The name did not come from the system.
Elyon learned that first.
It came from a mouth that was tired of guessing.
He heard it while sitting on the broken steps near the edge of the Low Priority Zone. Morning had not finished deciding what it was. The light was thin. The air felt stretched.
Two men stood a short distance away, speaking low.
"Put it closer to the anchor," one said.
The other hesitated. "You mean… him?"
The first man sighed. "Everyone does."
Elyon's jaw tightened.
They did not see him. Or they did and decided it did not matter.
By noon, the word had shape.
Not a proper name. Not yet. A function-word. Something easy to say without thinking too hard about what it meant.
Anchor.
People used it softly at first.
"Wait till the anchor's settled."
"Don't move that yet. Anchor's not in place."
"He's closer today. Should be stable."
Each sentence landed like a small stone.
Elyon walked the zone and listened. No one said his name anymore. Not even those who still remembered it.
That hurt more than fear.
A woman approached with a broken heater, its casing bent inward like it had been punched.
"Can I set this here?" she asked, careful.
Elyon looked at the heater. Then at her.
"You don't need to ask me," he said.
She frowned. "I know. But it helps."
"What helps?" he asked.
"Pretending you're part of it," she replied. "Not just… the reason."
She set the heater down and stepped back.
It steadied.
She smiled with relief and left.
Elyon felt the weight deepen.
The sound beneath hearing had changed again. It no longer surged. It no longer spiked.
It settled.
Like sediment.
By afternoon, markings appeared at the edges of the zone.
Not chalk this time.
Paint.
White circles. Clean lines. Too careful.
A man with a bucket stepped back as Elyon approached. "They told us to mark the effective range," he said, apologetic.
"Who did?" Elyon asked.
The man shrugged. "People who measure."
The circle curved around Elyon's position. Not tight. Respectful.
Containment with manners.
Elyon stepped forward.
The man froze.
The paint line shuddered, then smoothed.
The man exhaled. "Please don't," he said. "We just finished."
Elyon stepped back.
The line held.
The man nodded, grateful.
Elyon felt sick.
He walked to the far edge of the zone, where the city began to look normal again. Where light was brighter. Where movement flowed.
He stepped one foot past the painted line.
The sound beneath hearing tore.
Not loud. Sharp.
A window across the street cracked. A drone wobbled and corrected. Somewhere, a shout cut off mid-word.
Elyon stepped back inside.
Everything steadied.
Behind him, someone whispered, "See?"
That word followed him.
See.
As if proof mattered more than harm.
As if repetition made it acceptable.
Late afternoon brought visitors.
Not officials. Not monitors.
Families.
They stood at the edge of the circle, holding broken things. A toy that stopped working sometimes. A door latch that failed without reason. A medical scanner that misread once a day.
They waited.
Elyon did not invite them.
They did not leave.
A man finally spoke. "We heard it's safer if things stay near you."
Elyon stared at him. "Safer for who?"
The man hesitated. "Everyone else."
A child tugged the man's sleeve. "Is he the anchor?" the child asked.
The man winced. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?" the child asked.
"Like he's not listening."
Elyon turned away.
The weight pressed down on him harder than before. Not pain. Not pressure.
Expectation.
At dusk, the first sign went up.
Not big. Not official.
Just a metal plate bolted to a pole near the main entry of the zone.
ANCHOR ACTIVE
HANDLE UNSTABLE MATERIALS WITHIN MARKED AREA
Elyon stood beneath it for a long time.
He did not tear it down.
He did not touch it.
If he did, something else would break.
People watched from a distance, holding their breath.
When he finally stepped away, the sign stayed.
Someone clapped quietly.
Elyon went back to the broken steps and sat.
He remembered his mother's voice, faint and far away, telling him once that names had power because they told people how to treat you.
He wondered what she would say about this one.
Night fell unevenly again.
Lights flickered at the edges of the zone and held near him. Buildings groaned and settled. People slept better.
Elyon did not.
The sound beneath hearing was constant now. A low hum that never stopped. Like a machine that had found its speed and would not slow unless forced.
A shadow fell across him.
The man in clean clothes stood there again. Hands in pockets. Calm.
"They're using it," the man said.
"They're using me," Elyon replied.
The man nodded. "Yes."
"You let this happen."
"We didn't stop it," the man corrected. "There's a difference."
Elyon laughed softly. "Only if you're not the one being named."
The man looked at the sign, then back at Elyon. "Names stabilize behavior," he said. "People stop improvising."
"And stop seeing," Elyon said.
The man did not argue.
"What happens next?" Elyon asked.
"The name spreads," the man replied. "Then it hardens."
"Harden how?"
The man's eyes flicked away. "Protocols. Rights adjustments. Exceptions."
"I'm not an exception," Elyon said.
"No," the man agreed. "You're becoming infrastructure."
The word sat heavy between them.
"I didn't agree to this," Elyon said.
"You refused something earlier," the man replied. "This is what filled the space."
He turned to leave.
"Can I leave?" Elyon asked.
The man paused. "You can," he said. "For a while."
"And if I do?"
The man looked back. "Then the city will remember why it named you."
He walked away.
Elyon stared at the sign again.
ANCHOR ACTIVE.
Not a sentence.
A state.
He closed his eyes and felt the hum settle deeper, wrapping around his thoughts, his breath, his sense of self.
The city was calmer.
That was the proof they needed.
The name had spread because it worked.
And now that it had, it would be used by people who never had to stand where he stood.
Elyon opened his eyes to the dim light of the zone and understood the next truth forming ahead of him.
Once a name becomes useful, it does not stay optional.
Soon, refusing it would cost more than accepting it ever could.
And the city was almost ready to make that choice for him.