Writing competition "148" based on digital image. author of "pirate island"

Digital art made by @xpilar

This story is 100% steemexlusive, this is the first of it kind and no cryptocurrency blog platforms has no permission to utilize it in any form.

In the spirit of uncovering our forgotten histories and honoring the power of myth, this is a story I created base on the digital artwork of the contest design by @xpilar and this story is inspired by the hidden magic of Nigeria’s southern waters. What began as a simple scene turned into a story buried in ancestral whispers. Let me take you on a journey beyond the shores… to a place where legends breathe and wings shadow the sun.

Long before the name Nigeria echoed across parchment maps, there existed a hidden island off the southern coast of Akwa Ibom, somewhere between the whispers of Bonny waters and the forgotten shadows of Calabar’s reefs. Fishermen swore they saw it just once, when the moon dipped low and the tides rolled in like they were answering an ancient call.

But most believed it was a myth: Obinrin Ayé “the Woman of the World” this is a living island that chose who could find her. And on one fateful morning, Captain Edak Isuo did.

Her ship, The Ankwak, was no ordinary vessel. Built by the hands of Oron boatwrights and blessed with chalk by a high priestess of Ikoso, it cut through the ocean like a blade through palm wine. At her side was her most trusted crew: Edet, the quiet navigator from Calabar with eyes like rain-soaked soil; and Mbuk, a bold woman from the creeks of Bayelsa who spoke more with drums than words.

Edak had heard the stories from her grandmother about an island guarded by winged spirits, Umeh Nso, who once roamed freely across the sky, keeping balance between man and spirit. The world had forgotten them, buried their names under colonial maps and European tales. But Edak carried the truth like fire in her chest.

As The Ankwak approached the mouth of the ancient channel, the cliffs rose like sleeping deities draped in thick moss, etched with forgotten Nsibidi symbols. Then came the shadows in the sky. Not birds. Not planes. But three mighty beasts with wide wings and glowing eyes one that shown the Umeh Nso had returned.
"Edet, steady the ship,” she said, her voice calm as a priestess in trance.

Mbuk beat her talking drum, the rhythms old and sacred. The sea responded, parting gently and the cliffs echoed with the sound liken to voices awakening from deep slumber.

When they docked, Edak stepped onto the island barefoot, the way it had to be done. The ground was warm but not from the sun, but from memory. She followed the path of carved stones, her late father’s pendant humming against her chest.

At the heart of Obinrin Ayé stood a massive altar, carved from black stone, pulsing with an energy older than Ogun’s forge. The Umeh Nso descended, landing around her in a perfect triangle.

“You carry the blood of the forgotten,” one of them said in a deep, echoing voice. “Why do you come?”

“To return what we stole,” she replied, lifting an obsidian blade wrapped in red cloth. “To restore balance.”

She knelt and drove the blade into the earth. The sky cracked open, not in violence, but in revelation. Light poured down. The cliffs breathed. The sea danced. And the Umeh Nso roared, not with anger, but with freedom.

From the Niger Delta to the coasts of Lagos, the tides shifted. Fishermen spoke of new fish appearing especially, species ones thought were extinct. Children began dreaming in Nsibidi. And somewhere far away, an old woman in Aba smiled, knowing her granddaughter had found her path.

The Nneoma was never seen again.

But every Harmattan, when the wind carries stories like dust across the savannah, elders speak of Obinrin Ayé. Of the captain who remembered. Of the drums that called the spirits home.
And of the sky that now watches over Nigeria, not with judgment, but with hope.

I invite on @zulbahri @spektro224 @edu-chemist to participate in this contest.