"Are you ready, Minty?" Benjamin Ross asked, his deep voice hushed to a whisper in the secrecy of the night. He looked at his young daughter, her wide eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight. The humble cabin, hidden amongst the cotton fields of Maryland, was their haven, a sanctuary where they could whisper the language of their ancestors.

  "I'm ready, Pa," she exclaimed. Minty was her nickname, short for Araminta, a name she shared with her mother, Minty, a precocious young girl of eight years, possesses an irresistible charm that radiates from her soulful, almond-shaped eyes. Benjamin took a deep breath, his gaze steady on Minty's face. "Now remember, what we're about to do is our secret. A secret as old as our people. The language we speak, the magic we wield, it's a part of us, but to them-" He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "To them, it's a threat. They won't understand, and what they don't understand, they fear." Minty nodded, understanding the importance of her father's words. Magic was a gift, a heritage, but in this new world they had been forced into, it was also a dangerous secret. Benjamin steeled his gaze and focused on the humble flame dancing in the candle before them. In the language of their ancestors, MLL, he began to chant, his voice a melody harmonizing with the night's silence. "Solis igneus, tuum potentiam mihi dona."

  The flame flickered, then roared to life, shooting upwards in response to Benjamin's command. It twisted and spiraled into the air, casting a glow of golden light around the room.

  Minty's eyes widened with awe, but she held her peace, knowing the importance of silence. Her heart pounded in her chest as she absorbed the scene, the magic of her lineage manifesting before her.

  "Your turn, Minty," Benjamin said, his eyes never leaving the fire. "Remember, from within."

  Minty took a deep breath and focused, extending her hand just like her father. "Solis igneus, tuum potentiam mihi dona," she whispered. The words felt strange yet familiar, like a song she had known before she was born.

  For a moment, nothing happened. But then, the flame roared to life, a bright, fiery plume responding to her command. Minty felt a rush of energy, power coursing through her veins, filling her with a warmth that radiated from her core.

  "That's it, Minty! Hold onto it, feel it, but control it!" Benjamin instructed, his voice filled with pride.

  She could feel the magic, an energy that was part of her, part of her people. It was more than just spells and flames. It was resistance, it was heritage, it was freedom.

  The flame finally simmered down, leaving behind a sense of triumph and the beginning of a new journey. Minty looked at her father, her eyes shining with newfound resolve.

  "We did it, Pa!" she her voice barely above a whisper, this time.

  "Yes, we did, my little flame," Benjamin replied, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug, pride swelling in his chest. His little Minty was stepping into a destiny that was bigger than them, bigger than all they had known. Despite her circumstances as a young girl growing up in slavery, Minty's countenance carries a resilience beyond her years. Her eyes hold a knowingness, a wisdom that has been earned through witnessing both the cruelty and the beauty of the world. It is this juxtaposition of vulnerability and strength that makes Minty an extraordinary young girl, one whose spirit cannot be shackled.

  Above them, hidden in the vast expanse of the night sky, the crescent moon glowed, casting dancing shadows on the earth below. Whispers of an ancient prophecy rustled through the trees, carried by the wind. The dawn of a new era was beginning, an era where a girl named Minty would become Harriet, a symbol of hope, a beacon of resistance, a conduit of ancestral magic.

  Under the approving gaze of her father, Minty was filled with a sense of wonder and excitement that caused her heart to flutter like a captive bird. She had felt the energy before, a buzzing beneath her skin, a whisper in her ear when the world was quiet, but to call forth a flame, to see her power manifest... that was something else entirely.

  In the cozy sanctuary of their cabin, time seemed to slow as father and daughter practiced their ancestral magic in secret. As Benjamin taught Minty to mold her energy, to weave it into her words, he also recounted stories of their people.

  He spoke of ancient civilizations where magic was as common as the air they breathed, of African kings and queens who commanded the elements, and of warriors who could bend reality to their will. It was a history that Minty had never heard before, a history that wasn't found in the textbooks of their oppressors. A history that was alive within her, within them.

  "Remember, Minty," Benjamin said, pulling her from her reverie. "Our magic is a gift, not just for fancy tricks or spectacle. It's a tool, a weapon even, that we must use wisely and carefully. It's been passed down through generations, and now it's your turn to carry it forward."

  Minty nodded, understanding the weight of her father's words. Her eyes were glued to the dwindling flame, the lingering glow a testament to her awakened power. She was the heir of a great legacy, a steward of an ancient magic.

  The following weeks became a blur of late-night lessons, whispered spells, and hushed stories. Benjamin and Minty treaded carefully, ensuring their secret was guarded well. The days were spent in labor, under the watchful eye of their masters, but the nights... the nights were their own.

