[attr="class","staffbody"]

there is too much left to be understood—were all the ones who rose against her with cerberus? no. impossible. they fought on hydra's terms. in darkness, away from the light. across the sea. they didn't—couldn't—want this, either.
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they were fighting for the sake of the coven. they would not—not all— want to act against it.
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but all it takes is one.
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all it takes is a single collaborator, a single person willing to trade silver for gold, to make a band of a ring, to turn their allegiance from one monster to the next—
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—then the wolves are upon you.
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then the sea, your home, is on fire.

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---

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there is a version of the story in which farah serizawa does nothing.
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it is a familiar road.
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it is a repeat, in other words, of what happened years and years ago, with the leviathan watching as hydra ships were chased off the continent by cerberus banners, with the coasts of old delphi painted in reds and gold. with the leviathan retreating, with her dying.
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a lost war, all for the sake of a single dream—that there might be a tomorrow, for them to rise again.
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it's a simple, smart play—to let the opponent win, to allow them to gain a sense of calm, to suffer humiliation and defeat for the promise, for the lifeline that is revenge.

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---

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farah serizawa is not her mother.

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---

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zeke, though, had nearly convinced her—after all, he had said, isn't that what hydra teaches you first? the is no point in a resurrection, unless it's on your own terms. it's better to retreat, regroup. they can wait a little longer. it's better cerberus does not know that you are alive, does not know the extent of our power.
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and yet.
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he could not even convince himself.
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what use is purity, in the face of pride?
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she is standing on the pier, watching the world burn. one million voices, trying to reach her, trying desperately to borrow her ear. but she has listened long enough, and waited long enough.
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she slices skin near her own wrist, and tears open the fabric of reality with power of her spell—the SIX SWORDS OF THE LEVIATHAN appear, each the size of a skyscraper.
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each sword is a blackish grey, with a unicursal hexagram embedded into the base of its blade. each emanates a dark energy, and seems to distort the space around it.
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the six of them make a semi circle above the surface of the water, far, far out into the sea. they cascade over the entirety of the battlefield, dwarfing ships, tossing the sea in haphazard, criss-crossing shadows, tip pointed at the ocean.
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they are visible, beyond a shadow of a doubt, from every speck of coast in delphi. visible from the docks, the northern parks, the lighthouses.
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from the citadel itself.
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and the six of them, together, are undoubtedly recognizable—to anyone that participated in, to anyone that has deeply studied the war.
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they are the arms of the leviathan, revived.
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"farah," comes a voice. "we need to leave. now."

OOC NOTE