'There is nothing special about that language. It's just German…'
Finn stood there, jaw slack, sanity fraying like an old sock in a blender.
A German guy told this fantasy world that his Earth language was an ancient sacred tongue?
Unreal.
And they believed him? Built a whole-ass company around it?
"Haus Silbertraum"… Yeah, that definitely sounded like something a guy in Berlin would shout after snorting powdered bratwurst and declaring himself king of Middle-earth.
Finn blinked again. The revelation slammed into his brain like a wet couch.
'There's a whole company named after that?! There are Earth people here? There's more of us?!'
This changed everything.
Finn didn't even care about slime holes anymore—screw the sinkholes and the methgasmite and the emotionally abusive maid.
This was hope.
Maybe, just maybe, he could find someone else from Earth who actually got him.
