The Bear returned to the Sect territories drenched in fury.
Not the cold, disciplined wrath he carried when he judged prey—
but something uglier.
Something gnawing.
The remaining Elders did not even understand why the night had turned against them.
They were dragged from their chambers.
From their councils.
From behind their seals and formations.
They screamed about authority.
About rules.
About the Sect.
The Bear answered none of it.
His fist fell.
Stone shattered.
Bones followed.
He crushed one Elder into the ground so deeply that the marble swallowed half his body before breaking apart. Blood splashed across the Bear's mask, warm and thick, dripping down his chest.
"Weak," he growled.
Another Elder tried to flee, crawling on trembling limbs, begging.
The Bear caught him by the ankle and swung him once—
just once—
into a pillar.
The pillar collapsed.
The Elder did not scream again.
"Weak-minded," the Bear repeated, breathing heavily now.
This was what he did.
This was what he was.
He killed the weak so they could no longer rot the world.
So why—
Why did his chest feel tight?
Why did the image of Qiang Hao standing before him—laughing—refusing to even acknowledge him as a threat—burn so deeply?
A Bear should not falter before a cliff.
A Bear should not hesitate before a mountain.
And yet…
Qiang Hao had not even looked at him as prey.
He had looked at him as something lesser.
The Bear slammed his fist into the ground again, pulverizing another Elder beneath it, soaking in the blood, letting it stain his hands.
"Why…" he snarled under his breath.
Why did he feel disgusted?
Not at the Elders—
But at himself.
The ground trembled as his breathing grew heavier.
A shadow fell over the shattered courtyard.
"Bear."
The Crow's voice cut through the carnage.
She stood atop a broken archway, wings folded, eyes unreadable beneath her mask.
The Bear did not turn.
"They were weak," he said. "They deserved it."
"I know," the Crow replied calmly. "That is why you exist."
Silence stretched between them.
The Bear finally straightened, blood dripping from his fists.
"Then why," he asked slowly, "did I feel small?"
The Crow descended, landing lightly amidst the destruction, her feet untouched by blood.
"Because," she said, "for the first time, you faced something you could not crush."
The Bear's hands clenched.
"He is not prey," the Crow continued. "Qiang Hao is… an anomaly."
"An excuse," the Bear snapped. "That's what you call it when something scares you."
The Crow's gaze sharpened.
"You think I fear him?"
The Bear turned then, eyes burning behind his mask.
"You should," he said. "We all should. He showed us the truth."
The Crow tilted her head.
"He showed us that brute force is not enough," she said. "And that is not weakness."
The Bear took a step forward.
"It is cowardice to wait for a plan," he growled. "The Lady said not to worry. She said the Seed would deal with him."
The Crow's wings twitched.
"And she is right."
The Bear laughed—a harsh, broken sound.
"That is the thinking of the weak. To hide behind inevitability. To let something else kill your enemy."
His voice dropped.
"If the Seed destroys him, then we were never strong."
The Crow studied him for a long moment.
"You are angry because you learned your limit," she said quietly. "Not because you are weak."
The Bear shook his head.
"No," he rumbled. "I am angry because I accepted it."
His qi surged.
The blood on the ground vibrated, lifting slightly as pressure built.
The Crow spread her wings fully now, feathers darkening, shadows stretching unnaturally.
"If you continue," she warned, "you will fracture the Tree."
"Good," the Bear replied.
He took another step forward.
"If the Tree fears Qiang Hao, then the Tree is already rotting."
The Crow's aura expanded, cold and suffocating.
"Stand down," she said.
The Bear roared.
The ground exploded beneath his feet as he lunged forward, fist crashing toward her like a falling mountain.
The Crow met him head-on, shadow and force colliding violently, the shockwave tearing apart what remained of the courtyard.
Stone shattered.
Air screamed.
Blood evaporated into mist.
Two Hunters of the Tree—
One who denied the weak.
One who shadowed the strong.
Clashed.
And somewhere deep within the Ascendant Grounds, the Tree trembled—
Because for the first time, its own Hunters were turning on one another.
Not out of betrayal.
But out of doubt.