The sea goes quiet at noon and the stars redraw themselves like a closed door. Moana—now chief and navigator—feels the ocean pull her beyond every known chart, toward a horizon that moves. Maui crash‑lands with a sheepish grin and a flickering fishhook (“It’s fine. I’m fine. The hook is… negotiating.”) Together they chase the “Turning Tide,” a current that flows backwards through caves of singing shells, cloud‑reefs where manta rays fly, and a Kakamora fortress that sails itself like a storm.

Heihei is still heroically confused; Pua finally gets deck duty. Set pieces soar: outrunning a spiral squall that climbs into the sky, diving through a bioluminescent trench that lights to Moana’s heartbeat, and a moonlit standoff where waves stand upright like glass.

Drums and choirs braid with new ear‑worm anthems; sunlight and sea‑green palettes bloom with aurora flashes. When the ocean asks for a cost, Moana answers with the only thing she won’t surrender: her people. “We don’t wait for the way—we make it.”