My girlfriend is trapped in my superpower

Kael

When I opened my eyes, the world was wrong.

The air tasted like smoke and iron. My chest ached as if someone had branded me from the inside out, each breath raw and unsteady. Overhead, a roof of shattered clouds glowed faintly crimson, as though the sky itself was still smoldering from what Lyra had done.

I pushed myself up—or tried to. My arms buckled like wet paper. The ground beneath me wasn't earth anymore. It was… glass. Black and cracked, spreading out in all directions, a dead scar where a forest used to be.

"Kael!"

A pair of hands grabbed my shoulders, steadying me. Mira's face swam into view, pale and streaked with dirt. Her eyes were wide—not with relief, but with fear.

"gods, you're alive," she breathed. Then, quieter, as though she was ashamed to say it: "We weren't sure you would be."

I blinked past her. Bram stood a few feet away, sword still drawn, his jaw tight. He wasn't looking at me, though. He was staring at the crater's edge, where molten stone still glowed faintly.

"Tell me you didn't do all this," he said finally, his voice low, careful.

But of course, I had no answer. Not one that would make sense.

Inside me, faint and smug, Lyra purred: "Technically, that was me. You just provided the body."

I clenched my jaw. She was right—and that was exactly the problem. I never signed up for this.

The forest was gone—burned away, trees reduced to twisted black skeletons, the earth hardened into cracked glass. Smoke still curled lazily into the air as if mocking the silence.

I tried to sit up, but Mira's hands pressed against my chest. "Don't move too fast," she said, her voice tight. "You were out for hours."

Bram stood a few feet away, sword balanced against his shoulder, his usual grin absent. Instead, he watched the destruction with his jaw set, as if weighing whether I belonged to the same side as him anymore.

I swallowed. "The monster—?"

"Gone," Bram cut in. His tone was clipped. "Or rather, erased. There's nothing left but ash."

Mira's eyes flicked to mine. There was relief there—relief that I was alive—but beneath it, unease. Fear.

Inside me, Lyra hummed like a satisfied cat. "You're welcome, darling. Honestly, they should be thanking me. We'd all be monster chow without me."

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself not to answer her out loud. Mira and Bram already looked at me like I was carrying a live bomb in my chest; hearing me argue with a disembodied voice wouldn't help.

Bram finally tore his gaze away from the smoking ruins and spoke. "We keep moving." He didn't look at me, just started walking down the charred trail, boots crunching over blackened soil. "Before whatever's left of that thing decides to grow back."

Mira helped me to my feet. Her hand lingered on my arm longer than necessary, her eyes flicking with unspoken words. I didn't press her. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear them.

The three of us set off again, silent but for the crows overhead.

"You know," Lyra's voice curled into my thoughts like velvet smoke, "They don't fear the monsters half as much as they fear you. Cute, isn't it?"

"Shut up," I muttered under my breath.

Mira glanced at me sharply. "What?"

"Nothing."

We followed the road deeper toward the city where the Guild wanted to send me for training. Every step weighed heavier than the last. The landscape slowly shifted from the ruined forest into quiet fields, untouched by fire, but the unease didn't fade. If anything, it thickened.

Rumors would spread. Villagers would talk about the burning forest. About the boy with black fire. About me.

And the closer we got to the city, the more certain I felt that whatever awaited us there was going to be far worse than monsters.

We walked for hours before Bram finally broke the silence. "So…" He kicked a rock off the road. "Are you gonna keep brooding, or do we get entertainment?"

I frowned. "Entertainment?"

Mira sighed. "He means her."

Bram smirked. "Yeah. The fire-girl with the sharp tongue. C'mon, let her out. I miss the insults."

I clenched my jaw. "Don't encourage them."

"Oh please," Lyra purred in my head. "You're just looking for an excuse. Let me stretch a little."

I exhaled through my nose and muttered the word: "Ignis."

A ripple of heat shimmered, and in the next second Lyra stood beside me, arms folded, long hair trailing like living embers, eyes glittering with mischief.

"Finally." Lyra arched her back, stretching like a cat who owned the road and everyone on it. "Do you have any idea how boring it is being crammed inside his skull?" She jabbed a thumb at me. "It's like living in a library that hasn't been dusted in years."

Bram burst out laughing. "See? Totally worth it. I missed you, flame-girl."

"It's Lyra," she corrected with mock irritation. "Not flame-girl, not torch, and definitely not hot stuff—although, if you insist…" She winked.

Mira groaned. "I swear, every time you show up, it's like adding gunpowder to a campfire."

"Gunpowder's more fun," Lyra shot back instantly, smirking. "At least it makes things explode."

Bram clapped his hands, delighted. "Yes! That's exactly the kind of energy we need on this trip."

Meanwhile, I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I regret this already."

"Oh, don't pretend you don't like it," Lyra whispered near my ear, her voice dripping with that infuriating, teasing heat.

Mira caught the look on my face and snorted. "He hates it. I love it. Please, stay out more often just to torture him."

"You're all insufferable," I muttered, but couldn't hide the tiny, reluctant smirk tugging at my lips.

Bram tossed a pebble into the air, caught it, and sighed. "So, Lyra, tell me—if you had a body all the time, what's the first thing you'd do?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Hmm. Probably eat. Then dance. Then set something on fire."

Mira groaned. "That explains so much."

"Don't knock it till you try it," Lyra quipped. "Fire solves problems. And it looks gorgeous while doing it."

"Sounds like someone's been spending too much time with Kael," Bram teased, jabbing me in the side. "He's all broody seriousness, you're all shiny explosions. Perfect match."

I scowled. "Stop talking like I don't exist."

Lyra sidled closer, grinning. "But you love it when I steal the spotlight, don't you?"

"Not even remotely."

"Liar," she whispered, voice sultry enough to make my ears burn.

Mira nearly choked on her laugh. "Oh, this is gold. Please, Bram, keep provoking them. I need more entertainment before we get ambushed by the next nightmare creature."

Bram saluted. "On it." He pointed dramatically at Lyra. "Alright, fire queen, what do you think of me?"

Lyra smirked wickedly, tapping her chin. "You? Hmm. Like a puppy who thinks he's a wolf. Cute. Loyal. Eats too much."

Bram looked mock-offended. "Rude. But accurate."

Mira snickered. "Puppy fits."

I sighed again, but despite myself, I felt lighter. Their laughter, Lyra's endless jabs, Bram's goofy theatrics—it made the road feel less like a death march and more like… a team.

For a while, it was almost easy to forget that shadows followed us.

By the time the crooked spires of Ashthorne broke the horizon, my legs felt like stone and Bram was whining about his "tragic suffering."

"Tragic?" Mira snapped, swatting him with her cloak. "You've been singing half the way here."

"Exactly," Bram said, puffing up his chest. "I suffered for your entertainment. A hero's sacrifice."

Lyra chuckled softly, striding just ahead of me. "Puppy and clown. You really are versatile."

Mira rolled her eyes, but I caught the tiny smirk tugging at her lips. Even she couldn't hold out against them forever.

But as Ashthorne's jagged gates loomed closer, the laughter died down on its own. The city rose from the earth like a scar—walls blackened by fire, smoke curling from half-repaired towers, and a silence that pressed against my chest harder than any weight.

"Cheerful place," Bram muttered, trying to joke. Nobody laughed this time.

Lyra's expression sharpened. " Her voice carried a strange finality, like she knew more than she let on.

And as the gates creaked open to swallow us, I couldn't shake the feeling that Ashthorne wasn't welcoming us. It was warning us.