My girlfriend is trapped in my superpower

I didn't sleep much.

The Masters' words kept circling in my head—alternatives. It didn't take much imagination to know what that meant. If I lost control, if Lyra stopped playing nice… they wouldn't hesitate to cut me down.

By morning, the rooms warmth felt a world away. The guild's quarters were comfortable enough, carved from old stone with sweeping arches, but they carried none of that homely noise. Here, it was silent. Too silent.

Bram was the first to break it, throwing a boot at the foot of my bed. "Up, sunshine. You've got Masters to terrify."

I groaned. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Better?" Lyra said from the corner of the room—her own form sprawled in a chair like she owned the place. Her smirk was sharp and lazy all at once. "You should feel fantastic. Yesterday you scared a room full of pompous robed snobs without even trying."

Mira rolled her eyes, tugging on her gloves. "Which is exactly why they don't trust us. You two—" she waved between me and Lyra, "—aren't helping."

Bram put on his best innocent expression. "What? I'm nothing but sunshine and moral support."

"You're a menace," Mira muttered.

I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. "Can we not start the day with fighting each other?"

"Oh, but this is the best part," Lyra drawled, leaning back further in the chair, balancing on two legs like a smug cat. "You're tense, Mira's grumpy, Bram's an idiot—it's perfect."

"Thank you," Bram said proudly.

"That wasn't a compliment," Mira shot back.

"Sure felt like one."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "We're supposed to be training with the Masters today. Maybe—just maybe—we should not make them regret not stabbing me in my sleep."

Lyra tilted her head, golden eyes glinting. "Oh, come now, Kael. Where's the fun in that?"

"See what I'm dealing with?" I muttered.

Mira smirked despite herself. "Honestly, you deserve it for unleashing her outside your head."

"I heard that," Lyra sing-songed, twirling a strand of her raven-black hair. "And you love me."

"I tolerate you."

"Close enough."

Bram clapped his hands dramatically. "Right! Team banter complete. Now, shall we go charm the Masters before they set Kael on fire?"

"If they set him on fire," Lyra corrected, rising smoothly to her feet. "Big difference."

The four of us filed out into the stone hallways, the torches sputtering faintly against the draft that always seemed to live here. Even the air in Ashthorne's guild felt judgmental—cold, heavy, carrying whispers of all the eyes waiting to see if I'd slip.

As we crossed the courtyard, apprentices and guards watched us in that subtle-not-subtle way, heads turning, conversations pausing. I couldn't tell if they were curious about me, terrified of Lyra, or just amused at Bram striding through like he owned the place. Probably all three.

"Do you feel that?" Mira muttered, low enough for only us to hear.

"Yeah," I said. "Like we're being measured for coffins."

"Please," Lyra said with mock offense. "If they try, I'll build my coffin out of their bones."

"Relax," Bram chuckled. "She's joking." He leaned toward me, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "She is joking, right?"

Lyra smirked, offering no clarification.

We reached the training grounds soon after—a wide, open arena carved out of black stone, scarred with decades of duels and disasters. High stands rose on either side, filled with Masters and apprentices who looked down at us as though we were prey tossed into a pit.

"Lovely welcome," Bram whispered.

"Try not to antagonize anyone," Mira said sharply.

"Me? Never," Bram whispered again, grinning.

Then the eldest of the Masters—grey-bearded, sharp-eyed, wrapped in crimson—stepped forward from the far side of the arena. His voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Kael. Today, we test the limits of your bond with the spirit."

Lyra stepped forward, arms folded, her grin bright and venomous. "Spirit? Darling, I'm an upgrade."

A ripple of unease shivered through the stands. The Master's expression didn't change, though I swore I saw the faintest flicker of irritation in his eyes. "Then prove it."

The Master lifted one hand, and the air around us thrummed—sigils lighting up along the arena's black stone floor. Power prickled my skin, the kind of magic that made every hair on my body stand on end.

"This circle," the Master intoned, "was built to isolate. We will see if your spirit can be unbound from you, Kael."

Mira sucked in a sharp breath. "That's dangerous."

Lyra tilted her head, smirking like she was watching a child build sandcastles. "Isolate me? Trust me, you'd have better luck trapping smoke in a fist."

"Stay sharp," I whispered under my breath.

"Sharp is my middle name," she quipped, then glanced at Bram. "Isn't it, Bram?"

"Actually," Bram said loudly enough for the entire arena to hear, "her middle name's Run Before She Eats You."

A couple of apprentices snickered before silencing themselves under their Masters' glare.

The elder Master ignored the sarcasm, his tone cold. "Begin."

The circle blazed brighter. Energy wrapped around me, pulling at my chest, tugging at the thread that bound Lyra to me. It was like someone trying to yank out my heart with invisible claws. I staggered, gritting my teeth.

"Kael," Mira called, tense.

