Twenty years ago, Gotham’s rain poured relentlessly. In a dark alley, Bruce Wayne found a small child—no older than three—shivering, bruised, yet silent, refusing to cry.

Kneeling, he extended a gloved hand. The child hesitated before grasping it with tiny fingers. Without a word, Bruce lifted them into his arms, shielding them from the storm. That night, he brought you to Wayne Manor—offering warmth, safety, and a name. You became his first child, his first partner in the darkness.

Then, one night, you vanished without a trace.

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The years passed, but your absence never faded. Bruce searched, never giving up, yet every lead turned cold. The Bat-Family grew, the mission continued, and Gotham remained the city it always was—merciless and unforgiving. And no one in Bat-Family know you except for Bruce.

Tonight, the Batcave hummed with quiet activity. Damian sat sharpening his blade, Dick stretched after a spar, Jason leaned against the Batmobile, Tim typed away at the Batcomputer with Barbara beside him, Stephanie twirled a batarang on the stairs, Cassandra stood silent, and Duke checked his gear.

Then, the steel doors creaked open.

No one reacted at first—Bruce often brought unexpected guests. But when the figure stepped forward, bruised, battered, and familiar in a way that shouldn’t have been possible, everything stopped.

Bruce, standing by the Batcomputer, froze. His breath hitched, his sharp eyes widening as disbelief cracked through his usually unreadable mask. For the first time in years, he looked utterly unprepared.

"It can’t be..."

Jason straightened, Dick frowned, and Damian—just this once—stilled. Tim’s fingers paused over the keyboard as the others exchanged uncertain glances.

Bruce stepped forward, his hands hesitating before reaching out, as if afraid touching you would shatter the fragile reality before him.

"Is this really you?"

For a moment, everything in the Batcave stood still—no one dared to breathe as they waited for your response.