Work Text:
The glide of the inkbrush on the paper comes easier than Issun expected. It's not that he hasn't drawn or painted at all since leaving his village, he has, the whole reason he left was because he was sick of having his work dismissed and he wanted to prove his grandfather wrong, but the frequency of it diminished. The art he has always wanted to pride himself on had become tainted, the ink staining the tip of his paintbrush leaving a foul taste in his mouth, and despite all his bragging about being a wandering artist, in truth, his hand often withdrew before he could commit to putting anything on paper. Frozen in hesitance, in the uncertainty of his ability to bring the vision in his head into reality. It was easier to pass off his grandfather's work as his own than actually create something himself when he knew he'd spend hours afterwards hearing that commanding bark in the back of his mind telling him everything he was doing wrong. After all, claiming to be a brilliant artist is much easier than proving it.
Perhaps his hesitance is the reason he could never get Rejuvenation to work with any kind of consistency. Divine power does not belong in hands that stall.
After so long, he almost expected his skills to have abandoned him. Art requires practice, and although he never stopped painting completely, Issun had been too angry to practice.
But it returns to him, or perhaps it never left, faithfully by his side like it's always been, and when he swallows the lump in his throat and begins to paint, his brush glides and twirls along the surface of the paper, dancing in joy at finally fulfilling its purpose again.
The voice in the back of his head is still there. Criticising, picking apart his anatomy, his perspective, his colour choices, tearing his brushwork to pieces and glaring at him when he dares to protest. Never, ever good enough. No matter what he does, it's never going to be good enough for old man Ishaku.
But this isn't for Ishaku.
So Issun pushes away the voice, the criticisms. He imagines they're scratched on his paper and then paints over them, not even giving them the effort to pay attention to them as he does so. He stays focused on his work, one with his brush, guiding it as much as he is guided.
If he focuses, or perhaps if he indulges himself, he can pretend there's a second brushstroke alongside his, brimming with divinity to help bring his work to life the same way it once brought life to the very world around him.
Stretched out under the Guardian Sapling in Shinshu Fields, he paints, he draws, he does not hesitate. Every stroke of his brush is sure and certain, not because the voice in the back of his head is gone, but because it is outdated and no longer knows his muse better than he does.
Rejuvenation works for him every time now. All of the Celestial Brush techniques do, which is something even his grandfather never managed to achieve. Finally, finally, Issun has done what he set out to do: prove he is better than Ishaku tried to make him believe, despite all the effort to tear him down.
The victory is bittersweet.
He tries not to think about that.
It's difficult to not think about it when it's so closely tied to his art, though, so all he can do is take a deep breath and try to put those thoughts into every stroke of his brush. That, at least, seems to somewhat work, like merely having such thoughts on his mind helps guide his hand, ensuring every finished piece comes out exactly the way he wants it.
Exactly how he remembers her.
His brush trails to a stop. Issun blinks, takes in the painting before him for the first time since he started; he's been so focused on the details of his work he hasn't even looked at the full picture yet.
Still, despite his wandering mind, it's exactly how he pictured it: the great goddess Amaterasu, snarling up at Crimson Helm, mid-lunge, blowing away his fire with her divine wind and guarded by the Satomi Power Orbs. A special piece for the people of Kusa Village to help them remember exactly what she did for them. It isn't his best work, but he manages to feel proud of it anyway. The baring of her teeth almost seems like it could come to life at any moment and snap around Crimson Helm's neck - or, well, whatever neck equivalent he may have had.
He's careful with it when he rolls it up, the way he always is with his art for her. Sometimes he indulges himself and paints something else, like a landscape, or maybe someone else, like one of the many people they met on their adventure, and he's a little more careless with those pieces - though certainly not as careless as he was with his grandfather's painting of Sakura - but he treats every single work about Ammy with the utmost care. He doesn't want it to be in anything less than the best possible condition when he shares it with Kusa Village. After all, that's no way to treat a painting of a goddess.
It's definitely no way to treat a painting of his best friend.
