I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 1241: He Is Not A Constellation

Anike naturally shifted her gaze to Eisha as Northern said his age. She confirmed it with an awkward smile and nod.

Anike looked down. Judgment was looking at Northern with unbelief, thinking to herself, ’I’m older than he is.’

Meanwhile, Eisha shifted her gaze to Northern. If she’d been struggling to imagine how truly strong her son had become, she wasn’t struggling anymore. Because she, among the rest, was also familiar with the Crimson Veil—she had, after all, lived here for a couple of years after escaping from Stuart.

The fact that Northern could dispel that red fog simply meant he was on the same league as some of the strongest people she was running away from.

At that moment, she was tempted to think... perhaps... maybe he could...

But she immediately shook her head.

’I have failed as a mother in his life for the past two years. I’m not going to burden him with my own...’

She raised her head to look at Northern.

’Still... he’s grown so much... and he’s just barely seventeen...’

She felt so proud and so sad at the same time. So much that she wanted nothing more right now than to pull him into a tight hug.

Forget decorum. Forget the watching eyes and the shocked faces of the Seraphae and Arethamine warriors.

Eisha shifted her chair back and ran across the hall to where Northern sat, immediately throwing everyone into shock.

Then she pulled him into a hug.

Northern—despite every instinct that said displays of affection in front of an audience of shocked religious warriors was a bad idea—let her.

’She’s my mother. I’m not going to tell her no.’

”The Constellation walks among us,” someone whispered from the back of the hall.

”He’s not a Constellation,” Auriel said.

Her voice was harsh, cutting through the reverent murmurs like a blade through cloth. Everyone turned to look at her. She was standing now, her shield discarded on the floor, her gold-pupilless eyes fixed on Northern with an intensity that should have been uncomfortable.

But there was no hostility in her gaze.

Just... recognition.

”He’s not divine. He’s not blessed by some higher power. He’s not a reincarnation or an avatar or whatever mystical explanation makes you feel better about what you just witnessed.” She took a step toward Northern, and several Seraphae moved as if to intercept her, but she ignored them entirely.

”He’s just stronger than the rules,” Auriel continued, her voice steady and certain. ”Strong enough that reality has to accommodate him instead of the other way around. That’s not divinity. That’s just...”

She searched for the word.

”...determination. Taken to its absolute extreme.”

She stopped a few meters from Northern and did something that looked like it physically pained her: she smiled. It was a terrible smile, more grimace than anything, the expression of someone whose facial muscles had forgotten how to form genuine warmth.

But it was genuine.

”You broke something I thought was unbreakable,” she said quietly. ”You did something I thought was impossible. And you did it because you decided to, not because you were supposed to.”

She turned to face the rest of the hall, her voice rising.

”Stop calling him a Constellation. Stop treating this like divine intervention. Don’t you understand what he just proved?”

Her voice cracked slightly.

”He proved that we were wrong. That the ’impossible’ was just difficult. That we spent eight hundred years telling ourselves we had to live with the long night because we weren’t strong enough to end it ourselves.”

The hall was silent.

”He’s not a Constellation,” Auriel said. ”He’s just what happens when someone refuses to accept limitations and has the power to back it up. And that...”

She laughed, and it sounded almost broken.

”...that’s more terrifying than any divine explanation could ever be.”

Northern looked at her for a long moment.

’Finally. Someone who gets it. Although they still don’t get the daemon part...’

”Thank you,” he said simply. ”That’s the most accurate thing anyone’s said since I got back.”

Then he turned to Anike.

”Now, can everyone please stand up? The kneeling thing is making me deeply uncomfortable, and we still have some conversations and whatever other secrets you’ve been sitting on.”

Anike rose slowly, her small smile beginning to return—though it was more fragile than before, like glass that had cracked but not yet shattered.

”You destroyed the Crimson Veil,” she said. ”You freed eight hundred years of trapped souls. You broke constellation-blessed phenomena through sheer force of will. And your first concern is... continuing our interrupted conversation?”

Northern shrugged.

’What else would it be?’

”Well, I came here for my mother, and you proved to know some really useful things. The dramatic supernatural destruction was just an inconvenient detour.”

He gestured at the still-unconscious Alystren and the elf.

”Plus, I got what I went for. So yes, I’d like to get back to the actual point of this visit.”

Anike stared at him.

Then, slowly, she began to laugh.

It started quiet, but built until she was genuinely laughing—the sound echoing through the hall, releasing the tension like a snapped bowstring.

”Of course,” she said when she could breathe again. ”Of course that’s your priority. I don’t know why I expected anything else.”

She gestured to the table, where the food had gone cold during the chaos.

”Then let us eat. Let us talk. And let us try to pretend that the world didn’t just shift on its axis.”

She paused.

”Again.”

Northern sat back down.

Around the hall, people slowly, uncertainly, returned to their seats. The whispers continued—they’d probably continue for days, for weeks, for however long it took for this new reality to settle into their worldview. Some would accept it. Some would deny it. Most would simply be confused.

But for now, at least, they were sitting. They were eating. They were pretending that dinner could continue as normal after watching someone casually destroy eight centuries of divine punishment.

’Stars. I hate ceremonies.’

Sael leaned over to Northern as the hall slowly returned to a semblance of normalcy.

”Lord Northern,” he whispered. ”That was... I don’t even have words.”

”Good,” Northern said. ”Then you can eat in silence and stop calling me ’Lord.’”

But his mother’s hand found his under the table again, and this time the grip was different. Not fearful. Not desperate.

Proud.

Northern sighed internally.

’I just wanted to get Alystren back. How did this escalate?’

The fish was cold.

He ate it anyway.