The dream

The father offered a kind smile, his gaze sympathetic. "It's not about trust, Wyiner. Perhaps Xavier feels that you're withholding something about Maxilin. A father's concern can be difficult to quell, especially when it comes to his only son."

Wyiner remained silent, his eyes drifting away from the father. After a moment, he spoke quietly. "I'll write him a letter."

The father nodded, understanding. "That would be wise."

Without another word, Wyiner turned and left the church, the heavy door closing behind him with a creak.

A short while later, two guards opened the fort gate, allowing Wyiner to enter. He dismounted his horse and walked with purpose to Maxilin's Chamber. 

Wyiner entered Maxilin's chamber quietly, his eyes immediately noticing Evan seated beside Maxilin's bed. The young man looked weary, his head wrapped in a bandage, and his elbow in a sling. Despite his injuries, Evan's concern for his friend was evident in his posture and expression.

"Evan," Wyiner began, his voice gentle but firm, "What brings you here?"

Evan looked up, his eyes filled with worry. "Uncle Wyiner, I just came to check on him," he replied softly.

Wyiner frowned, concerned about Evan's well-being.

"But you're not in good health yourself. You should be resting."

Evan averted his gaze, unable to meet Wyiner's eyes. The truth was, rest was the last thing on his mind. His thoughts were consumed with worry about Maxilin.

Wyiner could see the distress on Evan's face. He sighed and moved to close the window, drawing the heavy curtain across to block out the moonlight. The room dimmed, and Wyiner carefully lit the candles, their warm glow filling the space.

"Evan, he's all right," Wyiner assured him, his voice calm and steady. "He's been asleep for a day, but he will wake up soon."

Evan nodded, but the worry in his eyes remained.

 "I know, Uncle, but usually, when this happens, he wakes up within an hour or so. But this time, it's taking too long."

Wyiner paused, considering his words carefully before speaking.

"Maxilin is strong, Evan. He's faced this before and come through it. But this time, it might be different. The burdens he carries are heavier now."

Evan's voice was tinged with fear as he asked, "Uncle, will it get worse day by day?"

Evan's mind was racing with memories of their shared past. They had been inseparable since childhood. Evan's father and Maxilin's father were hunters, strong and fearless men who faced monsters and dark forces together. But tragedy had struck when Evan's father was gravely injured during a mission and later died from his wounds. Evan's mother had passed away during childbirth, leaving him an orphan.

Xavier, Maxilin's father, had taken Evan in, raising him as his own son. From that day, Evan and Maxilin became more than friends; they were brothers in every sense except blood.

Wyiner, sensing Evan's turmoil, pondered for a moment before speaking. "I have no idea, Evan. Perhaps the curse will worsen, or perhaps it won't. We can't predict these things."

Evan's voice trembled with concern. "What are we going to do now? We can't just let him suffer like this."

Wyiner placed a reassuring hand on Evan's shoulder.

"Evan, you must have faith. Trust in God's plan. Maxilin has faced this trauma since he was a child, and you know that better than anyone. But now, he's not a frightened boy anymore. He's grown stronger, and he'll find a way to overcome this, with or without our help."

"But what about the mark on his chest?" Evan pressed.

"It's growing, Uncle Wyiner. Do you know how quickly it's spreading?"

Wyiner sighed, his expression grave.

"Evan, we have no control over that. No gem or crystal we've found has worked to stop it. Whatever this curse is, it's beyond our understanding."

"We'll figure it out one day, Uncle," Evan said, before quietly leaving the room.

Wyiner remained in the chair, his gaze locked on Maxilin's still form. His thoughts were heavy, filled with dread. What if the devil's mark spreads across your entire body? Will you become a monster, Maxilin, or will you become the devil's lord? The uncertainty gnawed at him as he sat in silence.

After a while, the scenario changed to Maxilin.

Maxilin felt as if he were drifting in a void, but then a voice broke through the darkness, calling his name. "Maxilin, Maxilin."

"Who? Who is this?" Maxilin called out, his voice echoing in the emptiness.

Suddenly, he found himself standing on a shoreline. The waves lapped gently at the sand, but something was wrong. The sky above him had turned a deep crimson, and lightning flashed repeatedly across the horizon. "Who is this?" he demanded, anxiety creeping into his voice.

A horse's neigh rang out from somewhere behind him. Maxilin spun around, squinting through the dense fog that had suddenly rolled in. The sound of hooves grew louder, but he could see nothing through the thick mist.

Then he heard it again, more urgent this time. "Max!" The voice was closer now, and Maxilin felt a presence approaching him from behind. He whirled around, but all he saw was dust swirling in the air.

Instinctively, he reached for his sword, but his hand grasped at nothing. "My sword," he muttered, panic rising as he realized it wasn't with him.

Out of the fog, a massive figure began to take shape, towering over him at what seemed like seven or nine feet tall. Maxilin locked eyes with the creature—or rather, with the burning red eyes that stared at him with a fierce intensity. Whatever it was, it was sitting astride a beast with equally terrifying red eyes.

Maxilin's breath caught in his throat. "What is this?" he whispered, his voice trembling as the figure called his name again.

"Max," it growled, the sound reverberating through the air like a thunderclap.

Maxilin realized the figure was moving toward him, slowly, deliberately. Without thinking, he began to back away, his heart beating in his chest.