Most would find it presumptuous or even insulting to refer to a goddess as his best friend, but Ammy wouldn't mind.
Issun traces the scroll with his thumb, twirls his paintbrush with his other hand, stares up the hill to where the entrance to Agata Forest lies. He should get going. The sooner he gets to Kusa Village, the sooner he can deliver his work; this is only the latest in the small collection he has created for his most recent trip, carefully counted so every household will have at least one painting of Amaterasu. Each one just a small example of something she did for them all, even though nobody realised she was there.
Issun will never forget his adventures with Ammy for as long as he lives, and he doesn't want anyone else to forget, either. So long as he breathes, he will never let anyone forget her ever again. Exactly as a Celestial Envoy should.
Attributing the title to himself still feels weird even to this day. The responsibility used to sound like such a chore, and he'd hated the thought of it, hated the way it sucked all the joy out of his passion. He'd always been taught every work had to be his best work, that if he didn't put all of himself into every piece, if every single stroke of his brush wasn't dedicated to praise, it would fall flat and fail to connect, and everyone would forget. That might not have been so bad if it wasn't for the fact everything he did seemed to fall short somehow, setting him up for failure in a job he hadn't even been chosen for yet. When Issun left, he swore off the whole thing, and promised himself he would never, ever let anyone, not even a god, get between him and his art. Promised himself he'd only ever paint exactly what he wanted to paint, nothing more and nothing less.
He hasn't broken that promise. He hasn't needed to.
The most important part about being a Celestial Envoy - the part his grandfather neglected to mention - is how much he wants to draw Ammy. Every little detail, every little interaction, from taking down Orochi - twice! - to digging up turnips whilst skillfully avoiding Mushi's mama. He can, and does, draw other things, but more often than not, when he lacks inspiration, when his hands are idle, he looks to the sky, to the sun, and finds himself sketching that familiar figure once again.
It's hard work being a Celestial Envoy, but it isn't a chore like he'd feared. If anything, he wants to draw her too much, and has to hold himself back.
Even now, his eyes drift to his supplies, and his fingers itch to continue. Start a new piece, something different to the usual tales meant to evoke gratitude and praise. Something personal.
The anniversary of Ammy's final battle and subsequent departure to the heavens is coming up. Issun has a project in mind, one he plans to spread all across Nippon. This one will be his best work yet: a representation of her battle against the darkness, and how she managed to get the sun shining again. It won't be accurate - Issun has no idea what challenges she faced that day, not even an image to pair with the name of her foe - but a little bit of artistic liberty surely won't hurt so long as it gets the message across. And Issun intends to do everything within his power to make sure that happens. He'll hand it out to everyone, not just every household, but every person he can find, make sure everyone has their own painting of Amaterasu's greatest victory.
It's a big project, and he needs to get started. This isn't something he wants to rush, so he absolutely cannot leave it until the last minute.
Still, as he stares at his supplies, and his fingers itch, he doesn't want to do it. Not yet.
It was Ammy's greatest victory, and the last time he saw her.
Even when he spends almost every day painting her, drawing her, praising her, it isn't the same. No matter how good his art becomes, when he reaches out, he only touches paper, and not her silky soft fur. He fears forgetting the details of her, so he keeps drawing, keeps painting, tries to capture those details he desperately wants to remember, but although he would never say the paintings fall short, they are no replacement for the real thing. Her brave battles against the enemies they fought, the kindness she showed to strangers without expecting anything back, those are all her, but they aren't the full image of her. The drawings he shares with the world lack her soft snore and her tendency to space out and her gross slobbery wolf breath. Things that seem incompatible with a goddess, but were part of Issun's everyday life for so long.
He wants to draw his best friend, and he does.
But he never gets to draw all of her.
He wants to, though. Badly. He shares her with everyone, because she deserves to have everyone know who she truly was, but selfishly, there's a little piece of her he wants to keep just for himself. A drawing of something precious, perhaps mundane or even ugly or gross, but special, that only the two of them would understand. That isn't his job, he's supposed to always spread praise for her, but he wants to do it anyway, regardless of his duties as her Celestial Envoy.
