My girlfriend is trapped in my superpower

The moment we passed through Ashthorne's gates, Lyra brushed against my mind.

"Your stage for now," she whispered, her presence flickering like dying embers before vanishing back into me.

I let out a quiet breath. Good. With the guild's eyes everywhere, the last thing I needed was Lyra cracking jokes about someone's haircut in front of a squad of mages who'd happily label me cursed.

Ashthorne wasn't like any city I'd seen before. Its streets were too wide, too empty, as though built for crowds that had long since vanished. Blackened stone walls bore scars from battles nobody bothered to repaint, and strange lanterns burned with pale, unnatural fire that threw long shadows against the cobbled streets.

"Cozy," Bram muttered, hands shoved in his pockets. "I can almost hear the friendly welcome wagon sharpening their spears."

Mira gave him a side-eye glare. "Try not to provoke anyone, idiot. This place is crawling with guild inspectors."

She wasn't wrong. Everywhere I looked, robed figures moved in pairs, carrying staffs etched with runes The inspectors didn't even try to hide their stares. Their eyes tracked me the way hawks track prey—waiting for the slip, the stumble, the spark of uncontrolled magic that would give them reason to cage me.

Bram leaned closer. "Relax. You only look like a walking apocalypse if people squint hard enough."

Mira smacked his arm. "You're not helping."

"I'm trying to help," Bram protested, feigning injury. "If he laughs, maybe he forgets about the twenty death glares we've gotten since we walked in."

I snorted despite myself. "Maybe I'll let Lyra out just to scare you into shutting up."

Bram grinned wide. "Do it. I miss her already. She's way more fun than you."

Mira rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the corner of her mouth from twitching. "Fun? She nearly set your boots on fire last time."

"And they looked better for it." Bram spread his arms dramatically. "Scorched leather — it's a style."

Their banter cut through the city's heaviness, but only just. Ashthorne was beautiful in a grim way—arched bridges draped in black ivy, bell towers ringing low and hollow, and the strange pale light that never seemed to warm. It felt less like we'd entered a city, and more like we'd stepped into the memory of one.

I shifted uneasily as we passed a massive plaza where a statue stood half-broken, its face eaten away. The plaque at its base had been scraped clean. Mira slowed to read what little remained.

"This city fought something big," she murmured. "And they lost."

Bram shoved his hands deeper into his coat. "Great. Just where I wanted to spend the next few months — Ghost Town Deluxe."

The streets wound tighter the deeper we went, twisting like veins through Ashthorn's stone heart. Buildings leaned toward each other as if conspiring, their windows tall and narrow, shuttered against the light. Everything felt like it was holding its breath.

"I swear the walls are watching us," Bram muttered, ducking his head when an old woman glared at him from a balcony above.

"They are watching us," Mira said softly. Her eyes darted across the rooftops where shadows perched like vultures. "This city doesn't trust outsiders. Especially not… people like Kael."

Her words were a whisper, but they still lodged like knives. I clenched my jaw and kept walking, boots echoing on the cobblestones louder than I wanted. People parted around us — not with fear exactly, but wariness, like we carried something contagious.

Lyra stirred inside me, her voice a smooth purr. "They're right to stare. You carry a storm under your skin. Don't blame them for feeling the thunder."

I swallowed hard, ignoring her.

Mira slipped closer to my side, her voice gentler now. "Hey. Don't let it get to you."

Bram shoved his hands into his pockets and added, "Yeah. Forget them. If they don't like you, screw it. We like you. And we're obviously the better judges of character."

"Obviously," Mira muttered, though a faint smile betrayed her.

We crossed another bridge, this one spanning a sluggish black river. Iron cages dangled from its side, empty now, but their rusted bars clinked softly in the wind. My stomach twisted.

"What do you think those were for?" Bram asked.

"Decoration," Mira said flatly.

"Cheerful," he shot back.

We kept walking, and though Bram tried to keep the jokes alive, silence settled heavier with each step. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled again — deep, mournful, and hollow. Ashthorn wasn't just watching us. It was warning us.