Lyra hissed, her jovial mask flickering, eyes blazing voidfire. "Oh, they really think they can take me from you? How charming."

"Don't—don't fight it yet," I gasped. "We need to see what they're—"

"See what they're capable of? I already know. Pathetic."

And just like that, Lyra shifted. One second she was at my side in her human form, playful and cocky—the next, her body seemed to blur into shadow and fire, filling the circle with a presence that made even the most stoic Masters flinch. The air boomed with her laughter.

"You want to separate me? Go ahead. Pull harder. Watch what happens."

The circle trembled as cracks spiderwebbed along the glowing runes. The Masters exchanged sharp looks. One of them, a lean man with hawk-like features, leaned forward, whispering something to another.

Bram folded his arms, looking smug. "Told you. Coffins."

The elder Master's voice cut across the chaos, sharp and commanding. "Enough!"

The circle's glow snapped out, leaving only smoke and the faint stink of scorched stone.

Lyra leaned lazily against me now, fully reformed in her playful shape, grinning like a cat who'd just eaten something important. "Well. That was fun. What's next, old man? A magic trick with cards?"

The Master's jaw tightened. His eyes, however, said everything: they hadn't just failed—they were rattled.

And more than that, I could feel it in the way the others looked at me. Some afraid. Some resentful. And a few… hungry.

The note from last night echoed in my skull like a whisper.

They're already moving pieces. Watch the Masters closely.

The Masters began filing out of the training circle, their robes whispering like snakes across stone. They said nothing, but the silence carried weight—accusation, unease, calculation.

Mira drifted closer, her voice low. "Did you see them? The way some of them looked at you when Lyra broke that circle?"

"Hungry," I muttered.

Her eyes hardened. "Exactly. Not cautious. Not wary. Hungry. Like they were watching a weapon, not a person."

Behind her, Bram strode up, hands behind his head like he hadn't a care in the world. "Relax, Mira. It's not the first time creepy old people looked at us funny. Remember the bone priests in the Hollow Marches? Now that was unsettling. These guys? Child's play."

Mira scowled. "You don't get it, Bram. They'll use him if they can. And if they can't—"

Lyra cut her off, stretching like she'd just woken from a nap. "Then they'll kill him and keep me. Honestly, Mira, don't sugarcoat it."

Mira's mouth snapped shut.

"See?" Bram said, smirking. "At least

One of the Masters finally cleared his throat, the sound like gravel being ground underfoot. "Enough games. You were brought here to *, not to mock us."

Lyra clasped her hands dramatically, bowing low with a firelit grin. "Oh, forgive me, great and terrible teachers. Shall I sit cross-legged and hum while you tell me not to set things on fire?"

The man's jaw tightened. "Discipline is not optional, Voidflame. If you are incapable of restraint, then perhaps you—"

"Careful," Bram cut in, smile thin but sharp. "She's the only one in this room who hasn't considered turning someone into ash for the past ten minutes. I'd say that's restraint."

A few of the Masters shifted, bristling. Mira's eyes flicked from face to face, tension humming off her like a storm about to break.

I stepped forward before it boiled over. "Look. You want me trained? Fine. But if you can't handle Lyra being… Lyra, then maybe you don't know what you're dealing with."

The words slipped out harsher than I meant, but I didn't take them back. Because it was true.

Silence pressed down, thick as smoke. Then another Master, older, spoke—his voice like iron. "We know exactly what we're dealing with, boy. The problem is you don't."

Lyra's smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, but then she leaned on my shoulder and said sweetly, "Well… isn't this cozy? Everyone glaring like they're at a family dinner. Someone pour the wine."

Bram clapped slowly, each echo loud in the hall. "Bravo. We've officially turned training into a hostage negotiation. I'll grab the snacks."

The Masters didn't laugh.

The elder Master's eyes bored into mine. "You think this is a game, boy? That spirit inside you may laugh, but we do not. Lyra is not a gift. She is a weapon. And weapons…" His hand curled into a fist. "…either serve their master or are destroyed."

Lyra straightened, the grin wiped clean off her face. Her voice turned colder than her flames. "Try it. I dare you."

The younger Masters stiffened, their robes rustling as power pulsed faintly in the air. Mira stepped closer to me, hand brushing her blade. Bram… didn't smile this time.

The tension swelled, a heartbeat away from snapping—

Then the ground trembled.

A low, deep roar rolled through the stone beneath our feet, rattling the lanterns in their brackets. Dust sifted down from the vaulted ceiling. The Masters froze, every face paling.

From somewhere deep in the city, the sound rose again—like a thousand bones grinding together, carried on a scream.

One of the Masters whispered, "Impossible… it can't be here."

I swallowed, my chest tight. "What can't be?"

The elder Master's face was grim, etched in lines of fear. His lips formed the word like a curse:

"The Hollow Wyrm."

The name shuddered through the chamber, heavy as doom even Lyra went silent.