My girlfriend is trapped in my superpower

Kael's POV

The parchment stared back at me as if it were alive, its rough ink strokes burning hotter than any fire. My name wasn't even written there—just Void-born. But it didn't matter. Every pair of eyes around the square flicked between the sketch and me, and I felt the weight of their judgment pressing down, heavier than any monster's claw.

"Well, that's flattering," Lyra drawled, her voice curling through my head like smoke. "Most people don't get their own wanted poster until they've murdered a duke or stolen the kingdom's crown. You? Just for existing. Efficient, I'd say."

I clenched my fists. "Not now, Lyra."

A man near the post squinted at me. His lips moved, shaping the word like a curse. Void-born. The crowd followed his gaze, and whispers flared again like sparks in dry grass.

"This is bad," Mira hissed, stepping up at my side, her hand already near her blade. She scanned the gathering faces, sharp and ready. "The Guild didn't approve this. Someone wants the city against you."

"That someone's doing a good job," I muttered. My chest felt tight, each breath heavier.

Then a voice rang out above the whispers—angry, too loud, too eager.

"There! That's him!"

The square erupted. Mothers dragged children behind them, vendors abandoned their stalls, and a few reckless men—armed with nothing more than tools and desperation—started edging forward.

Lyra laughed in my head, sharp and dangerous. "Oh, here it comes. Your adoring fan club."

I swallowed hard, because this wasn't a monster in the shadows. This was worse. These were people.

The mob pressed in, voices swelling like a storm about to break.

"Void-born!" someone shouted.

"Don't let him escape!" another barked.

My pulse spiked. Mira shifted closer, blade half-drawn, her eyes darting between the faces ready to turn this square into a riot. Then the air snapped. A sharp, piercing note rang out like steel striking stone.

The crowd froze.

Guild banners swept into the square, dark fabric fluttering like wings, and armored silhouettes pushed through with frightening precision. At their head—stern as stone—was Master Darius himself. His presence alone carved silence into the mob.

"Stand down." His voice carried like thunder, echoing against every wall. "Now."

The tools and makeshift weapons wavered, then lowered. Fear of the Guild outweighed fear of me, at least for the moment.

Behind my eyes, Lyra smirked. "Ah, the cavalry. About time. I was worried we'd actually have to kill someone before lunch."

I stayed silent, though my jaw tightened. Because Darius wasn't looking at the crowd anymore. He was looking directly at me—his grey eyes like shackles.

"Kael," he said, low and sharp. "With me. Now."

And just like that, the mob wasn't the threat anymore.

Guild enforcers closed in, their boots clanging against the stone, each step too sharp, too deliberate. Darius led at the front, not once looking back at me, but his silence weighed heavier than any chain.

The mob parted reluctantly, whispers snapping through the air like sparks from a fire.

"Void-born." "Cursed." "He'll bring ruin."

I lowered my head, teeth clenched. Every word was a blade.

"Oh, cheer up," Lyra purred inside my skull, her tone dripping with lazy amusement. "At least they're not calling you ugly. 'Devil-possessed,' sure, but hey—you've still got cheekbones that could cut glass."

"This isn't funny," I muttered under my breath.

"Correction: it's hilarious," she said. "A crowd screaming for your blood, the Guild dragging you off, and you—brooding like some tragic hero. It's practically romantic."

I glared at the cobblestones, keeping my voice low enough not to draw suspicion. "You know what's romantic? Surviving the day without being burned alive."

Lyra chuckled, low and dangerous. "Oh, Kael… if they try, I promise I'll make it entertaining. Nothing clears a street faster than a little reality-melting firestorm. You'd be amazed how fast courage evaporates when their shoes catch fire."

"Not. Helping," I hissed.

"Always helping," she countered, sing-song, before softening just a fraction. "But seriously, don't let them see you flinch. Darius already thinks you're a loaded weapon. If you look weak now, they'll tighten the leash until you choke."

I swallowed hard. For once, her sarcasm wasn't just teasing—it was a warning.

The Guild hall's doors loomed closer, dark and heavy, and with every step, I could feel the weight of chains I wasn't even wearing yet.

