When I turn around, there's a buddha behind me, and he's floating in mid-air; I reflexively look at the ground, half-expecting my dead body to be lying there. My heart jumps so bad, it almost scares my hair white, like how you expect a visit from God just after you died. But he's not floating in the air, just using a cane to levitate. There's something strange about his hand, though, that I can't quite put together. I do a double take. That's when I realize: it's not the Buddha, but that priest with twenty fingers!

The Padre, levitating slightly above the ground, looks at me calmly.

"Estas bien?" he whispers in a soft voice.

"I don't speak Spanish, buddy. Come on, we need to get you out of here." I say, waving him towards me.

"...no podemos dejar todavia," he replies, pointing towards the boulder, wagging his finger and shaking his head.

"Hmm, I think I get what you're sayin'." I reply, "Yeah, we should probably wait."

I nod in response, and the friar beckons me with his twenty fingers; Padre Sebastian begins to move quietly around the pen. His movements are cautious but effortless as he maneuvers among the sheep. As I observe him, I start to understand his plan. "Nos vamos a escapar debajo de estas ovejas," he whispers, pointing towards the bottom of the sheep.

"Wait, are you saying we should strap ourselves to the bottom of the sheep or something? But how?"

"En la mañana," he says, pointing his finger towards the air, and turning his fist into a mountain making a gesture like the sunrise, "En la mañana cuando el cíclope está dejando salir a sus ovejas."

The night is long and tense. My eyes stay open the entire time, and my body as still as a statue. Every snore from the cyclops sends shivers down my spine, but Padre Sebastian stays still as an island as the sheep move in currents around him.

As the first light of dawn begins to seep into the cave, painting the walls with a soft glow, we ready ourselves. The friar and I quietly maneuver under two of the larger sheep, strapping ourselves to their bellies with the cloth strips that were laid atop the pens. It's uncomfortable and cramped, but it will allow us to move undetected.

The sheep, working like a clock, start to move towards the boulder as the gates of dawn break open in full force. We cling to their stomachs, our backs scraping against the rocks.

As we reach the mouth of the cave, I risk a glance back. The cyclops is just waking up as the sheep begin to move past him. He's groggy, his one blind eye still weeping blood. He reaches out, touching the back of each sheep as they pass, crudely counting his flock. I hold my breath, hoping he won't notice the extra weight under the sheep.

To my relief, he doesn't. With a mean glance, he lifts the boulder out of the way and hurls it against the side of the cave with leftover anger, causing stalactites to fall from the ceiling, killing a couple of the sheep. He doesn't seem fazed by it.

"Wait a minute," he says, blocking the entrance, "You don't think you're going to get past me so easily, do you? What kind of a fool do you take me for?"

He sits out in front of the entrance and holds out his hands, thinking I would be stupid enough to try and escape on foot. But as the sheep move towards the entrance, the ones that are carrying us begin to slow their pace from exhaustion, while the ones in front move around the cyclops to avoid his grasp. Eventually we're at the tail end of the herd, and because the cyclops knows the formation of the herd well, he feels the tail end and picks both of ours up.

His grip is firm but not crushing, and his calloused fingers prevent him from feeling the tips of our feet. He brings the sheep close to his face, sniffing and grunting, his single blind eye still leaking blood.

"Lord Jove, why do you curse my people to tend to these frail creatures?" he says, looking up at the sky, "My hardened hands feel nothing, my eye is blind and now even the wolves have entered my den. Of what use am I now?"

Then, a great voice rang out, coming down from the clouds.

"Let your flock go and do not tend to them any longer; for if they seek pasture, then only the wolves can keep them."

And upon hearing this, the cyclops released us; once we were out of the cave, we ran along the coastline, never ceasing, all the way back to Manila, where I report to Hasekura the things that had happened to us along the way. In the span of five minutes, we depart and cross into the middle of the pacific, where a great storm brews; in the midst of the waters is a sucking whirlpool, with the mouth of a great beast at the center, and beside it is a team of rocks, where a seven-headed dragon lies in wait. Hasekura orders his men to steer clear of the whirlpool, his voice steady despite the looming danger. "Aim for the gap between the dragon and the sea beast!" he commands, his eyes scanning the tumultuous waters for the safest path through the chaos.

The crew, though weary and frightened by the monstrous sights and the raging storm, follows his orders with precision. The ship creaks and groans under the strain of the tempest, but the skill of the sailors and Hasekura's leadership keep us on course. The dragon, its seven heads raised, watches us with eyes that glow like coals in the fog.

As we navigate the narrow passage, one of the dragon’s heads lunges towards us, its jaws wide open. Quick thinking and a sharp turn at Hasekura's command allow us to evade its grasp, but the ship is rocked violently by the waters churned up by the monster.

