Among the countless Changelings bred to serve their Celestial masters, most are mere tools – disposable, forgotten, and shaped for toil, like the hardy Arkavir or the tireless Rexxana. But then, there are the Malabrachts.
The Stewards.
Elegant. Dazzling. Utterly mesmerizing. These privileged Changelings do not labor in shadows or break beneath the yoke. They descend from the stars like envoys of a lost golden age, stepping onto foreign soil with the grace of conquerors who require no chains. Their very presence commands awe, their voices a symphony of persuasion. Draped in flowing robes, traced in gold, and bathed in radiant hues, they are splendor made flesh – so much so that the uninitiated might bow before them, mistaking them for Celestials themselves. A mistake they correct with a silken smile and a whispered promise of wonders to come.
They do not come as conquerors. Not at first.
The Malabrachts arrive as benefactors, harbingers of prosperity and refinement, sent to prepare the way for their long-awaited masters – the Bright Scions of the Prestaviran Dynasties. They bring gifts. Then requests. Soon enough, they make demands. All must be put in order. There can be no irregularity, no waste. Nothing unsightly.
They are tall. Eerily graceful. Their pale, chalky skin sheds a faint, glittering powder that lingers in the air. This dust is laced with psychoactive compounds that heighten suggestibility in anything biologically linked to Earth mammals. Where a human might have hair, they possess glass-like cilia that shimmer and ripple with light. But most unsettling of all is their memory. A Malabracht forgets nothing – entire histories, genealogies, the customs of empires long vanished. Yet, their fabled masters fell ten thousand years ago. In their fanatical devotion, they either do not know – or refuse to believe.
At first, their presence is a miracle. Crops flourish. Ruins are restored. Civilizations reborn.
But their gifts come at a cost.
Workers are required. Materials must be gathered. Grand halls must be raised. Statues, tapestries, songs – everything must be crafted with exacting precision, all in honor of rulers who will never return. To refuse is unthinkable. To displease is disastrous.
By the time the truth is clear, it is far too late. The Malabrachts are no longer generous guests. They are the architects of a new order – one of rigid laws, enforced reverence, and absolute devotion to a throne that has sat empty for millennia.
A species so lost in reverence that they will demand fealty to a dynasty long gone. A species that holds dominion over countless star systems in preparation for lords who will never arrive. And the worst part? The Malabrachts truly believe it is for the good of all.
They do not bring war. They do not bring conquest.
They bring obedience.
Yet in their wake, opportunity lingers. For the scavengers, the fortune-seekers, the bold and the desperate – there is treasure hidden in the monuments the Malabrachts leave behind. Vaults sealed for ages. Databanks overflowing with forgotten knowledge. Relics of godlike technology waiting to be claimed.
And somewhere in those gilded ruins—a secret even the Stewards have forgotten.