I couldn't say die. Gods weren't supposed to die, but I'd seen it happen. Even

if they didn't die, they could be reduced to nearly nothing, exiled, imprisoned

in the depths of Tartarus like Kronos had been.

 

"Percy, you must go," Poseidon insisted. "I don't know what your final decision

will be, but your fight lies in the world above. If nothing else, you must warn

your friends at camp. Kronos knew your plans.

 

You have a spy. We will hold here. We have no choice."

 

Tyson gripped my hand desperately. "I will miss you, brother! "

 

Watching us, our father seemed to age another ten years. "Tyson, you have work

to do as well, my son. They need you in the armory."

 

Tyson pouted some more.

 

"I will go," he sniffled. He hugged me so hard he almost cracked my ribs.

"Percy, be careful! Do not let monsters kill you dead!"

 

I tried to nod confidently, but it was too much for the big guy. He sobbed and

swam away toward the armory, where his cousins were fixing spears and swords.

 

"You should let him fight," I told my father. "He hates being stuck in the

armory. Can't you tell?"