"Stay focused!" Hasekura yells over the howling wind and the crashing waves. "We are not prey to be claimed by beasts!"

With a mixture of fear and determination, the crew mans the rigging, tightening and adjusting sails to harness the storm's power to our advantage. Another head of the dragon snaps at us, missing by mere feet as our ship surges forward on a particularly large wave. Suddenly, the dragon snaps at the stern of the ship, and Hasekura loses control of the helm, causing a jolt that sends several crew members sprawling across the deck. The dragon’s teeth scrape against the wood, leaving deep gouges in the stern. The crew scrambles to regain their footing, the panic breaking them for a dull moment.

Hasekura, quickly recovering his composure, shouts orders to regain control of the ship. "Hard to starboard!" he commands, directing the sailors to shift the sails and steer the ship away from another lunge by the dragon; his eyes widen as he realizes we have already been sucked into the spin of whirlpool. The whirlpool's pull intensifies, drawing the ship closer to its swirling center. The ocean around them churns violently, a maelstrom of foaming waves and spray. The dragon, seemingly aware of the ship's predicament, circles above, its great wings beating the air, driving the storm into a further frenzy.

"Brace yourselves!" Hasekura yells, his voice cutting through the roar of wind and water. The crew grips whatever they can, their faces set with grim determination as they prepare for the worst.

In a desperate attempt to escape the whirlpool's grasp, Hasekura orders the crew to lower the smaller, more maneuverable foresails. "If we can increase our speed, we might break free!" he shouts. The sailors rush to comply, working with frantic speed to adjust the sails and harness the wind's power.

As the ship picks up speed, it skirts the edge of the whirlpool, teetering perilously close to the abyss. The dragon dives, its shadow engulfing the ship as it snaps its jaws in another attempt to capture them. Hasekura, seeing an opening, steers the ship directly towards a narrow gap between two towering waves. The timing must be perfect; a second too late or too early could spell their doom. As the crew is trying to steer away from the whirlpool, I take up my sword and stand ready on the deck, prepared to defend the ship against any further attacks from the dragon. Every sound, every movement of the ship feels amplified by my hot blood and boiling sweat.

The dragon, frustrated by its failed attempts makes a sudden, desperate swoop towards us. Its immense shadow looms over the deck as it descends with outstretched claws aiming directly for the mast.

Seeing the imminent threat, I yell to the crew, "Secure the rigging! Brace for impact!" As I tighten my grip on my sword, I position myself to intercept the dragon should it try to take a swing at us

With a thunderous roar that shakes the air itself, the dragon crashes onto the ship, its claws scraping against the wooden deck, sending splinters flying. I swing my sword with all my might, aiming for one of its massive claws. The blade connects, sending a shock up my arm as it strikes the tough, scaly hide. The dragon recoils with a shriek of pain, its claw momentarily retracting.

The crew uses this distraction to their advantage. "Now! Full speed ahead!" Hasekura commands, and the sailors, rallying with renewed vigor, work the sails to catch every bit of wind. The ship lurches forward, the sudden acceleration aiding our escape from the dragon’s grasp.

As we gain distance, the whirlpool's pull lessens, the waters around us gradually calming as we move out of its deadly radius. Just as it seems we might finally escape, the structure of the ship cannot withstand the stress. The wood groans ominously under the dual assault of the whirlpool's pull and the ship's desperate acceleration. As I try to escape to the other side, I am tripped up by a rope flying through the wind, and with a deafening crack, the ship's stern begins to splinter and separate. I watch in horror as the rear half of the ship, where I am, breaks away and starts to sink back towards the whirlpool's swirling center.

"Kajiwara!!!" screams Hasekura, reaching out to me from the other side as the gap between the two halves of the ship widens dramatically. The stern, now a floating chunk of wood, is pulled back toward the center of the whirlpool, while the fore section, powered by the full sails and the frantic efforts of the crew, begins to pull away.

Struggling to my feet, I grab hold of a nearby rope, my mind racing for options. The stern's fall into the whirlpool is rapid, the deck tilting dangerously as water begins to surge over the sides. I glance around, searching for anything that might help me escape this doomed section of the ship.

In a moment of clarity, I spot a piece of broken mast that has fallen nearby, still attached to some of the rigging that connects to the fore section of the ship. With no time to lose, I tie one end of my rope around my waist and the other end to the broken mast. As the stern continues to sink, pulling me down with it, I take a leap of faith, launching myself towards the fore section. The last thing I see is a long neck of a shadow coming down upon me, and my name being called out to from above, before being smacked like a buzzing fly into the mouth of the sea.