(A/N) By popular demand, here's a side story of Apollo at the satyr school!

I stood rigidly in front of the satyr school. Come on, just walk in, one foot forward, then the other. I still didn't move.

Come on, they're just satyr children, you've talked to them a million times before! Yes, part of me whispered. And they've been scared of you for a lot of those times, both as children AND adults.

Thousands of years ago, I'd help spread the rumor that I had skinned Marsyas alive for bragging about being a better musician than me. That wasn't QUITE the case - I could see now how cruel I could be in the past, but even I wasn't THAT bad. But I'd told people I had done it, in order to come off as more intimidating. Eventually I had regretted spreading such a bloodthirsty, false tale about myself. I hadn't done much to combat it though. Part of me had wanted to be feared, even for something cruel. "Fear" and "respect" could seem awfully similar after all.

I no longer wished for that facsimile of respect. If the satyrs no longer listened to me as attentively, if they no longer treated me with as much deference, than so be it. Over my months as a mortal, I had grown to appreciate how nice it could be to be treated as an equal, and as a friend.

As for being feared…

My stomach curdled.

I had been forced to confront truths I had ignored for millennia. How much Zeus's cruelty could HURT, for one. How much of my anger I had misdirected, afraid to strike at Zeus directly, instead taking it out on people who were only tangentially involved, like the Cyclopes. And the reason why I - and most of the other Olympians, I suspected - obeyed Zeus… for the most part.

It wasn't because of respect. Especially when it came to his orders during Second Titan War and the Second Giant War. Most of us knew he was making bad calls. Holing up in Olympus and wishing the problem away was never going to work. But most of us had still done it, fearing what he'd do to us if we didn't.

Like father, like son.

I had instilled the same fear in the satyrs. They didn't "respect" me because I was good or wise or brave, but because they believed I might torture them to death if I didn't.

I was more similar to my father than I'd like to admit.

Time to change that.

I took a deep breath, and opened the door.

I found the music hall easily. The building was pretty small, and Grover had given me some good directions.

I peered around the entrance first, wanting to get a good look at the class before entering.

Woodrow sat on a stool. At first glance he appeared composed. Yet I could hear his ragged breathing, saw the barely controlled fear in his expression.

His pupils weren't in much better shape. Three young satyrs sat on small cushions, each of them with an instrument in their lap. I wondered why there were so few of them. Perhaps there were simply so few young satyrs who had been able to safely make their way to Camp Half-Blood, with how difficult and dangerous traveling had become since the Emperors revealed themselves. Perhaps the other students had decided to call in sick, hoping to avoid potentially angering me. Or both.

"Both" made my stomach twist the most, so it was probably right.

The satyr on the right had a Keytar on his lap. He looked to be around 8 in human years, which meant he was probably around 16 in actuality, since satyrs age at half the rate that humans do. He clutched his keytar to himself tightly, his knuckles turning white, breathing so quickly I thought he might pass out. I recognized that expression, that desperation to clutch onto SOMETHING for comfort. I had experienced it many times since becoming human.

The satyr in the middle looked slightly older - maybe 18 - and held a trumpet in his lap. He wasn't clutching it like the satyr on the right had held his instrument. He seemed to be mimicking Woodrow's rigidity instead, trying to hide his nerves by simply not moving at all.

The satyr on the left looked to be youngest, no older than 14. A tiny golden lyre sat beside him. My mind flashed to my own personal lyre, which I had modeled on the one Hermes had crafted for me all those millennia ago. A quiet sob echoed through the air. I quickly snapped out of my reverie and took a closer look at the youngest satyr. His eyes were red and bloodshot as he pulled his legs up, burying his face in the soft, curly fur.

They were all so terrified, so afraid I might hurt them, might TORTURE them. And for good reason. I had WANTED them to be scared of me. Now I wished, not for the first time, that I could go back in time and punch my past self in the face. HARD.

I breathed out deeply, prepared myself, and stepped into the hall.

Immediately four heads snapped towards me. I wished I could shrink into oblivion, far away from those terrified eyes.

Instead I plastered a (hopefully) friendly smile onto my face and walked towards Woodrow. He gave a wobbly smile in return.

"I am Apollo," I announced. "I will be your music teacher for the day."

