My girlfriend is trapped in my superpower

The Masters' Hall was nothing like I'd imagined.

I expected a council chamber, maybe something like the Guild's—formal, cold, orderly. Instead, the hall was alive with flame, crystal, and shadow. Great braziers burned with silver fire that gave off no heat. Tall windows let in the moonlight, cutting across the floor in sharp beams. And seated across a long, crescent-shaped table were six figures—each radiating a pressure so heavy my knees almost buckled when we entered.

Bram whispered behind me, "Well… they look friendly."

"Shut up," Mira muttered.

The one in the center leaned forward. A woman, tall and severe, her hair the color of molten copper, her eyes like sharpened blades. She spoke first.

"Kael of the Guild. Vessel of… the flame." Her voice lingered on the word like it was both holy and blasphemous.

I swallowed hard, feeling Lyra shift inside me. "She says it like she knows me," Lyra whispered, amused. "Oh, Kael, you're in trouble."

Another master, a man with a beard braided into silver rings, slammed his staff against the floor.

"The boy reeks of corruption. You bring him here to train? Or to chain?"

My fists clenched. I wanted to argue, but Lyra's laugh filled my head again, mocking, almost taunting me to open my mouth.

The copper-haired woman raised a hand. The hall fell silent. Her gaze locked on me, unblinking, as though she could peel me apart layer by layer.

"You carry something older than kingdoms. Something that does not belong in this world. Tell me, Kael—" her lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile—"are you its master, or its prisoner?"

I forced myself to meet her eyes. My chest felt heavy, like the whole hall was pressing down on me, daring me to break.

"I'm not a prisoner," I said, my voice steady despite the weight in the air. "And I'm not corrupted. I didn't ask for this power—but I'm not going to let it use me. I'll use it."

The silver-bearded master scoffed. "Arrogance."

"Truth," I snapped back before I could stop myself. "If I were a prisoner, I wouldn't be standing here. You think you can smell corruption? Then look harder. What you smell is fear. Yours."

For a heartbeat, silence filled the hall. Even Bram stopped fidgeting. Mira's hand twitched near her sword, not out of threat but sheer tension.

Then Lyra slipped in, soft and sharp like a knife in the dark. My lips moved, but the words weren't mine.

"Careful, old men. Push too hard, and you'll see just who the prisoner really is."

A ripple tore through the room. Braziers flickered. Shadows twisted. One of the Masters half-rose from his seat, hand glowing with ward-light.

I sucked in a breath and wrestled control back. My fists trembled. My body felt like it was on fire. But I didn't back down.

"I came here to learn," I said, lower this time, more grounded. "If you want to chain me, then try. But if you want me to master this, then teach me. Because I'll fight either way."

The words echoed in the vaulted chamber, bouncing against stone and silence. The Masters didn't answer right away. Their gazes flicked between one another, silent messages passing in the arch of an eyebrow, the subtle curl of a lip.

The silver-bearded one finally leaned back, but his knuckles were white on the armrest. "We will see," he muttered.

Another, the woman in scarlet robes, tilted her head as though studying prey. "Your fire speaks before you do, boy. That will be… dangerous. For you, and for us."

Lyra chuckled in my head, smug and sharp. "Told you I make an impression."

I kept my jaw tight, fists clenched at my sides. I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of seeing me grin.

The Masters spoke in hushed tones then, voices threading around me like smoke. I caught fragments—"containment wards," "trial," "outside eyes." Every word weighed heavier than the last.

Finally, the Archmaster rose. His robes were black, his presence colder than stone. His voice carried like steel dragged across ice.

"You will remain under our watch," he said. "For your sake, and for the city's. Tomorrow, we begin."

No further explanation. No details. Just those words, like a chain slipping quietly around my neck.

We were escorted out of the Masters' Hall under the watch of two stone-faced attendants, their silence louder than any insult. The massive doors shut behind us with a thud that rattled my teeth.