The bridge emptied us into a wide square where crooked market stalls leaned together like drunks after last call. The smell hit first — spices, roasting meats, and something sharp, like burned copper. People moved in quick bursts, trading coin and goods, but every time I caught someone's gaze, they froze. Conversations stuttered. A child tugged his mother's sleeve and whispered. She pulled him away.

"Wow," Bram said, spreading his arms as if he owned the place. "Nothing like a warm Ashthorn welcome. I feel loved already."

"Loved? More like cursed," Mira muttered.

I shoved my hands deeper into my coat. "They're just… cautious."

Lyra's laugh rippled in my chest, dark and amused. "Cautious? Please. They smell power, and power breeds fear. Don't sugarcoat it."

Mira's eyes flicked toward me, sharp, like she caught the edge of Lyra's tone without hearing her words. She said nothing though. Just walked closer, as if daring the market to keep staring.

We stopped at a fruit stall, its counter piled high with pale, waxy pears. Bram picked one up, sniffed it, and frowned. "This looks like it died last year and just forgot to fall off the tree."

The vendor's glare could have cut stone.

Mira snatched the fruit from Bram's hand and shoved it back. "Ignore him. He was dropped on his head as a child."

The vendor muttered something under his breath, too quick for me to catch. But Mira did. Her shoulders went rigid.

"What did he say?" I asked.

She glanced at me, hesitation flickering across her face. "Doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

Her mouth pressed thin. "He said… 'Devil's vessel doesn't belong here.'"

The words sat heavy in the air between us. Bram opened his mouth like he wanted to joke, then closed it again. For once, silence seemed safer.

A group of robed figures passed at the edge of the square, their hoods low, their hands clasped. Everyone else bowed their heads as they went by. I felt the air change — like static before a storm.

"Who are they?" I asked.

Mira kept her voice low. "Ashthorne's watchers. If we're unlucky, they'll be the ones taking us to the masters."

Lyra's whisper slid through me like smoke. "Good. Let them. I'm curious which of their precious masters thinks they're strong enough to hold us."

I tightened my fists, heart pounding. Ashthorne wasn't just a city. It was a cage, and the bars were closing in.

We ducked into a tavern after the sun dropped, the air outside too heavy with stares and whispers to breathe in peace. Inside, the place was dim and loud—mismatched tables, a haze of smoke, and mugs slamming against wood.

Bram grinned like it was home. "Now this is more like it." He marched straight to the counter, Mira rolling her eyes but following anyway.

I trailed after them, pulling my hood lower. The tavern noise dipped as soon as I stepped inside. It wasn't silence, not really—it was the kind of pause where people lean closer to whisper.

"Is that him?" someone muttered near the hearth.

"The boy with the flame in his eyes…" another voice answered.

"No, not a boy. A vessel."

I clenched my jaw. My fingers itched. Mira brushed past me, her glare slicing through the room. "Ignore them."

Lyra purred in my head, amused. "Ignore them? Oh, but it's so much fun when they fear us. One spark, Kael… one tiny spark, and we'd own this place."

"Not helping," I hissed under my breath.

Bram slammed three mugs of ale on our table and plopped into his chair. "Well, at least they pour heavy here. Cheers to surviving another day!"

I forced a half-smile, but the whispers didn't stop. If anything, they grew sharper, bolder.

"He's cursed."

"He'll burn the city."

"Why is the guild protecting him?"

I gripped my mug so hard the wood creaked. Mira leaned forward, her voice low. "Kael. Don't."

Lyra chuckled, her voice curling around the words like flame licking dry wood. *"They'll never stop, you know. Wherever you go, they'll see me. Fear me. That's the price of carrying me."*

Before I could answer, the tavern door swung open. The robed figures from earlier stepped in, their hoods casting long shadows across the floor. The tavern quieted to nothing.

One of them raised his head just enough to reveal piercing eyes. He scanned the room until they landed on me.

"Kael," he said, voice echoing like steel drawn from a sheath. "The masters of Ashthorn await you."