Episode 3 – Betrayal within Luck

The scene opens where Episode 2 ended. A lively pub, its atmosphere filled with the raucous laughter of merry patrons, drunkenly gossiping about Darin and the Black Cat Porter. It’s nighttime. The glow of lantern light flickers against wet windowpanes as rain falls steadily outside.

Darin sits at a small corner table, drink in hand, his hood low as he tries to blend into the crowd.

The voices of nearby drunkards cut through the chatter:

Drunkard #1: “Did you see that solo adventurer with the Black Cat? It’ll only be a matter of time before he falls like the rest of ’em!”

Laughter erupts at the remark.

Drunkard #2: “Surprised the guild still rents her out… must be hopin’ he’s the next body.”

Another voice chimes in, slurred and bitter:

Drunkard #3: “Dead man walkin’, that one. Everyone near her dies.”

The laughter grows louder, like knives twisting in Darin’s gut. He lowers his head further, but the gesture only draws more attention.

A single voice pierces the noise:

Drunkard #4 (loudly): “Oi… ain’t dat ‘im?!”

The pub falls silent.
All eyes turn toward Darin.
The sudden stillness is suffocating, the weight of their stares stabbing into him like hundreds of needles.

Darin takes a slow breath, forcing himself to stand. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone.

He leaves half his brew untouched on the table, tosses a few coins down to cover his tab, and strides toward the exit.

As he rounds the corner outside, the laughter erupts once more behind him — cruel and mocking, their gossip resuming, now louder than ever.

Darin (clenching his fists): “They don’t know her… they don’t see her for who she is.”

He returns to the small inn room.
The porter is standing at the foot of the bed, clasping her hands tightly over her faded crest, her face etched with worry.

Porter (softly): “I was afraid… I woke up, and you weren’t here. I didn’t know what happened.”

Guilt washes over Darin, his expression softening.

Darin: “I went next door for a drink.
It’s okay though — I’m not going out again unless I tell you.”
He forces a reassuring smile.
“Now, get some sleep. We’ve got work to do tomorrow. We’ll head to the dungeons outside of town, bright and early.”

She nods lightly, her worry easing.

Curiously, she asks,

Porter: “Where are you sleeping?”

Darin shrugs with a quiet chuckle.

Darin: “Honestly? I was planning on taking the floor next to you.
I’m used to dozing off in the dungeon, so this wouldn’t be much different.”

Her tone suddenly sharpens, though it fades into a whisper.

Porter: “No! Darin needs better sleep than me… you’re doing too much for me.
If you sleep on the floor, I will too.”

Darin sighs, rubbing his temple.

Darin: “We can’t have that. Fine, you win.”

He tilts his head curiously.

Darin: “I’m kind of curious, though… where’s this change in attitude coming from?”

She doesn’t answer. Darin wonders if it’s because guild porters often slept together in a shared shed behind the guildhall, but he keeps his speculation to himself.

As Darin lays down in the bed, she quickly climbs in beside him.
She clutches his arm tightly, pressing her forehead into his shoulder.
Within moments, she’s fast asleep, breathing softly.

Darin stares at the ceiling, unsure of the new situation.
He exhales deeply, resigned, and succumbs to sleep shortly after.

Intro ~ L.E.I. [Delete]

The morning sun breaks through scattered clouds as the scene opens with Darin and the porter weaving through the bustling market district. Merchants call out their wares, children dart between stalls, and the air smells of spices and fresh bread.

Darin is helping the porter adjust a new, sturdy backpack.
She beams with pride, twirling slightly to show it off, her smile infectious.

A faint golden flicker flashes around Darin — his aura sparking as a dice roll appears in the bottom right corner: 16.

The two are then seen leaving different shops, steadily stocking up on supplies for their dungeon trip.

As they pass by Paul’s shop, the portly shopkeeper bursts out the front door, waving frantically.

Paul: “Darin! Darin! Come back!”
His face lights up with excitement.
“The boy finished her outfit overnight! I told him about the coin you left for him, and he stayed up all night piecing it together!
I think you’ve really inspired the lad!”

Darin glances at the porter, grinning.

Darin: “Wanna get dressed for adventuring?”

