Doran slept for two days.
Not peacefully. He dreamt of the thing beneath the tree—its shape sliding away from his vision, its voice pressing into his mind, its patience like a mountain watching a mayfly. He dreamt of the Silenced One, empty-eyed and eternal, still sitting there after eight hundred years.
But he also dreamt of Orin's hand on his shoulder. Of being pulled back.
When he finally woke, Lian was sitting in a chair by the window, reading a book by afternoon light.
"You look terrible," Lian said without looking up.
Doran sat up slowly. His body ached. His mind ached. The weight inside him had grown again—all those moments from the buried cities, thousands of lives he hadn't chosen to witness but had absorbed anyway.
"How long?"
"Two days. Mira checked on you yesterday. Said you'd live." Lian finally looked at him. "Said you'd be different, though. Everyone who goes deep comes back different."
Doran didn't answer. He could feel the difference already—a new layer to the weight, something ancient and heavy settled at the bottom of everything he carried.
"What did you see down there?"
Doran thought about lying. Decided against it.
"Something that shouldn't exist. Something that was here before anything else." He paused. "It wants to be witnessed. Fully. Completely. The way the Silenced One witnessed it."
Lian's face went still. "That's what took their eyes."
"That's what took everything."
They sat in silence for a long moment.
"Are you going back?"
Doran considered the question. The pull was still there—fainter now, but present. A thread connecting him to that place, that thing, that waiting.
"Not yet," he said. "Orin stopped me for a reason. I need to understand what I'm doing first."
Lian nodded slowly. "Good. That's... good." He stood. "Mira wants to see you when you're ready. Says there are things you need to know."
Mira was waiting in her house carved into the hill.
She looked at him for a long time before speaking—studying him with those milky eyes that saw more than they should.
"You went to the fifth layer."
"Yes."
"And you came back." Something like respect crossed her face. "That's more than most can say."
"There was something there. Something old."
"The First Witness." Mira nodded. "That's what we call it. The thing that was witnessed before there were witnesses."
Doran stared at her. "You know about it?"
"We know it exists. We know it's been there since before this city, before the cities before it, before anything." She leaned forward. "What we don't know is what it is. Or what happens if someone truly witnesses it."
"The Silenced One did."
"Yes. And look what became of them." Mira's voice was gentle. "Eight hundred years, Doran. Eight hundred years of sitting in that moment, unable to leave, unable to look away. Is that what you want?"
"No."
"Then don't go back until you're ready. Until you understand what you're facing." She paused. "And until you've lived enough to have something to lose."
Doran stayed in Thornwall for three weeks.
He walked the city. Learned its streets, its people, its secrets. He witnessed small moments—a baker's hands working dough at dawn, a mother teaching her daughter to read, an old man feeding birds in a square. Not because he had to, but because he was learning to choose.
Mira taught him when she could. Lian talked endlessly about nothing. The other name-bearers kept their distance, watching, waiting to see what the Witness would become.
And every night, Doran sat with Orin in the cottage by the whispering forest.
They talked about everything—Orin's life, Doran's childhood, the nature of witnessing, the fear of what waited below. Orin never judged, never pushed, never told him what to do. He just listened.
That was his gift.
That was why Doran kept coming back.
On the last night before he left Thornwall, Lian found him on the inn's roof.
"Leaving tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
Doran looked up at the stars. "North. There's someone there who needs me."
Lian raised an eyebrow. "Someone? Or something?"
"Someone." Doran paused. "Another name-bearer. Morwen. Orin told me about her before he died."
"What's her name?"
"Anchor."
Lian was quiet for a moment. "Anchor. That's... heavy."
"She's been standing in the same field for forty years. Holding something back." Doran met his eyes. "She needs a Witness. Needs someone to see what she's holding so she can finally let go."
"And you're going to do it."
"I'm going to try."
Lian nodded slowly. Then he did something unexpected—he held out his hand.
"When you're done. If you're still alive. Come find me." His smile was fragile but real. "I still want that witnessing. When I'm ready."
Doran took his hand. "I will."
He left at dawn.
The road north was empty, just like the road south had been. But Doran didn't mind the silence anymore. He carried enough voices to fill a city.
Orin. The bird. The man in the alley. Yenna's mother. Thousands from the buried layers. They walked with him even when he walked alone.
And somewhere ahead, a woman named Morwen stood in a field, waiting.
Holding something back.
Needing someone to see.
Doran walked north.
The weight inside him settled into place—heavy, but bearable.
For now.