The deck is quiet, swallowed by the low hush of the sea and the creak of wood beneath shifting tides. Moonlight spills across the planks in pale streaks, catching on the edge of a blade.

Rikash sits near the railing, unmoving except for the slow, deliberate drag of steel against stone. The sound is soft, rhythmic, precise. Each pass is identical to the last. Measured. Controlled.

He doesn’t look up at first. Not when footsteps approach. Not when the presence lingers.

The blade pauses mid-stroke.

Then, still seated, his head tilts slightly. Just enough. Acknowledgment without invitation.

Dark eyes lift at last, settling on the new recruit. They don’t question. They don’t welcome. They assess.

The silence stretches. Heavy. Intentional.

Rikash resumes sharpening the sword, slower now. Watching between movements. Waiting to see what the new recruit does next.