She nods eagerly, excitement radiating off her.

Paul (clapping twice): “Come now! Take the young miss in the back and let her try on your work!”

The porter boy steps forward with a proud smile and gently takes her wrist.

Boy: “Let’s go!”

He drags her toward the back room, both laughing like children as they disappear behind a curtain.

Moments later, her delighted voice calls out from behind the curtain:

Porter (excitedly): “This feels so good!
Darin! Look at me!”

She bursts through the curtain, leaping into view with boundless joy.

The new outfit is far superior to the rags she once wore.

Sturdy leather panels stitched carefully to protect her vitals.

Soft yellow fabric accented with light brown pads, perfectly fitted.

New boots purchased with the coin Darin provided.

She spins in place, showing off every detail, her face glowing with happiness.

Overcome with gratitude, she rushes forward.

Porter: “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

She throws her arms around the porter boy’s neck, hugging him tightly.
Tears well in the boy’s eyes as he hugs her back.

Boy: “I’m just glad you like it.”

Paul steps forward, his chest puffed out with pride.

Paul: “Your reward for a job well done.”

He hands the boy a gold coin, his voice warm.

Paul: “Hold onto this and store it somewhere safe.
We’ll close shop early today and head to the market to celebrate.”

The boy doesn’t ask for permission — he simply leaps into Paul’s arms, hugging him tightly.

Darin watches with a soft smile, moved by the exchange.

Paul and Darin shake hands firmly, sealing their gratitude.
Both porters bow respectfully to one another’s party before they part ways.

A montage follows of Darin and the porter visiting various shops, gathering supplies, filling packs, and preparing for their journey.

As they finish their errands, Darin’s stomach growls loudly.

Darin: “Let’s get something to eat for the road. I’m kind of starving.”

She giggles, nodding with enthusiasm.

Porter: “Me too!”

The scene ends with them stopping at a street vendor, each grabbing a pair of steaming meat barbs, the perfect meal for the road ahead.

The scene opens with a sharp battle cry echoing through the cavern. A goblin screeches, then is suddenly split in two, collapsing to the ground. The camera pans across several other defeated monsters lying motionless in the background.

Darin flicks his blade downward, sending goblin blood spattering onto the stone floor.
He exhales steadily, scanning their surroundings.

Behind him, the porter stands proudly.

A buckler strapped to her left arm.

Fitted gloves snug on her hands.

Her new backpack secured tightly on her shoulders.

And her familiar yellow ribbon tied neatly in her hair.

She looks nothing like the ragged, hopeless figure she once was.
Now, she resembles a full-fledged adventurer.

She hurries forward, smiling brightly as she begins recovering loot.

The camera follows her hands as she scoops up:

Scraps of cloth,

Shiny coins,

And even rusted weapons scavenged from the fallen monsters.

Darin watches with a raised eyebrow.
These monsters weren’t just wandering aimlessly — they were using weapons now.
Weapons that clearly once belonged to adventurers.

Darin (thinking to himself):
“Monsters… looting people. What a twisted world.”

As Darin stands guard, he hears a soft sound — her humming.
Sweet. Whimsical. Almost familiar.

He listens closely, trying to place the tune, but it dances just out of reach in his memory.

Finally, he breaks the silence.

Darin: “Say… have you ever used magic before? Or been taught any?”

She pauses her work, glancing back at him thoughtfully before replying.

Porter: “Well, to be honest…
sometimes when we sat in the shed at night, someone would toss in a book for us to read.
Most were just stories… but a few were real, educational ones.”
She gently severs a bat’s wing from its carcass as she speaks, her tone even.
“I read a couple about magic, but we couldn’t let the guards see us practicing.
Otherwise, we’d be executed — or so they threatened us.”

Her voice dips slightly, the memory painful.

Porter: “One porter got caught trying to cast fire magic.
The light gave him away.
We… never saw him again.”

She falls quiet for a moment, then continues, her tone steady but cold.

Porter:
“I always wanted to help, so I practiced healing instead.
That’s why I’m still alive, even after everything — I could heal my wounds.
Some injuries took longer, but the more I practiced, the better I got.”
Her hands pause as she remembers.
“When other porters came back injured, I’d wait until night to treat them.
If I’d been caught… well, I was just lucky enough not to be.”