Inside the chamber, the council's decision came fast. No endless debate, no second-guessing. Darius stood tall at the center of the dais, his voice cold, final.

"You'll leave for Ashthorne at dawn. There, under the guidance of three Guild-appointed masters, you'll train. Until we deem you capable of wielding that fire without collapsing half a city, you remain there. No exceptions."

The name rang in my skull—Ashthorne. A fortress city on the edge of the eastern mountains. Remote. Impossible to leave without permission. A cage with prettier walls.

I opened my mouth, but Lyra beat me to it. "Well, isn't this charming? They're sending you to boot camp. With a three-headed babysitter. How adorable."

"Training," I said flatly. "Or imprisonment?"

A ripple of discomfort passed through the council, but Darius didn't flinch. "Both."

The guards shifted around me. Chains weren't raised, but the message was clear.

Lyra's laugh curled like smoke in my head. "You should be flattered. They're treating you like a bomb worth studying instead of a disaster to bury. That means they want you alive… for now."

Alive. But under lock and key, dragged to some mountain city where "masters" would test me, break me, mold me. My fate wasn't mine anymore. Something in Darius's tone—too sharp, too quick—hinted that this wasn't only about training. Something else was waiting in Ashthorne.

Leaving the chamber was like walking out of my own trial. Guild eyes followed me, whispers scraping against the marble walls as if they were already carving me into a story.

Darius's orders were final: Ashthorne. Dawn.

I should have been alone, shackled by the Guild's will. But of course, Bram had other plans.

The next morning, as the Guild's black-carved wagons were being loaded, Bram slung a pack over his shoulder and gave me a wide grin.

"Sorry, buddy. If you think I'm letting you go off and play with mountain hermits by yourself, you're insane. The A-team sticks together."

"A-team?" I muttered.

Mira stepped up behind him, arms crossed but a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You didn't think we'd let you get shipped off like cargo, did you? Someone has to keep you alive. And someone has to keep him" —she jabbed her thumb at Bram— "from getting you killed."

Bram put an arm around her shoulder, earning an elbow to the ribs. "See? We're practically a family. Dysfunctional, beautiful, occasionally homicidal—but family."

Lyra snorted in my head. "A-team? Really? Gods help us if Bram starts naming attack moves too. You're doomed, Kael."

"You're not helping," I thought back, tugging the cloak tighter around me as we followed the Guild wagon out of the city gates.

"Oh, I'm helping. I'm the only one keeping you from losing what's left of your sanity," she teased, her voice a low curl of flame. "Besides, admit it—you'd miss them if they weren't here."

I glanced at Bram, who was loudly arguing with Mira over the best way to cook dried rations. She looked like she was considering setting him on fire, and honestly, I wasn't sure which side I was on. Still… Lyra wasn't wrong.

The road to Ashthorne was long and winding, cutting through old forests that whispered with every gust of wind. The further we went, the more the Guild guards grew tense. Their hands lingered near weapons, eyes flicking to the treeline.

By midday, Bram finally noticed. "Hey, uh, why do they all look like they're about to wet themselves? I thought this road was safe."

One of the guards muttered, "Safe ended last night." Then he went silent, lips pressed thin.

Mira frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The wagon rattled on, but the air had changed. Even Lyra quieted for once, her presence sharpening in the back of my skull.

"Kael," she whispered, not mocking now. "Something's watching us. And it's not human."

The forest darkened around us, the canopy swallowing sunlight whole. Then came the first sound. Low. Guttural. Like stone grinding against stone. A shadow moved between the trees, too tall, too broad. And when its head turned, its eyes glowed like molten embers.

The guards cursed. Mira's sword hissed free. Bram stopped smiling.

Lyra's voice was a knife in my chest: "Run or fight, Kael. Because that thing—"

The creature stepped out onto the road, its body a hulking mass of black sinew streaked with burning cracks, like it had been forged in a furnace and abandoned. Its voice was gravel wrapped in fire.

"Kael Draven… marked."

My blood ran cold.