Chapter 12
The Magical Adventures of Moonie and Sola: The Starglass of Onamar
The wind carries it - soft and sure.
Onamar... Onamar...
We are on our way.
Although there is imminent danger all around us, I feel safe.
Moonie treads just ahead of me. The Starglass pulsing - reverberating, breathing calmly in her hands. Vivian follows close behind, but she isn’t running. She’s floating, carried by the invisible energy that surrounds us.
The blackbirds lead us in a glorious murmuration, swirling in perfect coordination. And the elementals swirl among them as fluttering forms of light and earth and breath. One looks like a spark caught in a gust of wind. Others dance like flower petals spinning through the air, trailing droplets that vanish before they hit the ground.
One lands on Vivian’s shoulder like it belongs there. A few cling to our clothes - holding onto hems, straps and seams.
Another lands in the waves of Moonie’s hair and clings to the strands like a trapeze artist. It spins once, giggles, and lets go - back into the air. Moonie lets out a soft yelp, then laughs at the wonder of it.
And it is wonderful. Like nothing I have ever experienced before. We are a part of the current now - a part of the storm.
We don’t speak as we run - we just move. Past the gravel turn off for Whispering Pines.
And that’s when everything slows.
The trailers are quiet. Sun-warmed. Perfectly untouched. Towels hang limp on the lines. Lawnmowers sit where they were left. Nothing is broken. Nothing is wet. Not a single sign that a hurricane ever passed through.
Behind me, magic moves like a river - swift, alive, undeniable. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Vivian drift past. There is a lightness in her I have never seen before, not since she and Mr. Cooper moved into Whispering Pines. She’s happy.
But right here in front of me, it’s like our little world is holding its breath.
“Sola! Come on!” Moonie’s voice echoes from ahead.
I turn, but I am met by a flicker.
He appears mid-air, suspended just above the ground. The elemental that spoke to be before.
“You felt it?” he asks.
I nod. But I did I? Did I feel it - the pause?
He smiles, small but bright. “I’m Tyllen.”
I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say.
“I wanted you to know my name,” he adds.
Moonie calls my name again, louder this time.
“Come on, Sola!” Tyllen urges, then flits forward.
And I run. I don’t remember ever running so fast. My new friend streaks ahead of me, glowing in bursts. I pass Vivian, then Moonie.
Up ahead the doorway to Onamar is already open, rippling between mangrove roots, wider than ever.
Tyllen slips in with the flow of everything else.
But I stop.
He flits back to me. “Don’t stop now.”
“I have to wait for them.” I say, glancing back at Moonie and Vivian. “You go ahead.”
He nods once, gives me a wink, and vanishes through the veil.
Moonie and Vivian catch up. We reach for each other’s hands, and together they step into the current of the storm and into the light.
For a moment there is nothing but sensation. The pulse of the Starglass. The cool thread of wind around my fingers. The whoosh of everything changing.
Then we land.
The ground beneath us is water, but not-water, a surface that moves and holds at the same time - like the shore. The sky is no longer sky, it shifts like silk, deep lavender shot through cracks of silver - like sunset. Trees bend sideways. Coral towers tremble. Structures made of spun mist and petrified light collapse with a quiet, musical sound, like a chandelier giving in. All around us, Onamar is breaking.
The Web of Glass stretches high above us, but it is failing. Chords of it snap and shimmer, casting flashes across the horizon. The balance is gone. The web that once shimmered with harmony now flickers like it’s losing the memory of why it was built in the first place.
The elementals work together to hold it up. They rush past us, calling out in voices that spark against the air. They build towers with their bodies - larger elementals at the bottom anchoring the base. Others weave light into barriers, struggling to stop the flood. But the ground beneath us is rising and falling with every surge, gasping for air.
And then, through the water and the wind, we see them.
Lynira stands in what used to be the reflection pool. Her hands are lifted toward the Web, her whole body straining as if she’s holding something much heavier than it looks.
The Eldersmith is beside her, her face a weathered map of time and patience, one arm braced against an anchor thread. His palms glow faintly, but it’s fading.
Lynira sees us. Her face shines with relief. She lowers her arms and calls out. “You came!”
The Web shutters, and a massive crack forks across the sky behind her.
Moonie lifts the Starglass high, holding it like a torch. It shines brighter now than ever before, answering to the broken pieces overhead.
“It remembers where it belongs,” I whisper.
The Eldersmith steps toward us - toward Moonie.
She stands tall, the Starglass glowing steady in her hands. She doesn’t hesitate. With quiet reverence, she places it into his.
He holds it briefly, then turns to me.
“Sola Esperanza Lucia Garcia,” he sings.
The name, my full name - the one I only hear when I am in really big trouble - echoes in the air like a bell. I feel it ripple through me - through the water - through the Web.
“The one who listens. The one who remembers,” he adds and places the Starglass in my hands.
And something opens.
The light is no longer contained. It rushes into me - warm and knowing, ancient and true. The Web above us stretches, aching to receive what was lost.
Moonie touches my arm, gives me a smile that anchors everything. “Holy moly, Sol. It was always meant to be you.”
The Web trembles again.
The Eldersmith steps back, his eyes never leaving mine. The Starglass pulses in my hands - eager. Alive. Ready.
But I don’t know how I am going to reach that high. The web stretches to far above me and I am still just me - bare feet planted in the trembling ground, hands full of this ancient light, hear pounding with everything I’m not sure I understand.