The weight of her words lingers. Her so-called “luck” clearly comes at a heavy price.

She finishes collecting the loot, slings the bag over her shoulders, and tightens the straps.

Darin, sensing her unease, tries to lift her spirits.

Darin: “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.
Did you only read about healing magic, or any offensive spells too?”

She shakes her head slightly.

Porter: “I imagined learning something to protect myself…
but helping people was a lot less suspicious than trying to hurt someone.”
She glances up at him, almost timidly.
“Maybe… you could help me?”

Darin chuckles, shaking his head.

Darin: “I wouldn’t be much help.
I’m not proficient in magic at all.”
His tone grows serious.
“But that doesn’t mean we couldn’t find a teacher.
The real challenge would be finding someone willing to teach a statless.”

They continue deeper into the dungeon as they talk.

The porter pulls a torch from her pack and begins to light it.
Darin immediately stops her, his voice a strained whisper.

Darin: “Don’t.
That’ll give away our position.
There’s enough light down here — if you focus, your eyes will adjust.”

She hesitates, then nods, snuffing the torch and returning it to her pack.

The dungeon feels… different now.

Less grungy,

Less foreboding,

Almost like it’s becoming familiar to her.

She’s learning new tricks, new tactics, and for the first time, adventuring feels exciting.

But her mind begins to wander.
Memories of years spent as a neglected porter surface, along with the guilt she carries for the fates of adventurers she once served.

Quick cutaway:
A 20-sided dice appears on screen.

Cracks splinter further across its black surface.

A brilliant golden light seeps through the fractures, as though trying to burst free.

Later, Darin examines their haul with a satisfied grin.

Darin: “I think we’ve got enough to cover rent for a few more days.”
He glances back at her with a warm smile.
“We got way more done together than I could’ve managed alone.
You’re simply amazing.”

Her face lights up, beaming with joy.
To feel useful, to be more than a burden — it’s a brand new sensation for her, and it fills her chest with warmth.

As they turn toward the dungeon exit, a cold chill washes over Darin.

The camera pans to the porter’s silhouette —
Her dark aura flickers, faint but menacing.

At the bottom left of the screen, a black-and-gold cracked 20-sided dice rolls into view.
It slows… then lands on: 19

The screen abruptly cuts to black.

The next scene opens as they emerge from the dungeon into the open air.

It’s pouring rain, the storm raging around them.

Darin: “We need to hurry and get out of this weather.”
He kneels down, motioning for her to climb on.
“Here, jump on my back.”

Without hesitation, she nods and climbs onto him.
She takes the pack off her shoulders and tries to shield them both from the rain.

The two scurry along the side of the road, rain pelting down as they rush back toward town, their silhouettes blurred by the storm.

The duo approaches the town gates, their figures half-hidden beneath the sheets of falling rain. The sky is a dull gray, the air heavy with moisture and tension. Cooler winds whip past them, carrying with it an unmistakable sense of unease.

There is only one guard stationed at the gate this time — not the same as the two they had encountered before.
He stands stiffly, his gaze fixed on them as they draw near.

The porter hops off Darin’s back, fumbling through the sack to retrieve their credentials.
As she scrambles, the guard’s eyes flick from her to Darin — his stare sharp and calculating, almost like he’s studying every detail of Darin’s appearance.

She hands over the paperwork.
The guard takes it slowly, examining it, then exhales through his nose.

Guard: “...Thought so.”

Without another word, he turns and walks away toward his quarters, leaving Darin and the porter exchanging puzzled glances.
The heavy wooden door slams shut, echoing in the storm.

Darin’s brows knit together in confusion, his instincts stirring uneasily.
A faint golden aura flickers briefly around his body, barely visible in the dim light.

At the bottom right of the screen, a blood-stained golden dice tumbles slowly before stopping on: 15

The guard reappears a moment later, carrying two dark brown cloaks folded neatly over one arm.
He hands the paperwork back to the porter and leans in, his voice low and urgent.

Guard (whispering): “Keep your heads down… this is a warning.”

He presses the cloaks into her arms, his expression grim.
No explanation, no further words.

