One of gold. One of wood. One holds the stones, One weathers the flood.

In the night sky, a cluster bright, sisters sparkling in celestial light. Born of myth and ancient lore, a stellar gathering to adore. What am I, among the stars, guiding sailors from afar?

The first three letters of my name may describe a desirable summer physique, the last three a shivering skater's dream. Altogether, I'm used to shape the human form, a clothing piece of the past comprised of beautiful fabrics.

I wrestle with fire to awaken the stubborn, I bend what resists and shape what endures. Every strike echoes, forging strength unseen, I turn raw matter into purpose and power. What am I?

I have been around billions of years yet I cannot speak, but many people listen to my sweet music. To build a house under my canopy is to be oblivious. The stars are my parents. Though my parents died long before I was born. What am I?