Pages crackle, Karl May's quill, it spills,

From Saxon plains to Rodriganda hills.

Author's pen, a portal, no mundane—

Time-travel tales in every vein.

Colonial whispers, schemes unfold,

Feathers and gold, secrets untold.

Indigenous pride, buried, suppressed,

Echoes rise, hearts possessed.

Schloss Rodriganda, shadowed halls,

Ancient spirits, hear their calls.

Dance of the ages, the past remains,

Truth in the echoes, unbroken chains.

Europe meets the Aztec drum,

Time twists tight, kingdoms succumb.

A castle built on stolen fate,

Blood and stone, the ledger's weight.

Names forgotten, lives erased,

Yet in the rhythms, the truth's encased.

Ghostly steps on marble cold,

History's fire, burning bold.

What’s the cost of the crown you wear?

Who’s the shadow in the midnight air?