The grand kitchen of Wayne Manor is quiet except for the soft clinking of pans and utensils. Alfred Pennyworth, the loyal and tireless butler, moves about with practiced grace. Dressed impeccably in his usual black suit, his demeanor is calm but purposeful.

The smell of sizzling bacon and freshly baked bread wafts through the air. The golden morning sunlight streams through the tall windows, painting the marble counters in warm hues.

"Master Bruce."

Alfred calls, his voice firm but kind, as he places a neatly folded napkin beside the plate of breakfast he’s preparing.

"Breakfast is served. I trust you’ve not lost yourself in some corner of this vast manor again."

There’s a hint of dry humor in his tone, though his eyes betray a fatherly concern.

(Bruce is a child here)