The lead-heavy , awkward party ended with silence and various reasons for leaving.

Fosfor , seeing the reaction of others , led them back to the human world.

After waving goodbye to each other , they headed each in their own direction.

She went back to her wobbly chair, grabbed a drink and emptied the cup in one go.

‘‘Barricades hid themselves too well , so well that some of them don’t realize that they are a Barricade’’

Fosfor pulls the drawer that is falling apart , amongst the dust lies a clean paper that looks as clean as snow.

She grabs a pen out of thin air and writes down some names.

Dante ,Barricade of Evocation , false

Wen , Barricade of Books? , unconfirmed

Acryl , Barricade of Colors? , unconfirmed

Suiming , Barricade of Stars , false

‘‘The letter-writer’’ , Barricade of ????? , unconfirmed

Note: The fact Suiming isn’t a Barricade makes things even more complicated to investigate , he doesn’t carry any scent of Barricade , although Acryl has some kind of aura that resembles a Barricade , but it is too weak sometimes or too strong…how strange.

After some minutes of writing and thinking , she stretches and stands up.

Each Barricade has their job , for Fosfor it is to maintain the pureness of human consciousness after they die or to prevent the abnormal deaths.

Speaking of which , some days back she prevented a woman’s abnormal death , but unintentionally damaged her consciousness , making the woman have worse eyesight.

…If there is a chance , Fosfor would like to apologize to the woman.

Anyways , she has things to do. Fosfor picks up her blade and calls out:

‘‘Gasha , time to go.’’

She opens an exit in the emptiness and walks out as the giant skeleton named Gasha fades away with her.

Fosfor walks through the dark alleyway , making turns and twists every ten or twenty seconds. It could be easier if the person told her the address , sadly , there isn't one.

It is hard to imagine who and why would make Euth’s central part so complex , Fosfor bets that ning out of ten can get lost in the Grand dome.

After an hour she stops at a red door. Its redness is almost like blood that fountains out of corpses. The handle is even more red as if a blood-dank hand reached to it a few seconds ago.

If behind that door is empty , Fosfor will burn this place to ashes.

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The door opens by itself , dust that seems to be there for centuries falls off.

The Grand dome has many mysteries and urban legends.

So does this red door.

‘‘Come in.’’ says a tired , sleep-thirsty voice.

Wooden floor creaks as the dim light turns on , the space is bigger than it looks on the outside.

Old neon lights flick on the ceiling , welcoming anyone who enters.

The space is messy , chairs , garbage and even broken furniture are all around the floor.

It isn’t their first encounter , Fosfor has met the man once before.

‘‘Sit down please.’’

Fosfor takes a look at the man , he hasn’t changed much since they met last time , more precisely , Fofor never remembered the man’s look.

‘‘….what is your name again?Photographer?’’

‘‘Fosfor , Fosfor Luce Oakside.’’

‘‘Oh , sorry about that.’’

‘‘So , what made you come all the way here?’’

‘‘Do you want some drinks or-’’

‘‘Let's cut off the chace.’’ Fosfor interrupts , she likes to chat , but the process of coming all the way here has devoured all her patience.

‘‘I want messengers to investigate Barricades.’’

‘‘In what return?’’ the man replies.

‘‘I can assist messengers.’’

‘‘But only the messenger department.’’ she adds.

‘‘…..’’

‘‘Why?’’

‘‘Can’t you use the copies of yourself?’’ the man continues.

‘‘They weren’t designed for sniffing clues.’’

‘‘They are made just for collecting consciousnesses.’’ Fosfor says as she gets more relaxed in the chair.

‘‘Miss Oakside , how much do you know about Yel?’’ The man switches topics.

‘‘Why would you be interested in that?’’

‘‘Isn’t the chamber of yours all capable?’’ Fosfor continues.

‘‘…It doesn’t.’’ the man answers.

‘‘How much do you know about the Priest then?’’

‘‘Ef quosilis im konkvesa katz.’’ Fosfor says with a knife-like , threatening tone as she remembers her white haired friend that most likely forgot who she is.

‘‘…Sorry , could you say that again? And is that the Yel’s language?’’

‘‘Curiousity kills cats.’’ Fosfor says , waking away.

‘‘……………Miss Oakside , you aren’t going anywhere.’’

‘‘Not before we make an agreement.’’

Fosfor takes her hand off the door’s handle and looks back , her black eyes looks at the blurry man or-

-‘‘The Letter-Writer’’

‘‘Wait a minute…’’ Fosfor says.

‘‘I feel something familiar about you.’’ she continues.

‘‘No , you can’t be him’’

‘‘You can’t be a Barricade.’’ she says , vocal trembling like she saw a dead body standing up and got crushed by a falling piano.

Fosfor has never tasted the fear of her own kind or the feeling of ‘‘uncanny valley’’. But it makes her blood pump more than ordinary fears , even the once horrifying high place seems like nothing.

She is scared , yet excited.

The ‘‘Letter-writer’’ stands up , even though he is covered in mist , Fosfor feels that same excitedness behind the mosaics.

‘‘You were halfway right , Oakside.’’

‘‘I am not a Barricade.’’

‘‘I am the typewriter of our great , holy Starseeker.’’

‘‘And the will of Euth.’’ the man says as he spreads his arms like some kind of tree or a figure praising the sky.

‘‘………You need to shorten that title buddy.’’

‘‘I’ll call you…..’’

‘‘The False Tyrant.’’

‘‘That is a stupid name. But I love it,’’ says the ‘‘Letter-Writer’’.

The air froze , both of them is standing still as if they are some kind of timeless statues , waiting for the other to place their first pawn