sharkfoxpanda

(lore about the gorgons in The Huntsmen)

Before our forges were lit, Before our sandals were laced, Before our hands knew the weight of a sword—

Before pride became law, There was the Den Mother, The Saint of Skill — Gorgo Aix.

They say she was the first of us, A serpent atop her head shedding its skin, And from that shedding came our kind, And from that serpent, our craft.

But that is not us. We do not deal in what cannot be proven. No, we know her truth: There was never a child born to the Saint of Skill.

Instead, she gathered the lost and abandoned. Those she found became her daughters — Not by blood, But by kinship and merit.

To Medusa, the youngest, She taught precision — the rhythm of the forge, The logic of steel and spark.

To Sethno, the middle, She taught grace — the freedom of heart, And the dance of aura unbound.

And to Euryale, the eldest, She taught strength — not of arm, But of will and mercy, The strength to lift those weaker than oneself.

She taught that pride is not a vice, But a virtue forged by skill and time. She taught that only when all crafts unite Can true pride be born.

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