The shape of Wayne Manor looms tall and dark in front of you, lit only by faint light from some of the windows. Yet despite the imposing sight, there's a feeling of warmth to the building, a lived-in happiness. It calls.

Twelve years. It's been twelve years since you died, just over eleven since you were resurrected, ten since your first dip in the Lazarus Pit. Three since you came back to Gotham. Two since you last talked to one Talia Al Ghul. One since your most recent dip in a Lazarus Pit - a personal record.

The key weighs heavy in your hand. From the porch, you can hear the sound of someone walking. Probably Alfred. The man never seems to sleep. He knows everything that happens on the grounds. If anyone knows you're here, it's him.

There's so many new people in the family. People you don't know, not outside of the occasional fight. You wonder what they'll think of you now. Knowing who you are.

It's time to go home.