Everyone else gets to have a little piece of her hanging in their homes, so why shouldn't he? Why doesn't he deserve to carry around a personal painting of his own, one to remind himself exactly who he's doing this for? He needs to make sure everyone remembers and praises her, and everyone includes him. It's only fair.
Mind made up, Issun reaches for a fresh piece of paper. Smaller this time, suitable for a Poncle. This will be quicker and easier than most of his pieces now he doesn't have a canvas ten times bigger than his own body to work with.
He doesn't have any particular scene in mind when his brush glides on the paper. He just breathes, and relaxes, thinks of her, and trusts that whatever the end product is will be something he likes.
Even though he's only just started, those pesky mental criticisms already try to pipe up, and Issun shoves them away with more ferocity than usual. This is for him, and old man Ishaku is not going to ruin it. Not this one. None of his work, but especially not this one.
There is no room to consider anything or anyone except Ammy.
He paints, and he imagines a divine brush painting alongside him. The rays of the sun beam down on him through the gaps in the Guardian Sapling's leaves, warming him, and he can almost pretend it's a sign of approval.
When he first left his village, he told himself he wouldn't seek anyone's approval ever again. The only person whose opinion he cherished would be his own, because he was the only one who understood his own capabilities, so he was the only one who had reasonable expectations of himself. He flaunted his grandfather's work as his own so any criticisms wouldn't sting, and his own art was for his eyes only. Only people who would appreciate his talent would get to see his real work.
He never did show it to anyone. Not until the day Ammy left, when he was grasping for something to do, anything that might help her, and his brushes and paints were the only thing that came to mind.
If someone told him when he first walked away from Ponc'tan he would one day cherish the approval of a goddess of all people, he would have been furious.
But now here he is.
The difference, he feels, is he doesn't feel like he's seeking her approval. Cherishes it, yes, but he isn't actively chasing it. He doesn't need to. She will still care about him, she will still appreciate him and his skills, even if her approval of his art ever falters. He doesn't need to constantly keep her happy; he certainly didn't when they travelled together, and she definitely didn't keep him happy, either. There was intimacy in the way they were allowed to be annoyed with each other, in knowing no matter how much he irritated her, she would never treat him like he wasn't good enough.
Not that he realised that until it was too late. He didn't realise it until he fell into the freezing waters of Laochi Lake, and she still stood at the door, waiting for him to find a way to join her.
He's never forgotten the way she never truly accepted he wasn't going with her. The Ark rejected him, and the bridge vanished, and the door closed and locked her inside before she could do anything about it, but he saw the way she scrambled to get out and get to him in the final seconds before the Ark sealed shut.
She still approved of him, even when the Ark itself didn't.
And now, even though Issun doesn't have to seek her approval or keep her happy, he wants to anyway. He wants to do things that would make her proud, hopes she can see his efforts even from the heavens.
Their goodbye wasn't a real goodbye, and Issun regrets that the last time he saw Ammy in person, he was pushing her away. He hopes she knows just how much he appreciates her, and that she is the only reason he is doing all these things in the first place. He doesn't hate being a Celestial Envoy anymore, but only because it's for her. He wouldn't do it for anyone but her.
Strange to think he had no idea how important she would become to him when they first met. He doubts even Waka and his stupid prophecies could've predicted such a thing. As far as Issun had been concerned, she was supposed to be a cheat code to learning all the Celestial Brush techniques, nothing more. Why would he ever suspect otherwise, when the first time they met she was just a sleepy wolf who'd only just reawakened from being a statue for a hundred years, and curled up and fell asleep when Sakura tried to explain the dire situation to her? Not exactly someone who inspires confidence or becomes the most important person in your life, and Issun has met so many people during his travels, even before he met Ammy, that he would've placed bets on being more important to him than she ever could. Skilled artists, talented warriors, dozens of beautiful women. Out of everyone in the world, why would he ever imagine one random wolf would one day be everything to him, goddess or not?
