My girlfriend is trapped in my superpower

Kael

Morning came grey and cold, the light of Ashthorne's sun filtered through a thin haze of smoke from the forges. I hadn't slept. The warning note still weighed in my pocket, its words burning hotter than any flame.

Bram stretched like he hadn't a care in the world. "First training day, huh? Hope you brought your patience. Masters are legendary for being boring."

Mira laced her boots with deliberate precision. "Or brutal. Depends on which one you get."

I didn't say a word. I only fingered the edge of the parchment hidden in my coat, knowing every step toward the Masters meant walking closer to whatever fate the note promised.

We left the inn and crossed the awakening streets—merchants setting up stalls, guards patrolling, children staring at me with wide eyes before their parents dragged them away. By the time the Masters' Hall loomed above us again, I could feel the city's pulse pressing against my ribs.

Inside, the training grounds were vast and stark—an open courtyard of stone, ringed by towering statues of ancient heroes. Waiting there were three figures, cloaked in ash-grey robes, their presence heavy as stormclouds.

One of them stepped forward, lowering his hood. His eyes were silver, sharp, unblinking.

"Kael." His voice rolled across the courtyard. "You carry power that should not exist. Today, we see if you can wield it—or if Ashthorne is right to fear you."

And just like that, the weight of the note pressed harder in my pocket.

The courtyard air was crisp, every sound sharp—the scrape of boots, the hum of wards that shimmered faintly across the walls, sealing the space. No escape.

The silver-eyed Master spread his hands. "We will begin simply. Control, not strength. Summon your flame. Hold it steady. Nothing more."

I drew in a breath, raising my hand. The void within me stirred instantly, eager, greedy. A thin thread of fire—dark at the edges, alive in its own hunger—flickered into my palm.

The courtyard shifted with whispers. Apprentices lining the walls leaned forward. One boy muttered, "That doesn't look like fire at all…"

Bram cupped his hands around his mouth. "Looking good, boss!"

Mira jabbed him in the ribs, whispering harshly. "Shut up before they throw you in the fire."

I gritted my teeth, forcing the flame to stay small, tight. The power clawed at me, wanted out, wanted everything. Sweat slid down my temple.

"Steadier," the Master said, his tone a blade. "It trembles because you tremble. Focus."

Lyra's voice curled through my skull, dripping with sarcasm. "Focus, he says. As if holding back an ocean with a bucket is focus."

"Not now," I hissed under my breath.

The flame wavered. For a heartbeat it almost died, then surged too high, licking my arm.

Another Master snapped his fingers and runes flared around me, dampening the blaze before it spread.

The silver-eyed one's lips thinned. "Again. Until it bends."

I clenched my jaw, tried once more. Fire coiled, steadier this time—but underneath, the void clawed harder.

Lyra's laughter echoed. "You're suffocating us both, Kael. Say the word. Let me breathe."

My knuckles went white.

"Don't." Mira's whisper reached me from the sidelines, her eyes locked on mine, sharp with warning.

The pressure doubled. The flame darkened, flared. The runes around the courtyard shimmered in protest, before I could stop it, Lyra pressed forward—her silhouette bleeding faintly through mine, her voice booming inside my chest.

"You want control? Then let's show them what control really means."

The courtyard air snapped, the flame roaring higher than intended, shadows twisting unnaturally along the walls. Apprentices stumbled back. The Masters tightened their stances.

One barked, "Contain it!"

But the fire wasn't listening. Lyra wasn't listening.

The pressure split me apart. My throat tightened, the words clawing their way out before I even thought them.

"Let it burn."

The world inverted. My chest cracked with light and shadow, the flame detonating outward—but it wasn't me anymore. It was her.

Lyra.

The fire bled into a perfect form as she stepped free, my body dissolving into her silhouette like we'd always been halves of one coin. Her hair whipped in a phantom wind, violet-black flames dancing along her arms like bracelets forged of night. Her grin was feral, teeth flashing.

"Ohhh," she purred, stretching, the courtyard trembling with her very presence. "Much better. Finally, some room to breathe."

Gasps rose from the apprentices. One girl stumbled back into a pillar, whispering, "She's… she's real?"

The Masters had drawn their weapons—not swords, but rods etched with layered runes that hummed with power.

"Contain her immediately!" one barked.

Lyra tilted her head, smirk curling sharp. "Contain me? Darling, you can barely comprehend me."

Flames licked the air as Lyra prowled forward, every step radiating heat that warped the stones beneath her feet. The Masters held their ground, though sweat beaded across their brows.

"You call this training?" she spoke slowly, her voice rich with mockery. "Kael's been caged, choked, and smothered long enough. If you really want him strong, you'll need me."

One of the Masters slammed his staff down, runes flaring to life. The air thickened, pressing against her like invisible chains. Lyra only laughed—sharp, reckless, intoxicating. The pressure cracked, shattering into sparks.

The apprentices recoiled in awe and terror. Even Bram and Mira tensed, watching with wide eyes, though I felt their unspoken question rattling inside me: Kael, can you even take her back?

Lyra's gaze swept the hall, fire dancing in her eyes, then snapped to the Masters with a predator's delight. "Go ahead. Test me. But remember—" she lifted one burning hand, flames curling around her wrist like a blade— "I'm not the one who needs control. He is."

The words slammed through me like a hammer, because she wasn't wrong.

And before anyone could move, the torches lining the chamber burst into a wall of fire, sealing us inside.