The section of the armory before them was lined with knives of all shapes and sizes.
Some were curved like fangs, their razor edges gleaming under the dim candlelight. Others were sleek and straight, crafted for precise, lethal strikes. There were tiny blades, small enough to disappear between his fingers, and larger ones, long enough to be mistaken for short swords.
Each knife had its own weight, its own purpose.
Kazimir let his fingers glide over the cool metal, feeling their balance, their sharpness, their promise.
Selis stood beside him, her silver eyes calm but watchful.
"There are too many kinds of throwing knives to teach you in one day," she said, her voice measured, steady,
"So, we'll start with the basics. Over time, you'll learn the rest. For now, just pick a few."
Kazimir studied them carefully.
Some knives were thin and needle, like, built for piercing through armor gaps and striking vital points.
Others had barbed edges, their cruel hooks meant to latch onto flesh and tear as they were pulled free.
Some were heavier, clearly designed to break bones upon impact rather than simply cut.
Selis reached out and picked up a slim, black-edged blade, turning it over in her fingers before offering it to him.
"These knives," she said, "were forged from the remains of a creature that drained the blood from its prey. Even in death, they retain a fraction of that power."
Kazimir took the knife from her, running his thumb over its cold, dark surface.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"It means that any wound you inflict with these blades will continue to bleed more than it should," Selis said simply. "A cut that should clot in moments will continue to flow for minutes. Against the wrong enemy, it could mean their death. Against the right one, it could mean yours."
Kazimir held the knife a little tighter.
He moved down the selection, picking up a barbed knife and twirling it between his fingers.
It was heavier than the first, its shape meant for sticking rather than slicing.
Selis gave a slight nod.
"Those were taken from a beast that could weave illusions," she said.
"When thrown, the blade will split into countless phantom copies to confuse the target. Only one is real, but until it lands, they won't know which."
Kazimir tested its balance, intrigued by the possibilities.
Finally, he selected a slightly curved blade, the kind meant to spin mid-air before finding its mark.
He flipped it in his palm, feeling the way the blade wanted to twist, as if eager to cut through the wind.
"A good choice," Selis noted.
Satisfied, Kazimir slipped the knives into the hidden folds of his cloak, feeling their weight settle against him.
Selis watched his choices with quiet approval, her expression unreadable.
"Good," she finally said, giving a small nod.
"Now, let's put them to the test, shall we?"
Without another word, she turned, her white cape with silver embroidery of the Umbrax royal crest, billowing behind her as she strode back toward the training grounds.
Kazimir followed.
Her footsteps echoed in the vast armory, the distant flickering of torches casting shifting shadows along the walls.