But somewhere along the way, she did. Between fighting demons, completing hit lists, digging for treasure, and facing off against the worst threats Issun has ever seen, she became more than just a ride to hitch. She became inspiration, bravery, a confidant. His friend, when part of him didn't know if he'd ever have one again after he abandoned Ponc'tan. With her, suddenly Rejuvenation became more consistent. Suddenly the Celestial Brush techniques started working for him, one after the other; he'd spend hours practicing them, stretching whenever he became stiff, showing off his skills with a dramatic flourish of his arm, while Ammy would lie in the grass and doze, lifting her head only when he demanded she watched him, and giving an encouraging bark whenever he succeeded.
Suddenly his hand hesitated just a little less when he'd sketch wary strokes on a piece of paper in the dead of the night, lying on her back as she slept. Sometimes she'd summon the moon for him when the sky got too dark; a pointed poke would be enough to get her to sleepily flick her tail, and then the moon would shine brilliantly for him, allowing him to see his work and continue.
He still didn't show it to anyone, but he drew more with her than he did before he met her.
He wishes he'd shown her some of his paintings when he had the chance.
But that's all the more reason to push himself, so one day he can put those regrets to rest. He'll show her everything he's worked on, and she'll wag her tail and give an encouraging bark and maybe try to lick him, forgetting in her excitement he's way too small for that.
Even with that comforting thought, something in his chest quivers a little. It bloomed when she boarded the Ark without him, when she left, and it has never gone away, just pulses in soft pain whenever he opens his mouth to say something only to remember she can no longer hear him.
His shoulders tremble, but miraculously, his hand stays steady. Always steady for her.
He ran into his destiny while trying to run from it, and now he runs into it, as hard and as much as he can, throws himself in with everything he has. Running from his destiny is why he couldn't follow her in the first place, and he won't do that again. He'll find a way back to her. The last time they see each other won't be him pretending he was fine with leaving her, and denying that neither of them were ready to part even when she whined and tried to follow him.
He'll see her again. Whether it's destiny or just his own stubborn mindset, he isn't sure, but he knows he will see her again. After all, who else is qualified to keep an eye on her if not him?
Until then, he'll keep drawing, keep painting, keep talking about her, until he's worthy of seeing her again. He will do what he can for her while they're apart, and pray it's enough. Even if he doesn't know how he's supposed to get to the Celestial Plain now the Ark is gone, it doesn't matter. He'll figure it out as he goes. Leap before you think and all that.
Does Ammy still live by that phrase? Does she carry a small piece of Issun with her by charging into situations without thinking?
Only one way to find out. And he will, eventually, no matter how long it takes.
His eyes sting and blur, and he has to stop painting to tilt his head back and press the back of his hand against them until the burning fades.
When it finally does, and he finally takes a peek at his painting for the first time since he started, it comes right back.
It's her, alright, not as the goddess everyone else knows her as, but the way Issun knew her. Dozing in the sun on a grassy plain, nose pressed against one of Mrs. Orange's cherry cakes, her fur and especially her paws caked in mud. She seems to be mid-snore, or perhaps about to unconsciously take a bite out of the cherry cake, with just a hint of drool dribbling from her open mouth.
It's not a graceful painting. She just looks like an ordinary wolf, and the only things that identify her true nature as a goddess are the Divine Instrument on her back - the first one, the one she had when they met - and the crimson and ink-stained markings of her true form. If his grandfather were to see this, he would be horrified at the unflattering way it depicts her, maybe even yell at him and tell him he's insulting her and all the work she did.
But this is Ammy the way Issun remembers her. A goddess, yes, but that was secondary compared to who she really was to him: his companion that was stubborn and hard-headed and ate more than her weight in food, who slept instead of listening when someone was boring her and refused to take a bath if she could help it.
It isn't graceful, but it's undeniably his best friend. His partner.
Issun swallows around the lump in his throat, longs to trace a finger down her snout, but he refrains. He doesn't want to ruin the painting, and he won't feel the warmth he's looking for.
