One more time for good measure, ma chérie…
The soft warble of the flute picked up again, as mellifluous as ever despite the tremor of his hands. Though no match for the harsh winds of Kamui, winter had fallen in Kamiki – and an acute chill had settled in Waka's bones sometime during the many hours he'd passed here atop Konohana. Snow dusted his hands and shoulders, for he had not allowed himself to stir in quite a while; the song he played now was far too important to interrupt.
A distant cheer in the background caught his attention. His frozen fingers continued to play without fault as his eyes flitted to the evening skies – the moon, round and shining, was situated squarely above his head. Midnight. The new year had arrived, and with it, Waka's reprieve.
The song drew to a gentle close. The last note held, twittering, trilling, and finally fading quietly into the background of falling snow and faraway voices. As if a puppet on strings, Waka mechanically lowered his flute, flurries of snow slipping from his hands and arms. One long year he had remained here, as still as the statue of Amaterasu for which he played – and yet now, suddenly crushed under the silence surrounding him, Waka felt as if it had all passed in the blink of an eye. It was no surprise; for one of his age, a year was next to nothing. And yet…somehow it did not seem enough.
The feeling amused him. Would anything ever be enough?
Waka leapt from his perch, approaching the "Shiranui" statue reflectively. Looking upon their pasts…he could spend centuries playing the flute in penance and still it would not be enough. Amaterasu – beautiful, powerful Amaterasu – goddess of the sun, creator of all that is good and mother to all…protector of the Celestial Plain, guardian of the mortal realm. The pinnacle of benevolence, sacrifice and beauty. Even her statue gleamed with a faint holy air.
What was Waka compared to this?
A murderer, a slaughterer, a coward. He was everything she was not: untrustworthy; guilt-ridden and selfish; fallen from grace. It pained him to simply stand beside her, she who sacrificed herself to fell the dreaded Orochi after years of lying in wait, unwelcome and unappreciated. The presence of her statue here at the foot of the Guardian Tree was mere testament to her unending selflessness – and all Waka could do to atone for his unforgivable sins was play a silly flute. It would never be enough.
A sudden voice startled the man from his reverie. He turned to see the beauteous Sakuya, floating beside her roots.
"That was quite the remarkable song, Waka."
He could only smile bitterly. "Merci beaucoup. I am glad to have had a worthy audience." Though the comment was intended as a compliment to the young wood sprite, his eyes fell resentfully to the wolf statue – and Sakuya shook her head in understanding.
"I am not the only one here to appreciate your skillful playing," she reminded him gently.
Waka's eyes closed with a sigh. He withdrew the hand that had inadvertently placed itself upon Amaterasu's stony shoulder. "If only that were the case," he murmured, wistful.
Sakuya frowned, recognizing a scar beyond her powers of healing, and evanesced to leave the man alone with his thoughts.
Or rather, mostly alone – another was, indeed, present to appreciate his song.
"Well, Amaterasu," sighed he as the morning sun began to glance over the horizon, "shall we have another go around?" The wolf had remained unmoved by his thoughtful gaze the past few hours and likewise did not respond to his question now – however, Waka snapped up as if he had received an answer. Rejuvenated with sudden resolve, he gave the statue a bright smile and leapt to the top branch of the Guardian Tree.
"One more time, for good measure!" he declared – and began the year-long song once more.