Slow Fall: Kibo:

Kaito laughed. A small, breathless sound that didn’t travel far. It wasn’t a hysterical laugh, though he had every right to be hysterical. It was the laugh of a man who has just realized that the universe has a sense of humor, and that he is the punchline, and that the joke is not cruel but beautiful.

Below, the crater floor was closer now. He could see details: a scatter of dark rocks, a patch of orange lichen, the skeleton of an old expedition flagpole, its banner long since shredded to threads. He was still falling slowly, so slowly that if he closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was floating upward instead. kibo: slow fall

This is not possible , he thought. And then: This is happening . Kaito laughed

Kaito stood still for a long moment. Then he knelt, scooped up a handful of ash and pumice, and let it sift through his fingers. It fell at normal speed—quick, ordinary, obeying every law he had temporarily been allowed to forget. It was the laugh of a man who

He didn’t know how to climb out. He didn’t know if the slow fall had been a miracle, a hallucination, or something the mountain did for fools who strayed onto the wrong ice shelf. He didn’t know if he would ever see another human being.

Not falling. Descending.