In The Eyes of Truth

Greg fell into a deep sleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. The physical exhaustion from his training blended with the mental strain of his musings about life and the unshakable weight of his dreams.
This time, the dream came more vividly than ever. He stood once again in the training courtyard, the air thick with the scent of earth and sweat. His hands clutched the hilt of a sword which turns heavier, more substantial than the stick he wielded during his waking hours.
The knight was there, towering before him. His face remained obscured, a blur that Greg couldn't pierce no matter how hard he tried to focus. Yet, the knight's voice carried an authority that made Greg straighten instinctively.
"If you wish to become the greatest, you must first overcome yourself," the knight said.
Greg felt a pang of frustration. "I'm trying," he said, the words spilling out unbidden. "But it's like I'm not strong enough. Not fast enough."
The knight regarded him silently for a moment. Then he raised his sword, the motion impossibly fluid. "Attack."
Greg lunged forward, swinging his blade with all the strength he could muster. The knight deflected the strike effortlessly, sending Greg stumbling.
"Sloppy," the knight said. "Your strength means nothing without precision. Again."
Gritting his teeth, Greg adjusted his grip and tried again. This time, the knight parried, twisting his blade just enough to unbalance Greg.
"You think strength alone will make you the greatest swordmaster?" the knight asked. "It is discipline, focus, and an unyielding spirit that forges greatness."
Greg felt the sting of the knight's words, but he also felt a spark of determination ignite within him. He steadied himself, shifting his stance.

And then the dream shifted. The training yard seemed to dissolve around him, replaced by a battlefield drenched in chaos. He was no longer the squire but a fully-fledged warrior, his blade moving with deadly precision. The faces of his enemies blurred as he fought, his body moving on instinct.
The knight's voice echoed in his mind. "To be the greatest, you must face every challenge. Every doubt. Every fear."
The dream ended abruptly, leaving Greg gasping as he woke in his room. The weight of the dream lingered, the sensation of the sword still imprinted in his hands.
As he sat up, Greg felt a strange sense of clarity. The dream wasn't just a dream, it was a calling. A challenge. And he wasn't going to back down.
That night, Greg's dreams returned with a vengeance.
He stood in a grand training hall, the walls lined with weapons and banners. He held a sword in his hands, its weight familiar yet strange. Before him stood a man which is a knight whose face was shrouded in shadow.
"You have the potential to become the greatest swordmaster," the knight said, his voice deep and commanding. "But potential is meaningless without action."
Greg felt a surge of determination. "Teach me," he said, his voice steady.
The knight nodded, lifting his own sword. "Then prepare yourself. Greatness demands sacrifice."
As the dream unfolded, Greg felt every clash of blades, every step, every motion as if it were real. His muscles burned with the effort, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and exhilaration.
But just as the knight's face began to come into focus, the dream ended abruptly, leaving Greg gasping in his bed.
He stared at the ceiling, the weight of the dream pressing down on him. Something was coming. Something he couldn't yet understand.
And in the shadows, the Hounds waited.
~~~~~
Greg woke up early, the morning sun casting a warm glow through his bedroom window. His house was modest but comfortable, nestled in a quiet neighborhood that felt worlds away from the darkness encroaching on his life.
Unaware of the eyes watching him from the shadows, Greg began his day with his usual routine. He jogged along the riverside, the peaceful scenery a stark contrast to the turmoil that had begun to stir within him.
But the Hounds were there, hidden among the crowd. Nyra watched him intently from a distance, her enhanced senses picking up the faint traces of energy radiating from him.
"That's him," she murmured into her comm.
Vex, perched on a nearby rooftop, grinned as he observed Greg through a pair of binoculars. "He doesn't look like much," he said. "Are we sure this is the one?"
"The energy doesn't lie," Nyra replied.
Graven stood nearby, his massive frame blending into the shadows of an alley. "What's the plan?"
Nyra hesitated. "We keep watching. No contact. Not yet."
But as she said the words, something in Greg shifted. As he jogged, he felt an inexplicable surge of awareness, like a ripple in the air around him. He paused, glancing over his shoulder, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
The Hounds watched as Greg's hand brushed the back of his neck, his unease palpable.
"He's sensing us," Vex said, his tone laced with curiosity. "Interesting."
"More reason to stay hidden," Nyra snapped. "If he's starting to awaken, we don't want to push him too soon."
"Or maybe we should," Vex countered. "A little pressure might reveal what he's capable of."
"Enough," Nyra said sharply. "We follow orders. No exceptions."
Reluctantly, Vex fell silent, though the glint in his eyes suggested he had his own plans.