They've commissioned me to sail the great ocean sea. Land is out there, somewhere. It has to be...

Black Death has decimated the path we've beaten down for years. We've enjoyed the wealth as much as we've enjoyed our blind certainty. And we, oblivious to our close-minded state called this prison "our Mongol Peace".

...The Cape Route. Reason tells me to sail south. The coastal waters will keep your mind at peace BUT THOSE SHALLOW COASTAL WATERS WON’T PUT FOOD IN MY MOUTH!

So from the port of Palos I've left... Riding the trade winds west. I've pushed off. To find the eastern route. Oh my God.

For six weeks I've been at sea. Without sight of land I’ve begun doubting the brisk westward wind that once kissed my cheek. How was I at fault when the maps we relied upon turned out to be vague? Truth be told, I lost all hope of finding land after only 29 days.

My magnet no longer points north and Celestial navigation has become my only friend. Have I created my own truth? I left to join this Age of Discovery but to what end?

What if I wake one morning and find land is within reach? Does that really make me a Great Admiral of the Ocean Sea?