I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 282: SHUT UP

Lara stared.

For just a second.

A heartbeat of stillness, sharp and bitter.

And then the hatred slammed into her chest like a meteor.

Lucindra stood across the ruined war gallery, poised like a damned empress with a smirk carved into her lips and the audacity to breathe like she belonged here.

Behind Lara, Raveth remained frozen eyes wide, limbs locked by that insidious paralysis. Not dead. Not unconscious. Just helpless.

Because of her.

Because of this walking betrayal in silk.

Lara’s voice came low. Dangerous.

"You really have some fucking nerve."

Lucindra tilted her head. "I see your mouth hasn’t changed."

"My mouth didn’t abandon its kids and rob the throne, you flaming sack of ancient trauma."

Lucindra blinked slowly. "Still dramatic."

"Still breathing. Unfortunate."

Lara stepped forward, boots crunching over broken stone and blood-soaked floorboards.

Her blades were already out, glowing faintly at the edges, but her magic simmered beneath her skin like a storm locked in bone.

Lucindra’s smile curled wider. "You’ve grown up."

"Yeah? You haven’t. You’re still the same smug, self-centered, throne-snatching coward who ran off when things got hard. How’s exile treating you? Did you miss us? Or just the power?"

Lucindra didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Her silence was more infuriating than any retort.

Lara snarled.

"Look at Raveth," she spat, gesturing. "Paralyzed. You did that. You used your own soldiers like meat puppets. And now you want what? A family reunion?"

Lucindra’s eyes gleamed. "I came to reclaim what’s mine."

"Oh really?" Lara raised a brow. "Because I’m pretty sure you left it in a pile of ash and heartbreak a decade ago. Guess you’re nostalgic."

"I missed my daughters."

"Bullshit," Lara snapped. "You missed control."

With that, she lunged.

Flames exploded in her wake bright yellow fire roaring from her limbs, trailing her like comet tails.

Her swords gleamed golden as they struck down, fast and furious, aimed straight for Lucindra’s heart.

Lucindra vanished.

Appeared behind her.

"Too slow," she whispered.

Lara spun, blades arcing wide, fire slashing the air in twin ribbons.

Lucindra backstepped gracefully, conjuring a shield of black magic to absorb the worst of it—but the heat cracked it on impact, sending sparks cascading around her.

Lara followed up with a blast of pure fire from her palm searing, bright, and wild.

It hit.

Lucindra cried out as the flames engulfed her side, her silken robes blackening instantly. She rolled, dodging the next slash, then hurled a bolt of crimson energy that Lara ducked just in time.

"You’re better," Lucindra said, voice strained.

"I’m pissed!" Lara shouted.

She charged again, blades whirling in a perfect cyclone of burning arcs. Her yellow fire responded to her fury, leaping higher, hotter, the heat warping the air between them.

The gallery filled with smoke and light, shadows dancing like specters across the walls.

Lucindra fought back, casting elegant sigils midair, each one a curse or strike meant to disarm or maim—but Lara kept moving. Kept pressing.

The woman who had left them to rot didn’t deserve a clean duel. She deserved to burn.

"You know what I remember?" Lara spat, kicking Lucindra hard in the stomach.

"Malvoria crying herself to sleep for months. I remember Mom—Veylira—bleeding her hands dry trying to hold the kingdom together while you played pirate queen with the treasury!"

Lucindra deflected the next strike, but her breathing was ragged.

"You think you can just waltz back in and say hi, daughter like you bought me a damn puppy after a decade in the Void?!"

"I never stopped loving you—"

"SHUT UP."

Lara’s fire surged.

Her flames became blades, cutting the very air between them.

Lucindra barely blocked the onslaught—one spell deflecting, another consuming. Her magic was strong, but it wasn’t perfect, not anymore. Not against this.

A blade scorched her shoulder.

Another cut through her leg.

Blood spilled.

And Lara pressed in, relentless.

"This is for every fucking letter we never got! For every nightmare Malvoria thought you were dead! For every day I looked in the mirror and saw you."

She slammed her palm against Lucindra’s chest.

The fire ignited point-blank.

Lucindra screamed.

But she didn’t fall.

Instead, she twisted—grabbed Lara’s wrist with inhuman speed—and flung her across the chamber.

Lara crashed through a broken display case, glass slicing into her arms, ribs bruising against stone. She coughed, blood flecking her lip, but rolled up onto her knees instantly.

Lucindra stood shakily now, clothes scorched, hair wild, one eye bloodshot—but still very much alive.

"You are strong," she said, breathing hard.

"Damn right I am."

Lara rose fully, wiping blood from her mouth. "You don’t get to break us and come back expecting hugs. You don’t get to smile and pretend we’re your girls again."

Lucindra’s smile returned—but colder now. Tired.

"You talk so much. Just like your mother."

"She’s not my mother," Lara growled. "You don’t get that title anymore."

Lucindra’s gaze hardened.

"Then I don’t need to pretend."

She moved faster than before—no teleporting this time, just raw magical speed. Lara slashed at her, but Lucindra ducked, twisted, and drove a surge of shadow magic into Lara’s legs.

They buckled.

Lara went down to one knee, her fire dimming momentarily.

Lucindra didn’t stop.

She crossed the space in a heartbeat and grabbed Lara by the neck, lifting her off the floor with one hand.

Lara gasped, flames sputtering as her fingers clawed at Lucindra’s wrist.

Lucindra’s eyes gleamed, triumphant.

"I hoped this would be different," she said softly, "but I see now—I’ll have to unmake you to make you mine again."

Lucindra’s grip tightened around Lara’s throat, and her free hand lifted, glowing with a sickly red light.

Control magic shimmered at her fingertips—an ancient, invasive spell meant to hollow out the mind and fill it with obedience.

"I gave you life," she whispered, "I can take your will."

Lara choked, her vision swimming.

Then something inside her snapped.

Not broke—ignited.

A furious, defiant roar tore from her throat as a blinding surge of yellow fire exploded from her chest, engulfing Lucindra’s arm, the magic searing bright and wild.

It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t focused. It was pure, elemental rage. The flames lashed the walls, cracked stone, blew out the torches in a blinding wave.

Lucindra stumbled back, cloak smoldering, eyes wide with surprise.

"You—!" she started, voice sharp.

But she didn’t finish.

Because a blur of crimson and steel smashed into her from the side—Malvoria, fury incarnate, landing like a meteor.

The floor buckled beneath them from the impact.

Lucindra hit the ground hard, wind knocked from her lungs, and for the first time in years, she looked genuinely stunned.

Malvoria rose above her, breathing fire through her eyes.

"Touch her again," she said coldly, "and I’ll end you."