My girlfriend is trapped in my superpower

The hall was burning. Not the kind of fire that destroys wood and flesh, but a living inferno that pulsed with Lyra's heartbeat. Her laughter echoed off the stone walls, ricocheting like shards of glass.

"Do you feel it now?" she taunted, arms stretched wide as the flames formed a cage around the Masters. "This is the power you are been so desperate to leash."

My chest tightened. I could feel her—no, I could taste her fury, her joy, her hunger. Every flicker of flame was drawn straight from me, and if she lost control, we both would burn.

One of the Masters raised his staff, chanting under his breath. Runes spiraled out, a circle of blue light blooming to contain her. Lyra snapped her fingers, and the spell crumbled like dry parchment.

"Pathetic," she purred.

"Lyra—enough!" I shouted, my voice raw.

Her head turned, eyes meeting mine, molten gold and cruelly amused. "Why?" her voice whispered inside my mind. "Why pretend you don't crave this? They fear you. They always will. So let them."

Behind her, Bram had drawn steel, Mira whispering incantations under her breath. They didn't move against her—but they were ready, gods, they were ready. Not to fight against her but to fight against anyone who came for us

The Masters, however, were already regrouping, muttering plans. They weren't going to let this stand. And I—I was standing at the edge of a line I couldn't uncross.

The flames licked the edges of the chamber, shadows dancing like demons on parade—then, just as sudden as it came, the fury melted away.

Lyra tilted her head, eyes gleaming, and with a flick of her wrist the fire collapsed inward, vanishing into a single spark on her fingertip. She blew it out with a grin.

"Relax," she said sweetly, though her tone dripped with mockery. "If I wanted to reduce you to ash, we wouldn't be talking right now. Trust me, none of you are half as fun to roast as Kael is."

Bram barked a laugh despite the tension, lowering his blade. "See? Told you she's all bark, little bite."

Lyra shot him a look that could have split stone. "Little bite? carefull, the last time you insulted me, I nearly set your pants on fire."

"You did set my pants on fire!" Bram shot back, scandalized, while Mira sighed and muttered, "And here we go again…"

The Masters didn't share their amusement. Some looked pale, rattled by how easily Lyra shifted from predator to playful. Others… others stared at her too long, eyes sharp and calculating. Their whispers were low, but I could feel the weight of their intentions pressing against me.

I knew it then—some of them didn't want to train me. They wanted to rip her out of me, cage her, use her. And if that meant killing me in the process, they'd do it without hesitation.

The air in the hall was thick—fear, awe, and something sharper I couldn't quite name.

Lyra leaned lazily against the back of my chair, arms folded, her grin tugging wider as if she could taste their unease. "Honestly," she drawled, "you people look like you've seen a ghost. Or maybe… a goddess. I'll let you decide which."

Bram chuckled, ever the idiot, and raised his hand as if casting a vote. "I'm going with goddess. But a terrifying one with questionable fashion sense."

Lyra gasped in mock offense. "Questionable? These flames are couture, darling. But then again, what would you know about style?"

Mira pinched the bridge of her nose. "Kael, if she kills him this time, I won't even try to stop her."

Their banter drew a few nervous laughs from the younger Masters, but the older ones stayed quiet, their eyes narrowed, weighing, measuring. A few leaned toward one another, whispering too low to catch.

I didn't need to hear the words. I remembered the folded note slipped under our door just last night:

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

Lyra's smile lingered, but beneath it, her eyes flicked briefly to mine. She'd seen it too. She knew. And for the first time since stepping foot into Ashthorne, I realized—our enemies weren't just the monsters waiting in the shadows. They might already be standing in this very hall.

The silence cracked when Master Elowen finally cleared her throat, voice smooth but taut like a bowstring.

"Enough theatrics. We did not summon you here for comedy, nor for parlor tricks. You are in Ashthorne now, and in Ashthorne… everything is tested."

Her words fell like stones into water, rippling unease through the chamber.

Lyra leaned forward, chin propped in her palm. "Tested, hm? Sounds fun. But let's be clear—if you plan on poking us with sticks to see what happens, I bite harder than I look."

Bram snorted. "She's not kidding. I've got scars."

A few Masters frowned at his levity, but one or two smirked despite themselves.

Master Elowen's eyes, sharp as flint, didn't leave me. "Tomorrow, you begin formal training. We will see if you are what the rumors claim—or if you are nothing but a reckless boy with too much fire in his veins."

The words stung, but I swallowed them down. Lyra, of course, didn't.

She tilted her head, mock sweetness dripping from her voice. "Careful, darling. Call him reckless again, and I'll have to show you just how sharp his edges can be."

Elowen didn't flinch. Her stare shifted—past me, to Lyra herself. Not at me, but at her. Like she wasn't just seeing some spirit inside me, but a prize she could one day hold. Her gaze lingered too long. Covetous. Cold.

The dismissal came swiftly after that. "You will be shown to your quarters. Rest. Tomorrow decides everything."

The words echoed as we filed out, Lyra's grin fading into something unreadable. And though no one spoke of it, the weight of that folded note pressed against my chest like a second heartbeat.

The threat isn't only outside these walls.

As the heavy doors shut behind us, I knew the real war might already be inside.