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At that time, Alberich was just a child—a quiet, somewhat serious boy who often wandered alone through the empty halls of his family’s magnificent palace. It was around this age that he started to understand his status: he came from a line of wealth and nobility, rulers of a country by birthright. This particular trip took him to the family’s winter palace. His mother was still alive then, and that morning he had woken up early, eager to explore. During his wandering, he stumbled upon a storage room. Inside, he found a treasure trove of relics—ancient German armor, oil paintings, sculptures, and strange tools. Sunlight streamed in through a small window, casting beams across the dust-covered artifacts. As his gaze drifted across the room, it landed on an eerie, weathered figure in the shadows. It looked like an old man’s statue, twisted and lifeless—but then, it spoke. “Guten Morgen,” came a deep, authoritative voice. “Hello,” Alberich responded, calm and composed. Something about