Bram exhaled like he'd been holding his breath the whole time. "Well," he said, scratching the back of his head. "That wasn't terrifying at all. Nope. Just a friendly neighborhood council of magical overlords deciding whether or not to fry you alive."

Mira smacked his arm. "Could you not?"

"What?" Bram grinned. "I'm trying to lighten the mood. Kael here looks like he's about to puke in the potted plants."

I didn't answer. My fists were still clenched, my ears still ringing with the Archmaster's words.

For your sake, and for the city's.

Lyra's voice slid in, velvet and amused. "They're treating you like a bomb someone forgot to disarm. Cute. Honestly, I expected worse."

"Worse?" I muttered under my breath.

"Talking to your little fire-spirit again?" Bram teased, leaning closer. "Tell her I said hi. Oh wait—" He waggled his fingers dramatically. "She's probably listening already."

Lyra popped out before I could stop her—just a flicker of her form, glowing faintly in the lamplight. "I always am," she said sweetly, before giving Bram a mock bow.

Mira groaned. "Great. Just what we need—Kael glowing in the dark with his flirty void-demon sidekick."

Lyra smirked, eyes glittering. "Jealous?"

Mira's cheeks flushed. "Not even remotely!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, already exhausted. "Could we… maybe not draw more attention to ourselves in the middle of the street?"

Of course, by then, people were already staring.

The crowd's eyes followed us all the way down the stone steps of the Masters' Hall. I kept my head down, but it didn't matter—every whisper carried. Possessed. Void-touched. Dangerous.

By the time we slipped into the narrower streets, Mira had had enough. "Ignore them," she muttered, close to my ear. "They don't know you. They only know what they think they saw."

Bram glanced around, shoulders stiff. "Yeah, well, rumors spread faster than fire in a dry forest. And in this city? That's bad news."

We didn't stop until the crooked sign of the inn came into view—The Rusted Lantern, a place Bram swore had "the best beds and the worst ale in Ashthorne." The common room was dimly lit and smelled faintly of roasted boar. I might have found it welcoming if I didn't feel the stares again. Not as sharp as the streets, but still there.

We got a room on the second floor—two beds pushed against opposite walls and a window looking out onto the cobblestone street. Mira claimed one bed immediately, Bram flopped onto the other, and I sat on the edge of mine, running a hand through my hair.

Lyra stirred in the back of my mind. "They're scared of you. Good. Fear means they'll keep their distance."

"Fear also means they'll sharpen their knives," I muttered under my breath.

Bram cracked an eye open. "Hate to break it to you, but she's right." He waved lazily at the door. "The guild's got you under their leash now, but the citizens? They'll never stop watching. One slip, Kael, and this city'll eat you alive."

Mira tossed her cloak onto the chair. "Then we make sure he doesn't slip." She said it like a challenge, staring at me as though daring me to doubt her.

I wanted to believe her. But outside the window, the city of Ashthorne pulsed with lantern-light and rumor, and for the first time, I wondered if coming here was a mistake.

The room had gone quiet, the three of us settling into uneasy rest. I let my eyes drift toward the window, watching the flicker of torchlight outside fade as the city prepared for sleep.

Then—a soft scrape at the door.

Bram shot upright, Mira's hand instantly on the dagger at her belt. I crossed the room in two steps and yanked the door open. Nothing. Just the still hallway and the faint creak of floorboards below.

But on the floor in front of the door lay a folded scrap of parchment. I picked it up, my pulse hammering, and unrolled it. The handwriting was jagged, hurried, as if written in the dark:

"The Masters can't protect you. Ashthorne eats its monsters. Leave before the city burns."

A chill sank into me, heavier than any battle I'd fought.

Lyra whispered in the back of my mind, her voice sharper now: "See? They'll never stop. And this is only the beginning."

I clenched the note in my fist, crumpling the words, but they wouldn't leave me.