Without hesitation, they don the cloaks, pulling the hoods low over their faces.
As they step through the gates, a gnawing sense of dread creeps up their spines.

The streets are eerily quiet.
Despite the rain, it’s too empty — a stark contrast to the usual bustle of town life.
Even on stormy days, there are typically vendors shouting, children playing, carts rattling down the cobblestones.
Now? Only the sound of rainfall and distant shutters slamming shut.

They make their way through the market district, carefully avoiding drawing attention.
At a few scattered stalls, they sell off the loot gathered from the dungeon — scraps of monster hide, salvaged weapons, and various trinkets.

A few silver coins here, a couple there.
By the end of their rounds, they’ve scraped together enough to exchange for a few gold coins — enough to cover another week’s expenses, including food.

Darin’s shoulders ease slightly with relief, but the unease never fully leaves his expression.

Darin: “Let’s stop by Paul’s. I want to thank him — and that porter boy — for all their help.”

The porter nods, clutching the coins tightly as they walk through the rain.

They push open the door to Paul’s workshop, the familiar warm smell of leather and wood washing over them.
Both lower their hoods, water dripping onto the floor.

Darin (calling out): “Hello! Paul?”

From the back room, Paul rushes forward, visibly relieved.

Paul: “Oh thank the gods, you’re both okay!”

Darin grins, brushing water from his hair.

Darin: “Of course we are! The dungeon isn’t that awful.”

Paul blinks, then frowns slightly.

Paul: “Wait… you’ve been gone all day?”

Darin (puzzled): “Yeah, that’s right. Why?”

Paul glances around nervously before striding to the window and closing the blinds.

Paul (low voice):
“Some officials came by.
They were looking for someone with the Black Cat.”
His eyes flick toward the porter briefly.
“I knew they meant you, but I… I pretended I didn’t know anything.
They seemed to believe me — and left.”

Darin freezes.
His thoughts spiral into chaos, his expression shifting to shock.

Darin (internal):
Officials? Looking for us?
Is it the guild? The guards? Someone higher up?
Are they after me… her… or both of us?

His mind races with possibilities, none of them good.

Darin (forcing a smile):
“We… wanted to thank you personally.
She loves her dress, and her outfit held up incredibly well.”

He extends a hand, but Paul grabs both of Darin’s shoulders, his expression deadly serious.

Paul:
“Just be safe.
Make sure she stays safe too.”
His grip tightens slightly.
“I don’t know what they wanted, but… I have a bad feeling about all this.”

Darin nods solemnly, his unease deepening.

As they leave Paul’s shop and continue toward their inn, they pass by the local pub.
That’s when the ominous feeling they’ve been carrying finally reveals its true face.

Both of them freeze, hearts pounding.

Darin’s jaw drops open, his thoughts racing wildly.

The camera pans slowly to reveal posters plastered across the outer walls of the pub.
The drawings are crude — almost amateurish — yet still recognizable enough to inspire fear.

Poster #1

WANTED: UNKNOWN
(A rough, harsh sketch of Darin’s face)
Charges: Theft and Extortion
Reward: Dead or Alive

Poster #2

WANTED: “BLACK CAT”
(A slightly better drawing of the porter — her former, ragged appearance as a guild porter)
Statless: Property of the Guild
Reward: Alive

They stand there, stunned, staring in disbelief.

Darin rips one of the posters off the wall with a sharp tug, the parchment crumpling in his fist.

Darin (internal):
Is this a joke?
Some twisted prank gone too far?

His stomach twists with unease.
The timing, the secrecy, the guard’s warning — none of it adds up.

Darin turns to her, his voice urgent but controlled.

Darin:
“Cover your mark.
Not obviously — make it look natural.”

She nods quickly, pulling off her gloves.
Sliding them beneath her garment, she positions them between her breasts to fake conceal the fading mark where the yellow gem once was.
The lines branching from it have also begun to fade, and she does her best to hide those too, adjusting her clothes carefully so it doesn’t look like she’s hiding anything at all.

They exchange a final glance, the weight of their situation sinking in fully.
There’s no denying it now — they are being hunted.

The storm outside intensifies, as if mirroring the rising storm within their lives.