“I... I can’t reach,” I say, the words catching.
Before anyone can respond, something shifts beside me, and Vivian steps forward. But she’s not the Vivian from Whispering Pines - not the neighbor who gets her palms read by Moonie’s mom. Not the same Vivian Cooper who sips sweat tea on her sunporch. Here, in Onamar, she is more. Taller. Brighter. Her form shimmers at the edges, like she is made of stardust and possibility.
The elementals part for her as she walks toward me.
“You’ve carried magic before,” Lynira says softly, watching her. “You just forgot.”
Vivian smiles, her eyes glistening. “Not anymore.”
She kneels before me, cups her hands beneath mine. “Let’s lift it together.”
Her palms are steady, Strong. And as I step into her hold, she rises - not with effort, but with purpose. I feel it in my bones: this is right.
Moonie places a hand over her heart, watching us.
The Web above us flickers, then takes its final breath. But we keep going. I lift the Starglass higher, stretching my arms as far as they will go.
The light leaps from it like a sunrise, threading upward in strands of color and sound. The Web receives it with a sudden singing, a harmony so wise and wild it shakes the sky.
The broken lines rejoin. The shattered chords mend. The Web of glass is whole again.
And in that single, still moment - everything in Onamar exhales.
It starts with a single chime - soft and clear. Then another joins it. And another. Until the whole of Onamar is singing.
Elementals leap into the air, spiraling upward in bursts of light and color. Their voices rise in layered tones—some high and crystalline, others deep and echoing like whale song. It’s something bigger than a cheer. A celebration written into the fabric of the realm itself.
The ground steadies beneath us. The water recedes. The lavender sky begins to shift, softening into hues of gold and pink. The Web hums overhead — complete again, every strand glowing with gentle light.
Lynira sinks to her knees in the shallows, tears bright on her cheeks. The Eldersmith bows his head, resting one palm on the ground, as if thanking the earth itself.
Moonie spins in place with her arms flung wide, her red curls catching the wind. “Did you see that?!” she shouts, laughing with pure delight.
Vivian lowers me gently, her hands lingering a moment longer. When I meet her eyes, I see something I’ve never seen before — not just wonder, but recognition.
“You did it,” she says.
“We did it,” I answer.
All around us, the elementals begin to draw close - some dancing in the air, others forming a loose circle. There’s no fear now. Only light. Only joy. The Web of Glass is whole. And for the first time in what feels like forever, so am I.
The celebration begins to soften, like the last ripples after a stone touches still water.
Lynira approaches first, her silver hair damp, her expression calm but shinning.
She places a hand on my shoulder and looks deep into my eyes. “You felt the silence,” she says. “That’s why it had to be you.”
I tilt my head, unsure. “What silence?”
“The one between the stories and the truth,” she replies. “The one your grandmother knew without knowing how.”
The Eldersmith joins us, his voice low and resonant. “You were born with remembering inside you. Not just the magic, but the reason for it.”
I think of Abuela’s myth. The girl with starlight in her chest. The one who had to shine where she belonged.
“But Moonie believes too,” I say. “She always has.”
“Exactly,” Lynira says gently. “Moonie knows who she is. You needed to remember. That’s what opened the way.”
The Eldersmith lifts his gaze toward the archway in the distance, its carvings glinting faintly in the softening light.
“Your world once knew this harmony. That all the worlds are connected as one. But you… you and Moonie -” his eyes soften -“you are part of a promise long held. Even with a veil, the allness remains within you, with all of us.”
I feel Moonie’s hand in mine again. Solid. Certain.
“Will the veil always stay closed?” I ask.
“For now,” Lynira says. “But not for always.”
Just then, a gust of light arcs across the clearing - spinning once, then landing in front of me with perfect, breathless ease.
Tyllen.
He beams.
“You were amazing,” he says, his wings flickering with color. “Truly.”
I laugh, a little breathless. “You saw?”
“Of course I saw. The Eldersmith sang your name.” He leans in close. “I’ve never heard him do that.”
He gives me a big smile then flutters off.
I blink. “Tyllen! Wait!”
He flies back, hovers right in front of me.
“Will I… will we ever see you again?”
Tyllen tilts his head, his smile turning soft. “Any time you ask, out loud, in a whisper or in your heart. I’ll hear it.”
Moonie steps forward, eyes wide. “But won’t you be stuck here? On this side?”
He grins wider. “I’m not like most elementals. I can cross the veil.”
“How?” I whisper.
He shrugs, a shimmer of stardust falling from his shoulders. “The same way you can. Because of our hearts.”
Vivian covers her mouth, tears streaming freely now. “That,” she says through a tremble, “might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”
Tyllen turns one last time, gives a little bow in the air, and then spirals up into the breeze, leaving a trail of light behind him.
As the last light of Tyllen’s trail fades into the soft air, we turn toward the archway - its stone now still, its carvings glowing faintly like the memory of a dream.
No one tells us it’s time. We just know.
Vivian walks beside us, quiet and changed. Moonie squeezes my hand. And together, we step beneath the arch and through the veil once more.
The colors dim. The warmth fades. The wind hushes.
We are home.
Than you know, we are all looking into the same mirror 🪞 and it's reflecting back.
Pretty wild, isn't it?
How come our stories will one day sond all the same?