#solena

Cabana Solena, Flores da Cunha, State of Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil.

Royal Armory (Solena)

The Era of the First Ones 

Described as the first Era in Mewni’s royalty, these are the firsts. These 4 are the ones who built the bones which the rest of Mewni grew, their laws and traditions, even their stories. Unfortunately it’s so long ago from Star’s time much of it has been mixed in regard to the public, the famous pop up book, the Queen depicted carries signature traits from these Queens. 

Lunwynne’s hair, Solena’s wand, Nova’s dress, even the notion she was the first Queen like Serena. But in reality Mewnipendence and the founding of Mewni were two different events. 

Serena- First of the Firsts, descendant of an ancient bloodline she was born with powers in a time they were not celebrated but feared. Serena however used what she was given, including a gift from the Heavens, and formed a place where her people and others like her could live in peace and prosperity.

Nova- Being the first heiress to a new line is never easy, but throw in magic? Nova had a rough time growing up, being accepted as a Princess. So she spent her reign making sure everyone recognized Mewni as the Queendom it rightfully was.

Solena- She was the Smitten for a number of reasons, she had a very open and creative mind for her time, for her magic wasn’t just reading what others have done, or what’s expected, you gotta forge your own destiny, in life and love.

Kasaru didn’t realize he was smiling until his cheeks began to ache.

The canal was narrow and quiet, more irrigation trench than romantic waterway, its sandy banks tufted with stubborn grasses that had somehow survived at the edge of the desert. The little rowboat rocked gently beneath them as he dipped the oars again, the wood creaking in a rhythm that matched his heartbeat.

Suzuno’s hand was still warm in his.

He swallowed, his voice softer than he intended. “So that was your sister… Makia.”

Suzuno nodded, eyes bright from laughter. “Makia-nimi. She hated when I forgot the -nimi. Said it made her sound ancient.” She giggled again, then covered her mouth. “I was very dramatic as a child.”

“You?” Kasaru said, scandalized. “Dramatic?”

She bumped her shoulder lightly against his arm.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The image of little Suzuno swaddled like a blanket burrito lingered vividly in his mind. The way Makia had adored her—so openly, so fiercely. It made something warm and protective bloom in his chest.

“I see the resemblance,” he said quietly. “You love Sireni and Karumu the same way. Just… fewer accusations of being stinky.”

Suzuno gasped. “Excuse me! I have excellent restraint.”

“Oh?” Kasaru set the oars inside the boat and, very slowly, began to sing in an exaggerated falsetto:

“Stinky little desert girl— You need a shoowerrr— Stinky little desert girl— You smell like flouuurr—”

Suzuno stared at him in horror for a half second before dissolving into helpless laughter.

“Kasaru!” she squealed, swatting his shoulder. “That’s not even the right lyrics!”

He continued mercilessly, leaning back dramatically as the boat drifted.

“Stinky little baby, I row this boat for yoooou—”

She lunged forward to clamp a hand over his mouth, nearly tipping them sideways. The boat wobbled dangerously, and they both shrieked as water sloshed against the hull.

“Careful!” he laughed once she pulled her hand away.

“You started it!” she shot back, cheeks flushed pink.

They were close now. Very close.

Close enough that he could see the tiny golden flecks in her eyes.

Close enough that the necklace rested between them, swaying gently with the boat’s motion.

Kasaru cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how his pulse had shifted from playful to something deeper. “Your metal mine… it really holds that memory exactly as it was?”

She nodded, fingers brushing the pendant again. “Perfectly preserved. Not faded by time. Not altered by grief.” Her expression softened. “Some memories blur. Faces change. Voices fade. But in the metal… they remain true.”

He studied the necklace with quiet awe.

“And you’ve stored… the ribbons,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And the oasis.”

“Yes.”

“And… me comforting you.”

Her gaze flickered down, then back up. “Yes.”

The boat drifted in slow silence for a moment.

Kasaru’s voice dropped to something almost uncertain. “Why those?”

Suzuno tilted her head slightly, as if the answer were obvious. “Because they were moments when I felt safe.”

That word struck him harder than any grand confession could have.

Safe.

He, who slept wherever roofs didn’t leak too badly. He, who owned little more than a bedroll and a battered satchel. Safe.

He laughed softly under his breath. “You realize your necklace must contain far grander things. Festivals. Victories. Beautiful desert sunsets. Your sister singing about soap.”

She smiled gently at him. “It does.”

He waited.

“But the value of a memory,” she continued, “is not measured by spectacle.”

The wind nudged the boat slightly. Somewhere in the distance, a gull cried.

“Kasaru,” she said, voice steady but warm, “you gave me ribbons when you had nothing. You played in the sand with children who are not your own as if they were treasures. You sat with me in my grief and asked for nothing in return.”

Her fingers brushed his again, intentionally this time.

“That is rare.”

His throat tightened.

He looked down at their hands, then back up at her, unsure what to do with the fullness in his chest. The canal suddenly felt too small to contain it.

“If I had a metal mine,” he admitted quietly, “that night in the desert would fill most of it.”

Suzuno’s expression softened further.

“And this moment?” she asked gently.

He hesitated.

He could still feel the phantom echo of her memory—the warmth of Makia’s laughter, the weightless safety of being adored. And here Suzuno was, offering him that same warmth in her own way.

“This one,” he said, voice rougher than intended, “I’d carve into the walls.”

Her breath caught almost imperceptibly.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

The air shifted.

Kasaru felt the familiar tug in his chest—the yearning that had followed him since that shared night in the desert. The urge to close the small distance between them. To kiss her. To see if her lips were as warm as her hands.

Instead, he smiled—soft, teasing again, because it was safer.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat and reaching for the oars once more, “if I ever acquire a magical memory mine, I’ll need lessons. I’d hate to accidentally store something embarrassing. Like you nearly tipping this boat.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “That was your singing.”

“My singing is art.”

“It is a crime.”

He resumed rowing, grinning.

The boat glided forward through the unimpressive canal, but the world around them felt anything but small. Suzuno rested her chin lightly in her palm, watching him with that open, earnest sweetness that kept undoing him.

He was hopelessly, dangerously smitten.

And somewhere beneath the humor and the gentle rowing and the desert wind, a quiet truth settled between them:

If she ever left, he would not need a metal mine to remember her.