Dreams of Obioma – Part 2: The Hidden Prophecy
The next morning, Obioma sat by the river, watching the water ripple in the early sun. But she wasn’t really seeing the river. The dream clung to her mind like mist over the hills, refusing to fade.
A golden path stretching into the unknown. A woman with glowing eyes calling her name. The whisper that sent shivers down her spine: Destiny awaits.
She wrapped her arms around herself. What did it all mean?
A rustling behind her made her whirl around. Mama Nnenna stood there, silent and watchful. The old woman’s presence always felt like an unspoken understanding, a bridge between the seen and the unseen.
“Tell me, child,” she said at last, settling beside Obioma. “What did you see in your dream?”
Obioma hesitated. Saying it aloud would make it real. But she couldn’t hold it inside—it was already burning through her like fire.
She told Mama Nnenna everything. Every detail, from the golden path to the woman’s glowing eyes. The whisper. The feeling that something was coming for her, something beyond her understanding.
Mama Nnenna listened in silence, her face unreadable. When Obioma finished, the old woman closed her eyes for a long moment, as if searching for an answer in the wind.
Then she spoke. “There is an old prophecy, passed down in our bloodline. It speaks of a child chosen by the spirits to fulfill a great purpose. The spirits have called to you, Obioma.”
Obioma’s stomach tightened. “But why me? What do they want?”
Mama Nnenna’s gaze darkened. “That, I cannot say. But there is one who can. You must seek the Seer of the Hills.”
Obioma felt the air grow heavy around them. The Seer of the Hills. The name alone made her shudder.
She had heard the stories of how he lived deep beyond the forests, where the land rose into mist-covered peaks. They said he could see into the past and the future, but his visions were never simple. Some who sought him never returned. Others came back changed, their eyes holding knowledge too heavy to bear.
“You must go before the next full moon,” Mama Nnenna continued. “The spirits do not wait.”
The wind whispered through the trees. Obioma clenched her fists.
That night, as she lay in bed, she tried to push the thoughts away. But sleep was restless. And when it came, so did the dreams.
This time, the golden path stretched farther, disappearing into darkness. The glowing-eyed woman was waiting again, her voice urgent.
“Hurry, Obioma,” she whispered. “He is coming.”
Obioma’s breath caught. “Who is coming?” she tried to ask, but her voice did not escape her throat.
The vision shifted. A mountain shrouded in mist. A fire burning in the distance.
Then
footsteps. Slow, deliberate, drawing closer.
A deep voice echoed through the darkness. “She is not ready.”
Obioma woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
She turned her head and froze.
Outside her window, deep in the shadows of the trees, a figure stood watching her.
The journey had already begun.
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