The Last Temple / Season 1, Episode 8
Tides of Desperation
The water dragged at Miriam’s legs, heavy as iron chains, the cold seeping into her bones until her teeth rattled in her skull. She pressed one hand against the rough stone of the tunnel wall, the jagged edges biting into her palm, steadying herself as the current tugged harder. Ahead, Salome’s small frame wavered, her thin arms flailing for balance in the waist-deep flood, her breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps that echoed off the low ceiling. The scroll, bound tight against Miriam’s chest with strips of her torn cloak, felt like a stone itself, dragging her down with every step. The leather wrapping was still dry—she’d checked with trembling fingers just moments ago—but the water lapped higher now, licking at her ribs, and the fear of it soaking through gnawed at her worse than the hunger that had clawed her gut for days. “Keep moving, girl!” Miriam’s voice rasped, raw from the damp air, cutting through the slosh of their steps. “Don’t stop now—there’s a ledge, I see it. Just a bit further.” Salome’s head jerked back, her dark eyes wide and glassy in the faint shimmer of light that bled from some unseen crack above. “I—I can’t feel my feet. It’s too cold. Aunt, I—” Her words broke into a shudder, her small body quaking as she stumbled...