  Minty's family was her world, the axis around which everything else revolved. Her mother, Rit, was an indomitable force, a woman who met every challenge with courage and determination. Her strength was her shield and her love was her anchor. Benjamin, her father, was the custodian of their heritage. He was her guide, teaching her the sacred wisdom of their ancestors.

  Minty had eight siblings, all of them unique in their own ways, each of them bearing the invisible scars of their circumstances. But within the confines of their shared world, they found joy and laughter, solace and comfort. In their shared struggle, they found strength.

  One evening, gathered around the hearth's dim light, Benjamin shared a tale passed down from his ancestors. "Our magic," he began, his eyes reflecting the flickering light, "is as old as time itself. It was birthed in the heart of Africa, nurtured by the spirits of the earth, and spread by the winds across the vast plains and rushing rivers."

  His voice danced through the cabin, the story coming alive in the flicker of shadows against the wooden walls. "Our ancestors wielded this power with wisdom and honor. They used it to heal, to nurture, to protect. They built great civilizations, crafted marvels the likes of which the world has never seen since."

  "But as time passed, outsiders came, driven by greed and lust for power. They feared our magic, feared what they could not understand or control. They sought to take our lands, to enslave us, and to suppress our magic."

  His gaze met Minty's, a silent understanding passing between them. "They could take our freedom, but they could never take our magic, our spirit. Our ancestors hid our magic deep within us, encoded in our very souls. They passed it down, from generation to generation, kept alive in stories and songs, and now, in you."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  A solemn silence fell over the room as the magnitude of their legacy settled in. "Our magic," Benjamin continued, his voice soft but resolute, "is our resistance. It's the ember that keeps hope alive. But it's a secret we must guard fiercely, Minty. For if they discover our magic, they will stop at nothing to extinguish our flame."

  Minty, eyes wide, nodded, understanding the responsibility that rested on her young shoulders. The world she was born into was a hostile one, a world that sought to break their spirit and erase their history. But within her flowed the magic of her ancestors, a powerful testament to their resilience and will.

  And so, life unfolded in their small, secret world. As Minty grew, so did her understanding of her power. Her connection to the energies around her deepened, and she learned to listen to the whispers of the dead, whispers that told tales of suffering and hope, of pain and resilience.

  The whispers of the dead became her secret companions, a constant reminder of her purpose. They echoed in her dreams, a guiding force that began to shape her destiny. Her powers were growing, the flame inside her getting stronger. And as it did, she could sense a foretelling of a path only she could tread, a destiny only she could fulfill.

  As the sun set one evening, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, Minty stood at the threshold of their humble home, her eyes on the horizon. She felt it then, a pull, a call to something bigger, something far greater than she could comprehend. She didn't know it then, but she was standing at the precipice of history, at the cusp of a journey that would change her life and the lives of countless others.

  She was Araminta Ross then, a child bearing the weight of an ancient legacy. But the winds of change were blowing, and she could hear the whispers of the future calling. She would become Harriet Tubman, a beacon of hope and freedom, the embodiment of their ancestors' magic. And she would light the way, with the flame of their legacy burning brightly within her.

  Throughout her childhood, Minty had met many others like her family who were endowed with magical lineage. She learned about the Cooks, who had the ability to see the future in their dreams. There was Miss Sarah, an old friend of Rit's who could coax plants into growth with mere whispers. These active powers, as they called them, were rare, treated with reverence, and always kept a secret.

  One sunny afternoon, a new face arrived at their homestead. Old Joe, a towering figure with a warm smile, had brought along his granddaughter, Sophia. Sophie, even at the young age of ten, was a girl who carried a wisdom and calm far beyond her years. Her skin was a soft caramel hue, a subtle testament to her skin, lighter than most on the plantation, and her hair, a dark shade of auburn, fell in soft curls down to her shoulders. Her most captivating feature, though, were her eyes - a vibrant shade of green that held a depth of understanding that belied her age. Sophia was close to Minty's age, her eyes sparkling with a sense of curiosity that mirrored Minty's own.

  "Sophia has a gift," Old Joe told Rit and Benjamin in hushed tones, while Minty and Sophia played by the stream. "She can hear the thoughts of animals. It ain't something I've seen before." Even as a child, Minty could not help but notice these differences between Sophie and the rest her sibling, hell the difference between Sophie and the rest of them who worked on the fields. As if he was reading his daughter mind Ben, about Sophie's peculiar features.

  "She's just different, Minty. That's all." Ben said in whisper. His response had been a dismissive shrug and a change of subject.

  But Minty knew, even then, that it wasn't all. She had seen the overseer's leering glances at Sophie's mother, the forced smiles, the tremble in her voice when he was near. She didn't have the words for it yet, but she understood in her core that Sophie's unique features were not simply an act of nature.

  Nonetheless Minty's interest was piqued. She had heard of people who could communicate with the elements, with plants, even the spirits of the departed, but the thoughts of animals? It was different, and it excited her. She saw Sophia not just as a friend, but a glimpse into the diversity and wonder of their magical lineage.