The scene opens with muddy boots scraping against the cobblestone, Darin and the porter both hastily trying to wipe the grime from their soles before entering the inn.
Their movements are quick and tense, hands trembling slightly as they brush away dirt. The sound of rain hammers against the wooden awning overhead.

With one final swipe, they push open the doorway and step inside.

Both are dripping wet, cloaks soaked through, water pooling on the inn’s wooden floorboards.
The warm glow of lanterns illuminates them, but the feeling of safety is an illusion. Neither slows their pace, both moving swiftly and silently through the main hall, past curious glances from the few lingering patrons.

Their steps quicken as they reach their room, closing the door behind them with a quiet click.

Inside, Darin leans back against the door, his breath coming unevenly.
The room is quiet, almost suffocatingly so.

They were inside… but they didn’t feel safe.

How many people had seen them enter this inn yesterday?
How many eyes had watched them at the bathhouse when he’d lost control and yelled out?

Every memory plays back in his head, each one a nail driven deeper into his skull.

The gossiping from the pub returns to him like whispers creeping beneath the doorframe.

“Dead man walking…”
“Everyone near her dies…”
“The Black Cat’s curse…”

The voices merge together, relentless, like a crowd of specters laughing at his fate.

His pulse quickens. His hands curl into fists.

Darin (whispering to himself):
“The nail… hammered…”

He hasn’t felt this way in so long.
A hollow, numbing panic begins to overtake him, the room spinning ever so slightly as he staggers toward the table.

Darin slams the crumpled posters down, flattening them with trembling hands.
His eyes dart across the parchment, frantic.

The first one — his own face, sketched crudely yet unmistakable.
The second — the porter, unmistakably her, even if depicted in her old rags.

No question, no doubt. It’s them.
They are being hunted.

His breathing grows heavier as he stares at the images, willing them to disappear, to burn away under sheer force of will.

But they remain.
He closes his eyes tightly — and still, the images are there, seared into his mind like brands.
His thoughts spiral, his heartbeat a war drum in his ears.

The porter, standing silently nearby, watches his unraveling.
She sees the twitch in his jaw, the jerks in his hands, the manic storm brewing behind his eyes.

Her chest tightens with guilt, her hand instinctively pressing over her heart.

“This is because of me…”
“It’s always because of me…”

She bites her lip, trembling, before finally stepping forward.

With a single motion, she drops her gloves to the floor.
Then, unshoulders her heavy backpack and lets it fall with a loud THUD.

The sound echoes like thunder in the enclosed space.

In Darin’s fractured mind, the noise amplifies unnaturally, overlapping, cascading —
each reverberation feeding into his negative thoughts, distorting reality.

Louder.
Louder.
Louder still.

Until—
Nothing.

Silence.

Warmth.

A stillness like the calm eye of a storm envelops him.

Darin blinks, returning from the abyss of his own mind, only to find himself cradled in her arms.

Her embrace is gentle yet firm.
His forehead rests against her chest, right atop the mark she hides so carefully.

For a man who has lived his life alone — deliberately avoiding others to stay out of the world’s cruel, unforgiving system — this moment is alien.
He is being comforted by someone who has been broken by that same system, someone who knows firsthand its harshest truths.

He is motionless, barely grasping reality as she holds him.

The porter hums softly, the same sweet, whimsical tune she had hummed in the dungeon while looting items.

Recognition flickers in his eyes.
The sound is grounding, steady — like an anchor amidst a raging sea.

Her voice is soft, almost a whisper.

Porter:
“It will be okay…
I have faith in you.”

Something inside Darin breaks and heals all at once.
He lifts his arms and wraps them around her, holding her tightly against him.

His inner voice trembles with conviction.

Darin (internal):
“You failed someone once before…”
“But fate — luck — has given you another chance.”
“You won’t fail again.”

This isn’t just a porter anymore.
This is someone to protect.

The camera draws back slowly, drifting away from their embrace.
It passes through the rain-streaked window, moving outside into the storm.

There, in the dim glow of torches, shadows gather.

Guards are beginning to mobilize, encircling the inn like wolves preparing to strike.

Their boots splash in the mud, weapons gleaming beneath the storm clouds.

The noose is tightening.

Fade to black.