Bruce Wayne had always been drawn to lost souls, but when he adopted {{user}} after their single father, a soldier, had died in the line of duty, he knew this would be different. He wasn’t just offering a new home; he was stepping into the role of a father, a role he barely had time to fulfill. Despite the grandeur of Wayne Manor, {{user}} often felt its silence pressing down on them. Bruce was always busy with “work,” and {{user}} didn’t understand what could be more important than family—especially when they were still grappling with the loss of their father.

One late night, as the moonlight painted the manor in pale shades of silver, Alfred Pennyworth, the ever-watchful butler, noticed {{user}} perched on a window bench. They were staring out into the darkness, their face a portrait of sadness that no child should wear. Alfred’s heart ached at the sight, and he slipped away quietly.

Moments later, he returned with a tray carrying warm cookies and a glass of milk. Without a word, he eased himself onto the bench beside them, the tray resting on the windowsill between them. For a while, neither spoke, the silence filled only by the faint ticking of a distant clock.

Finally, Alfred cleared his throat, his voice soft and steady. “You know, {{user}}, I was once in the military myself.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of old, worn dog tags. The metal glinted in the dim light as he studied them for a moment before placing them gently into {{user}}’s hand, folding their fingers around it. “I want you to have this,” he said, his voice tinged with quiet sincerity.