Kaito had climbed for three days to stand here, on the roof of Africa, his lungs aching in the thin air. He’d imagined sunrise: triumphant fist, panoramic photos, a quiet moment of victory. He hadn’t imagined the crack. The way the ice shelf near Gilman’s Point would groan and splinter beneath his weight like a sugar crust over nothing.
He fell in silence. No scream. The air was too sparse to carry it. kibo: slow fall
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. Kaito had climbed for three days to stand
