Peter the First Son

Tell us about a famous explorer in your world. What did they discover?
The first sentient being to cross over The Poison Sea to island was XXX a member of the The Son's of Judas 
He'd created a mob. He hadn't meant to, but there it was, he was The First Son and there seemed to be no way out of it. In his study of the text, he had only ever sought truth. And when he had at last found it, it was too late. He'd asked all the right questions, perhaps too loudly, he thought now. In any case, it didn't matter. They were hunting him now. He had presented much later in life than most. He was already a man and married too. His wife, Tamar  was dedicated to The Son's of Judas that was what had started all of this. He had tried to tell her that he had been all wrong, but she wouldn't hear him. She had gone to The Twelve Disciples his counsel and told them that he had betrayed the faith.
They had meant to stone him. Of all the horrible times to present. That was it, at the moment of his belief. The stones they lobbed at him had turned to lava before him. He had gazed around with the onlooking crowd to see where the lumps of flame came from, bewildered to see his own hand lift and catch the stones mid-flight, the touch of his hand changing the stones to a red glow. His hand seemed to move without his will or control. His fingers curled around the solid mass turning it to liquid and tossed it back. The first one had gone through brother Matthew's head. It burned right through, so hot and fast the cavity it left behind was empty.
The people had called him a devil. His people, the ones who had chosen him to lead. They fled then, the rest of the The Twelve Disciples cursed him, not in any real meaningful way, but he felt the intent of their words. If they had been like him, they would have perhaps had some impact. But they did not have the belief. Not the true belief.
He knew he had to go. It was the only way. He'd run till the end of the earth, till he reached the stinking golden shore of The Poison Sea. They were not following him, not anymore, but he couldn't get far enough away. He thought about ending his life, about laying on the sand, breathing out, and never breathing in again. He did lie down, but as he lay there gazing up at the putrid fog, the thought came to him. What if he could go further, what if he could do more.
He dug his hands into the sand, looking out over the horizon. In his mind, he could see the stone columns lifting, steaming prongs of lava lifting from the sea. The sea bubbled and roiled beneath as the pillars rose, thickening, spreading, linking between into the form of a bridge. Figures began to form, the towering forms of robed men, palms pressed together, thumbs pressed to their hearts, pinkie fingers touching, foreheads touching as they bowed in the form of an arch over the bridge.
He opened his eyes and it was so. Still glowing with the heat of the lava. The sea boiled. It did not matter. There was no life there. He sat there with his hands in the sand, gazing out at the bridge he had made for three days and three nights, his eyes still and unblinking. He waited with the thing he had maid, holding its form with his mind till it was cool enough to stand on its own. Then he slept like the dead. The people who lived in the area had seen the steam rising, some had been brave enough to go and see, but they would not go near him. They left offerings of food and water, begging that he go on and not destroy their land. They told him that they meant him no harm.
When he woke, he ate and drank. He blessed the land. Then walked across the bridge to the island of (TBD) and was never seen again.