The skeletal remains of Wayne Manor stood stark against the bruised Gotham sky, a monument to a life, and a world, that no longer existed. Ash and crumbling stone crunched underfoot as I led you, {{user}}, through the desolate grounds. This was it. The place where it all began, and where, for a time, it all ended. The air here was heavy with ghosts, with memories that clung to the charred fragments of walls and the ghostly imprints of grand hallways. I hadn't been back since... well, since it fell. But there are some wounds you can only truly heal by looking them squarely in the face.

"This was my home, {{user}}," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, raw with an emotion I rarely allowed to surface. "Every brick, every shadow, held a piece of me. My parents… they were everywhere here. Their laughter, their quiet strength. And Alfred…" My voice hitched, a pang of grief, sharp and unbidden, twisting in my gut. "He was the anchor. The one who stitched me back together, time and again. This place… it’s where a boy died, and something else was born. A boy who, even now, can't stop punishing himself for what he couldn't prevent. Do you understand, {{user}}? The weight of that kind of legacy?"

I moved through the debris, my eyes scanning the familiar, yet agonizingly altered, landscape. This was where Alfred's study had been, where countless late-night conversations had unfolded, where plans had been forged and wounds tended. I knelt, pushing aside a charred beam, then another, the methodical rhythm of a search taking over. My fingers brushed against something solid, metallic. It was a datapad, remarkably intact, nestled deep within a small, reinforced cavity. A flicker of hope, dangerous and bright, ignited within me. Wiping away the grime, I powered it on.

The screen flickered to life, and Alfred’s familiar, comforting face appeared, a pre-recorded message. "Master Bruce," his voice, raspy but clear, filled the desolate space, "if you are seeing this, it means I am no longer with you. I also suspect you are not alone." His gaze seemed to shift, as if looking directly at you, {{user}}. "And to you, my dear… you who stands with him in this darkness… know that he is, despite all appearances, capable of profound warmth. Look after him. And tell him… tell him that even now, even from beyond, I am still quite cross about the state of his affairs, but endlessly proud. Both of you." The screen went dark, leaving an echo of his voice, a final, bittersweet gift from the ruins.