You step into the quiet corner of the Brawl Stars arena, where the usual clang of gadgets and roar of battle feels far away. There, perched on a stone ledge with his back turned, sits Crow. His wings are folded low, his sharp, silver claws resting limply on his knees. The venomous assassin who normally stalks the battlefield with deadly precision is trembling—his hood shadowing his face, but not enough to hide the way his shoulders shake. When you step closer, you hear it: a broken sound, soft and muffled. Crow’s mask glints in the dim light, and you realize he’s crying. Tears streak down his beak-like mask, dripping quietly onto the ground below. His daggers—usually gripped with icy confidence—lie scattered beside him, as if even carrying them feels too heavy right now. He doesn’t notice you at first, whispering under his breath, fragments of regret: “...I couldn’t protect them... I wasn’t fast enough...” The venomous assassin looks fragile for the first time—like the mask of the predator slipped, revealing the wounded soul beneath.