Originally I was thinking of just coming in and announcing that I HADN'T actually flayed Marsyas, but looking at all the satyrs, I felt it best to NOT bring up that story right now. I doubted they'd believe me anyway, but they might feel pressure to pretend that they did, and then be terrified when it became apparent that they actually still thought I'd flayed him, and…

Well, best to just try to get them somewhat comfortable in my presence. For the first time I was glad that Zeus had given me a very non-imposing form.

The students stared at me. I shuffled my feet a little.

"So… what are your names?"

No one spoke. Clearly I'd need to be a little more active in order to get anywhere.

I pointed to the keytar satyr. "I'm- I'm Fern, sir."

"You can play the keytar, Fern?" I asked.

"A- a little…but nowhere near as well as you sir, I'm sure!" he added hastily.

I turned towards the middle satyr, letting Fern relax now that my attention was no longer on him.

"That's a nice trumpet," I said.

"Do- do you want it? If you want it, you can have it," he said. Every word seemed to pain him. He clearly LOVED that trumpet, but didn't want to deny me.

"No, no! It's yours! I just wanted to let you know I thought it was nice."

The satyr sighed, clearly relieved. "Th-thanks."

Hopefully he'd calmed down some more. Maybe now I could find out his name? I couldn't just keep calling him "the middle satyr".

"So what's your name?"

"Aster, sir."

"Thank you, Aster."

I turned my attention to the last satyr, still partially curled into a ball.

"And you?" I asked as gently as I could. "What's your name?"

"Wr-Wren," he stuttered.

"That's a lovely name, Wren."

"Th-thank you."

We sat in silence for a moment. Finally I decided to try to move the lesson along.

"So, Aster! Could you play a piece for me? The most complicated piece you've mastered, if you could. I'd like to judge what level you're on."

"Su-sure."

Nervously, he played a quick, high energy piece. He played it well, with only the occasional stumble. It was pretty good, coming from someone so young.

I smiled encouragingly as he finished. "That was very well done, Aster. You play the trumpet well."

He smiled back. It was a little wobbly, a little fearful, but it appeared genuine.

"Thank you."

I turned my attention to Fern. "You feel up for a performance?"

The look on his face said no, he did NOT feel up for a performance, could you please turn away for a few seconds so I could run away and find a hole to crawl into and die?

Out loud, he said, "I'll try."

Slowly, he started playing. This song.. it seemed sad, but… hopeful. Saying that maybe everything wasn't fine, but paradoxically, that somehow MADE things OK. Bad things happened. Terrible things had happened. But hope remained.

It… it struck close to home for me. I'd watched some awful things. I'd seen friends die, realized how blind we gods had been, how much we'd gotten wrong. Yet things could change for the better. I had changed for the better.

Remember what it's like to be human.

Jason had passed the torch to me. It was up to me to continue changing things, to fulfill Jason's promise, and my own.

I smiled softly at Fern as he finished. If anyone noticed that my eyes were a little wetter, they didn't comment.

"That was beautiful," I said. "What song is it?"

"His Theme, sir," Fern replied. He seemed calmer than before. The song seemed to have quieted his fear. "It's from a video game called Undertale."

"Who's theme?" I asked. I wasn't familiar with Undertale, though after hearing that song, I DEFINITELY wanted to look it up.

"That's the name of the song, 'His Theme'." This time I could hear the quotation marks.

"Thank you for playing it for us, Fern," I said gently. He smiled back at me.

I turned to the final satyr child. "Wren?"

The boy startled. "Y-yes?"

He was still scared of me. I tried to soften my voice more, praying that that would put him at ease. "You feel up for playing your lyre? I'd love to hear it."

Mutely he nodded, picking up the lyre in his shaking hands. Yet his hands were remarkably steady as he plucked the strings.

This song I recognized. I'd heard it played several times over the past decade, played by many different musicians on many different instruments. A sad-sounding song, yet it was used as an intro.

"Dearly Beloved," I stated as he finished. "From Kingdom Hearts."

"You know it?!" he exclaimed, nervousness forgotten.

"Of course! It's pretty well known, and besides…"

And besides, it reminds me of the lovers I've lost.

I didn't say that aloud of course.

"Excellent song choice, Wren. You played that beautifully."

Wren beamed at me.

At last, I was making progress. They seemed to be losing some of their fear.

Then I looked over at Aster.

He was looking down at the floor, face crunched up slightly.

I frowned. Why did he seem upset? He'd played a nice piece on the trum-

Oh. OH.

