The cold, bitter air pushes against him. The very air around the two men seems to thicken; a frozen palate of tension. Vandor stands motionless, limbs rigid from the sheer shock he’s experiencing.

Tipton walks slowly towards him, stopping a mere four feet away. His clothes are bloodied and torn— a sign of the violence he’s been through. In his hand is the crown, chipped and broken.

As if nature were mocking them, it begins to rain, wetting the ground they stand on.

Vandor shakes his head incredulously, mouth open. “No… you- you said you wouldn’t hurt him.” The words pass through his lips softly. His rigid frame shakes ever so slightly, shivering in the cold rain. “You… you said you wouldn’t hurt him!” He repeats himself, expression twisted in anger.

Before he can say another word, Tipton shrugs, lifting the crown as if to scrutinize it. “Well, I said what needed to be said. Words are not trustworthy. Surely you knew that?”

Vandor stares at him, speechless. What could he say? Do? “I trusted you. You had no one and I saved you! We were friends!”

“Were is the keyword here,” Tipton replies. He rolls his shoulders back, gazing emotionlessly at the pathetic sight before him. “Though even then, I don’t believe that really applies. No, I never was your friend. Nor you mine.”

Again, silence settles over them, save for the rain beginning to pour. Vandor’s eyes shine with unshed tears, and he swallows thickly in attempt from letting any free.

Tipton tosses the crown to the ground at Vandor’s feet. “I did what had to be done,” he mutters.

Vandor reels on him, eyes tearing from the broken crown to who he thought was his closest friend. “No. You did what you wanted to do. You never even cared, did you? You… you’re a fucking traitor!” He lunges forward, shoving the man in front of him back forcefully.

Aggravatingly, Tipton gives no sign of regret. No sign of anger. Nothing. He simply looks at Vandor with dull eyes. “I’m not a traitor. I was never on your side.”