Her hand found the girl’s shoulder, pushing her forward, though her own legs ached to buckle under the strain. The pool deepened here, the icy grip climbing to her thighs, and she felt the scroll shift slightly against her chest, a reminder of the burden she couldn’t shed. If the water reached higher—if it soaked through the oiled cloth protecting the parchment—everything Elazar had entrusted to her would be lost. Not just ink and hide, but something older,...