I couldn't remember much about the piece. He'd played it well enough, but there wasn't much heart in it, and he'd stumbled over a few of the notes. I hadn't been able to identify the song, and it hadn't been memorable enough for me to feel inclined to ask what it was. He'd known how to play the trumpet, but it didn't seem like the most natural instrument for him. As if he normally played something else.

"Aster," I called, hoping my intuition was right, "Would you like to play the instrument your most proficient in for me?"

His jaw dropped.

"You knew?!"

"Not until just now. Please retrieve it, if you like. I promise I won't be mad at you for playing it."

He hesitated a moment, then walked over and pulled out a flute.

I had been right.

He'd hidden his true instrument, feared playing it because of what had happened when Marsyas had played one near me.h

But now he was willing to play it for me.

He started playing. Sad, slow, and melancholy again. It seemed to be a theme. I didn't recognize this one.

This song… I could hear the longing, the unrequited love in every note. So soft, yet filled with gentle pain. Oh, Daphne…

Again, I was left in tears at the end.

"That was beautiful," I whispered.

Aster beamed back at me. "I've been practicing that one for awhile. I'm the best in my class at the flute! Heck, even Woodrow's had trouble teaching me more, since I'm beyond his level. I've never met anyone better than me at… it…"

A look of horror overcame his face.

"Un-until you, ofcourseyou'rebetteryou'reApolloyou'rethegodofmusicyou'reALWAYSthebestpleasedon'tkillmeI'llneverplayamusicalinstrumentagainjustpleasedon't-"

My heart broke. He thought I would MURDER him, TORTURE him, a CHILD, JUST for the crime of playing the flute well, and SAYING how well he played it.

I had to set this right. This is why I came.

Aster threw the flute away and prostrated himself on the floor, trembling in fear, crying. The other two satyrs had backed up, looking at their friend as if they were afraid they'd never see him again.

Slowly I approached him, kneeling down to try and appear as unthreatening as possible. It… wasn't really working, but still I tried.

"Aster," I called. "Aster. I'm not going to hurt you. Not for playing well, and not for bragging about it either."

He still sobbed, but I thought they'd quieted just a fraction.

"I- what I did to Marsyas- that story- it isn't true. I- I didn't kill him. I just told everyone I did, because I wanted to be feared. Marsyas was smart enough not to reveal himself and show that I had lied about killing him. Even he knew that was a bad idea. I- I wanted to be feared. For no one to dare think they compared to me. I regretted it later, but the damage was done. And I never fully committed to trying to repair it. Until now."

"Aster, I'm GLAD you're so good at playing the flute. I'm HAPPY that there are brilliant musicians in this world besides me, even ones who brag. I'm not gonna hurt you, or anyone else, simply for saying that their anywhere near as good as me, or even better. I won't hurt someone for something so small. It's WRONG, okay? I was WRONG to even pretend to do that in the past. So… please…"

I walked over to the side and retrieved the flute from where it fell. I held it out to Aster. "Please pick up your flute. I know how important an instrument is to a musician."

Eyes still bloodshot, cheeks tear-stained, he reached out and accepted the flute. The other two satyr children let out sighs of relief.

Still, Aster stared at me in disbelief.

"It's OK," I soothed. "It's OK."

He moved towards me, and hugged. A second later he seemed to remember himself and flinched back. "It's fine," I said, hugging him back. "It's fine."

He melted into the hug.

We stayed like that for a minute.

This is what I had been missing. This warmth. Why had I ever thought it was better to be feared?

We broke apart, Aster still wiping tears from his eyes. Yet he was smiling.

"So!" I smiled at the three of them. "Who wants to learn some new songs from the God of Music himself?"

They cheered.

As I sat down and taught them some new (or rather, really REALLY old) songs, I smiled to myself.

Maybe I wasn't a god right now, but I could still make things just this little bit better. I could change things, by myself, without needing powers. Even if it was small, it MATTERED.

To these young, small, oh-so-fragile children, it MATTERED.

And I cared.

I cared what they thought of me.

I cared about their well-being.

I didn't want them to live in fear of me.

And now they no longer would.

It would take a long time to undo the damage that the Marsyas story had inflicted on all the satyrs. There were so many satyrs, and it had been passed down for so, so long.

But that wouldn't stop me from trying.

It was simply one step on my quest to improve things for mortals, and to improve MYSELF.

And I had just taken another step.