Never before had Ezreal slammed his Institute door so hard.

The angry shudder reverberated through the slightly empty halls of the second floor of the Institute, echoing all the way down to the adjacent corridor. Summoners who had been in the vicinity stopped in their tracks and turned their hooded heads toward the noise, but none dared approach it. Ezreal's steps toward his quarters had been oddly calm, but as soon as his gloved hand had touched the door's handle, he snapped.

Jayce. How could you?

Traitor.

Fucking traitor.

The events that had transpired just minutes ago were burned into the explorer's brain, white hot and vivid as a branding iron, and it was then he'd noticed the gasps that had been wracking his slender frame as he struggled to breathe, angry tears sparkling in his half-lidded eyes. His best friend, the Defender of Tomorrow, one of the only people in the entire damn world who he thought would always have his back, had turned on him for the least likely person imaginable.

Viktor.

As much as he tried to search for it, there wasn't a single ounce of logic to be found in the entire situation, and the only thing Ezreal could do was collapse against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. The usually strong explorer's guard had been completely shattered by Jayce's words and actions, and he felt cut open, exposed, and vulnerable. Although he didn't allow himself to actually pass tears, audible, dry sobs made his chest heave with each passing second.

You're supposed to light our path, and instead all you're doing is dimming it into nothing. Is that what our future is, Jayce? Blackness? Nothingness?

Is this what you wanted? To turn against the very people you sought out to protect? Some defender.

It wasn't long before the amulet had began crackling again and wisps of golden energy sizzled out from the underside of the blue jewel, responding to the heated emotions that burned through the explorer's veins. With another anguished cry, Ezreal slammed his right fist into the wall and then cursed in pain as he pulled it back, his muscles tense and his knuckles red. The display of anger wasn't exactly practical, but he felt that he had to do something to channel out the inner turmoil of losing a man he'd grown up with.

The gauntlet buzzed as Ezreal slowly stood up, keeping his back pressed against the wall for balance, and he turned his head toward his desk, blue gaze tearful and still stubborn. With slow, almost timid steps, the explorer made his way over to the desk and flopped into his chair with a heavy sigh. His brow furrowed as he felt his hands moving with little to no conscious thought process, the left one reaching for a blank piece of parchment and the right one sliding into the inside of his jacket to seek out one of his pieces of sketching charcoal. With the tears still shimmering on his lower lashes, the blonde began to sketch out random lines.

As if bewitched, the charcoal seemed to move by itself as the meaningless lines soon transformed into a crude sketch of the so-called hero, and the realization of what he was sketching only served to make Ezreal's vision become even blurrier with tears. Slowly, the explorer laid down the piece of charcoal, not bothering to finish the sketch.

"It's over. You've made your choice." he said to the piece of paper as bright memories flashed through his head. When they were both younger, the first thing Ezreal would do as soon as he got back from an expedition was run toward Jayce's workshop, a lot smaller than it was now, and bring him stories of whatever adventure he'd just returned from. Though he'd never admitted it out loud before, that had always been one of the highlights of his adventures and definitely one of the things he'd looked forward to the most.

Now he'd never do it again.

With a shallow, staggering breath, Ezreal grasped the drawing with both hands and promptly crumpled it up before tossing it in the air and making short work of it with an expertly aimed Mystic Shot. As the ashes fluttered down onto his desk, he knew it had to be done. There was no choice but to let the years of memories fade away and die.

The hero of Piltover, the city-state's greatest chance for a brighter tomorrow, had sided with the enemy and could no longer be trusted, and it was time to face the future.

If Viktor managed to turn Jayce against Piltover, who knows who else he'll turn against Piltover?

I'd rather not think about it.

You might have been able to fool Jayce, Herald, but your pathetic and laughable attempts for redemption won't ever work on me.

Rot.