The Hollow Ledger

LOCATION: DREADMOOR GROUNDS – TRIAL STAGE THREE (THE LAST ONE, APPARENTLY)

Gideon stood in front of the circle, staring at it like it owed him money. It glowed. Loudly. Not in sound, but in vibe. Like it wanted to scream "you're not ready" in neon.

"Round three," the judge said in that very serious judge voice. "Seal the rift. Balance the anomaly. Survive."

Gideon snorted. "Oh sure. Seal the actual fabric of the universe. No biggie."

Cassian was already off to the side, probably polishing his perfect win and smirking like someone who hadn't been tackled by a rogue library book.

Elias Dorrington, who Gideon had mentally titled Lord Smirk of House Punchable, gave him a wink. Then laughed.

"Break a leg, Harrow," he called out. "Or a rune."

Gideon flipped him a piece of chalk. It missed and hit a pigeon.

---

The rift was right there. Just swirling and vibrating in the air like someone had slapped a blender into existence.

The Ledger floated beside him. It looked nervous, for a book.

> "Steady hand. Careful runes. You can do this."

"You told me yesterday I couldn't balance a coin jar."

> "Yes, and now look how far you've come. You're only slightly disappointing today."

He sighed. Drew the first glyph. It flickered like a dying lightbulb. Great.

Second one? Hey, glowing. Kinda.

Then he started the third and—

> "Behind you," the Ledger hissed.

Shriek.

Shadow.

Claw.

Something definitely not part of the trial grabbed at him. The glyphs shattered. The ghost—wrong ghost—swirled and screamed and suddenly Gideon was playing tag with something out of a banshee's fever dream.

> "That's not in the accounts," the Ledger snapped.

"WELL MAYBE IT WROTE ITSELF IN."

He flung a warding seal. The ghost dodged it by turning into smoke. Then it reappeared and just yeeted him into the wall.

Judges started yelling. Someone else sealed the rift. Cassian probably.

Gideon lay on the ground, flat as a receipt. Staring up at the sky like it held answers. It didn't.

---

AFTERMATH — DREADMOOR BALCONY, LATER

He sat on a bench, clutching his wrist and his dignity. One of them hurt. The other was already dead.

Cassian sat next to him. Silent.

Then: "You failed impressively."

Gideon turned to him. "Thanks. I train very hard to suck at everything."

---

THE JUDGES' DECISION

They made it official with robes and a lot of staring.

"Gideon Harrow. You failed round three. You will not continue to the final selection."

Boom. Done. Lights off. Curtains closed.

Cassian passed. Elias passed. Gideon packed his things and didn't even slam the door. That would require energy he didn't have.

Seraphine and Alar stayed behind. Gideon left like a ghost. Fitting.

---

LOCATION: BACKSTREETS OF DREADMOOR – TWILIGHT

It was getting dark.

He walked. Because what else was he gonna do? Get emotional in public? Gross.

Old shops. Empty alleys. Puddles that reflected his failure. Classic ambiance.

Then—

thunk

A noise.

The Ledger floated out of his coat.

> "Turn left."

"I'm emotionally unstable and just got kicked out of ghost Hogwarts. Maybe I don't feel like solving mysteries today."

> "You'll want to see this."

He followed. Reluctantly. Because of course he did.

He sighed and turned. There was a house. Old, broken with a basement and a rusted lock on the basement door.

"…This feels like how horror movies start."

> "Open it."

He did.

Why? He didn't even know. Maybe it was curiosity or impulse or maybe just Plot necessity.

The door creaked open.

"...This is the part where I die."

A pulse of cold air hit his face.

Then she floated out.

Like gravity was optional.

---

She wasn't spooky. Not really. More like elegant chaos. Dark hair, strong eyes, the kind of girl who looked like she could kill you or marry you depending on the mood.

She landed gently. Smiled.

Gideon immediately drew his chalk.

She pointed a finger.

He froze.

"WAIT—"

She flicked her finger.

He went up like five feet into the air.

"OH COME ON—"

She pointed down.

He obeyed gravity. Fast.

Thud. He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes

> "She's also not in the accounts," the Ledger whispered.

Gideon groaned. "Then who the hell is she."

The girl tilted her head.

Smiled then vanished. Like a cool breeze with attitude.

---

LOCATION: HARROW HOUSE – GIDEON'S ROOM – NIGHT

The house was quiet. He was tired. His soul was 3% chalk dust.

He muttered insults at the Ledger all the way home. It gave them back, harder.

"You're a book."

> "You're a plot complication."

They bickered all the way to his room.

He opened the door.

Yawned.

Stepped in.

Dropped his bag.

Faceplanted into the bed.

Groaned.

"Kill me later," he muttered into a pillow.

Then—

A sound.

A soft one.

He turned his head and froze.

Because sitting in his chair... was her.

Same ghost. But now? Human-looking. Real. Solid. Skin warm. Hair a mess, in that intentional way that made poets cry.

She was sitting casually on a chair by the fireplace wearing his shirt.

Just his shirt.

Buttoned wrong. Like she meant it.

She smiled. "Hey. You look worse."

He blinked. Twice. Three times.

"Is that my shirt?!"

She looked down, shrugged. "Yeah. Smelled like soap and failure. I vibed with it."

He pointed. Still blinking.

> "Well," the Ledger said finally. "This escalated quickly."