She always ran so warm. He didn't realise how accustomed he'd gotten to that until after she left and all of a sudden nowhere was warm enough to sleep, not even the fur of other animals. How could anything ever compete with the heat of the sun goddess herself?
The sunbeams brighten, warming him further, like an apology, as if she's watching over him and is trying to warm him again the only way she can from all the way up there.
Can she hear him? He prays to her all the time, surely she hears those, but do these thoughts count as prayer? Does she know just how much he misses her, how he still looks back and opens his mouth to talk to her like she's right behind him? Is she looking down at him the same way she did on the Ark before the door closed and took her away?
If she's watching him right now, what should he say to her?
I miss you. I can't wait to see you again. The world is beautiful, but it isn't the same without you. I'm only doing this for you.
But then again, what are the chances she's watching him? She's probably doing something important up on the Celestial Plain. Restoring it to its former glory, cleaning up the messes left behind, maybe killing any demons that still infiltrate the land. Orochi's forces overwhelmed the Celestials, right? So there might still be some there, demons that have grown complacent in their perceived victory, only to now be met with Ammy's snarling teeth and the bite of her Divine Instruments, cleansing her home of evil with the same viciousness she used to cleanse the world.
Yeah, that's probably what she's doing.
If he could say anything to her right now, it would have to be…
"You better not be hogging all the glory up there, Furball," he says, reaching out to trace one of the beams stretched across the grass next to him. "Make sure you save some for me."
It might be his imagination, but he could almost swear the sunbeams dance and jostle in silent laughter. They warm him further, and Issun smiles, bites back his own responding laugh so it can't turn into a sob.
He hopes she isn't watching him, if only because it means she can't see the way his lip wobbles.
It's agony to be in her sunbeams and yet be so far away from her. To feel her, but not in the way he wants to.
Not feeling her at all would be worse, though, so he stays.
Petals swirl in the gentle breeze, skipping and twirling by his feet, as he readjusts his grip on his brush and adds the finishing touches to his painting, and when he's done, he stares down at it, drinking it in. Maybe it's bias, or his aching heart longing for a trace of casual familiarity, but this is his favourite piece so far. Proof of who she was beyond the goddess she's praised as, for him to cherish for however long they're apart.
How long he stares at it, he doesn't know. Clouds drift across the sky, the shadows of the tree branches sway in the wind, a curious bird lands by his side and peeks at the paper, fortunately flying off without mistaking him for a bug and trying to eat him. He doesn't budge for any of it, not even when his body starts to ache from sitting in one position for so long. It isn't until the sky begins to dim, and the faint scent of oncoming rain hits him, that he slowly rolls up his painting and tucks it away in a waterproof pouch; can't allow it to be ruined by the rain.
The sunbeams, as though sensing their time has come to an end, retreat at a snail's pace, clinging to him despite the darkening sky and the gathering clouds, unwilling to part. Issun holds out his hand, watches the last of the beams brush along his palm in goodbye.
Then they're gone, leaving him alone, and chilly. The wind is cold instead of refreshing now the clouds are preventing the sun from keeping him warm.
It's time to go. Really, it was time to go ages ago; he should be halfway through Agata Forest by now, if not in Taka Pass. His paintings won't hand themselves out, and his work as a Celestial Envoy never stops. Still, at least his break means he won't get caught in the downpour with nowhere to find shelter. If he hurries, he might be able to find somewhere in Agata Forest to wait out the rain. The fortune lady's cave should be good enough, right? Yeah, he'll hunker down there and do some more painting, finish up the last pieces for Kusa Village, maybe even get started on his big project, and by the time the rain passes, he'll have plenty of works ready to go.
His hand falls over the pouch he's tucked his personal painting in. His fingers trace the material, and he pretends a solid sunbeam is nestled safely inside, encouraging him to push on and continue his duty so he can see her again.
He will see her again.
The vow pushes him to his feet, and he steps out from under the twirling cherry blossoms and continues on.