  Life unfolded in a rhythm that felt like a dance, each day bringing with it a new discovery, a new story to be told. Minty listened and learned, her understanding of her heritage deepening with each passing day.

  As the months passed, Minty found herself drawn to Sophia, the two forming a bond that was as much about their shared secret as it was about the kinship they felt. Sophia taught Minty about the language of the animals, about how every creature had a voice, if one only took the time to listen. Minty, in return, shared with Sophia the wisdom passed down by her father, the tales of their ancestors, their magic, their legacy.

  Life unfolded in a clandestine symphony, its secrets shrouded in a dance of shadows. Each day unfurled a veiled enigma, a chapter waiting to be unraveled. Minty, attuned to the clandestine melody, absorbed it all, her awareness of her lineage deepening with each enigmatic step.

  As the months slipped by like whispers in the dark, Minty's path intertwined mysteriously with Sophia's. Their connection transcended mere companionship, echoing with an enigmatic bond tethered to their shared secret. Sophia, a guide to the arcane tongues of creatures, unraveled the esoteric language that resonated within their souls. And in turn, Minty unveiled the sacred knowledge passed down by her father, unearthing the ancient narratives of their bloodline—brimming with sorcery, myth, and a mystical inheritance.

  The sun had barely crept over the horizon, its gentle morning glow replaced by a hazy shade of anticipation that hung over the plantation. For Minty, standing tiptoe on the periphery of the bustling crowd, today was 'delivery day.' It was a paradox of feelings; a whirlwind of excitement tainted with a bitterness that left a residue in her young heart.

  From her vantage point, Minty could see the dust-churned road, a serpent meandering across the cotton fields, snaking towards their homestead. The wagon's silhouette, drawn by tired horses, punctuated the otherwise tranquil scenery, and as it approached, the atmosphere thickened. Each creak of the wagon wheels against the rough terrain was a drumroll, the heartbeat of their collective anticipation echoing in her small chest.

  The air buzzed with the indistinct chatter of those around her, the words blurring into a single hum of unrest. Her tiny fingers clung to the rough wooden fence, her knuckles white, her grip firm. The excitement was palpable, a tangible thing that made her stomach flutter, a rush of adrenaline that made her heart pound. New faces, new stories.

  Yet, interlaced with the thrill was the stark reality of the price paid for these introductions. Minty saw it in the hollow eyes and haggard faces that emerged from the wagon. Each soul represented a family torn apart, a life derailed by the brutal hand of servitude. A mother ripped from her children, a husband from his wife, siblings divided, the threads of their lives unraveled without mercy.

  The cheer of their initial greeting was quickly eclipsed by the pervasive wail of heartache. Minty could almost feel it, the tendrils of their despair wrapping around her, seeping into her skin, the chill creeping into her bones. She bit down hard on her lower lip, the metallic taste of blood a grim reminder of the life she was born into.

  'Delivery day' was an oxymoron in itself, a cruel jest of the universe. It was a day of painful duality, both a welcome diversion and a stark reminder of the unforgiving world they were part of. The bittersweet taste lingered long after the sun had set, and the last echoes of laughter and sorrow faded into the silent night.

  The wagon groaned to a halt, the horses snorting in exhaustion, their heads bowed low. The crowd fell into a tense silence as the back of the wagon was prised open. Minty held her breath, her small hands clenched into tiny fists as she strained to see over the sea of heads. Then, a shuffle of movement and a collective gasp echoed through the crowd, followed by an undercurrent of murmurs spreading like a ripple in a pond.

  A man stepped out from the wagon, an old man. His shoulders were bent with age, but his eyes held a flicker of defiance. They were eyes that had seen many seasons pass, eyes that bore the weight of a lifetime. His skin, marked with a patchwork of scars, told stories of resilience and strength. His white hair was like a crown of wisdom, his stance radiating an aura of invincibility. He was not just an old man, but an emblem of resistance, a beacon of endurance.

  An unspoken tension unfurled in the courtyard, like a coiled snake ready to strike. The old man didn't falter under the master's piercing gaze. Instead, he straightened his back, meeting the master's eyes with a steady gaze that spoke of resilience and rebellion.

  In an instant, a symphony of reactions filled the courtyard. Whispers erupted in hushed undertones, and bodies shifted uncomfortably on the spot. The defiance was contagious, a flame that licked at the edges of their fear, stirring an unfamiliar courage in their hearts.

  The master, taken aback by the old man's audacity, reached for his gun, the metallic clink piercing the silence. The crowd recoiled, their breath hitched, time seemed to stand still. Minty's heart pounded in her chest like a trapped bird, her pulse echoing in her ears.

  Then came the explosion. A shot fired in the air, the sound ricocheting off the silence, the echo lingering in the stillness.