rewrite 2

The bright light that cuts the dense firmament, slicing through the heavy and dreaded celestial desolation, where gelid drafts crash against the engulfing warmth, stand as a testament to unfairness. Beauty without equal. Unrepentant, the skycities traverse the skies, as oases among the clouds, bringing warmth and life where there should be non.
At such heights the lack of oxygen takes a toll on the mind. The unwilling body yearns to shutdown and preserve the remaining consciousness. In this state people inhale deeply and faster trying to replenish the depleted supplies, to compensate for the creeping twilight, to survive. But thanks to the skycities, life sprouts where darkness proliferates. The giant core at its center repeals the growing void, the vast coldness of the celestial vault and, floating against a backdrop of stars, light the way and make existence possible wherever they dare wander.
Farther up, from the heights of heaven, Mina skycity floats as exquisite encrusted jewelry. Golden edges embrace the cyan radiance of its gems and inscriptions, which on closer inspection, become its buildings and passageways. Flying nine winds above ground Mina boasts to be the fifth echelon most important skycity.
From the horizon, a construct transporting several important figures approaches, and to onlookers in the city, it seems they came from the darkness itself. With intricate decorated military attire and the light blue colors representing the upper realms, the group that descends don’t move, like solemn statues they lock a contained fiery look upon the guards waiting down below. The modest, compared to those coming, guards at Mina knew this group meant official, deadly important, business. A Magister and four ex-royal guards, now state executors, arrive upon this otherwise calm region. Their eyes confirm the seriousness of the situation. While rare, the executors come and go as they please all over the skies. Their business is only known to themselves, and below the third echelon, they become the highest-ranking members wherever they land. But for a Magister to come down, then the skies had parted and the Radiance itself smiles upon Mina.
This elite group communicates their intentions through the savaz-ui to the local government at Mina. The commander at the main station hurries to wake up the Major, late as it is, everyone needs to welcome the guests, lest they feel disrespected. While protocol demands it to be so, nerves crack under the pressure, attention to detail comes last and fear invades the dreary souls. The guests are looking for a traitor, one of the most egregious offenses. Neighbor against neighbor, brother against brother, and the call to arms risen several years before, left a lasting mark in the land.  Several years before the central government beheaded the beast and found itself in the process of finalizing the persecutions that began decades ago, declared by the then king. While tensions still ran high, this was to be the final raid on the last standing leader of the traitors, and would mark the end of the civil unrest period.
The high-ranking group descends upon Mina and after a short briefing they set out to do the task they came for.  Even with the country in turmoil, the elite squad shock the guards and the Major. But everyone understands the developing situation. In their skycity, which had remained far away from the problems of the country, a traitor hides in their midst.
 They arrive in the darkest hours of the night, secrecy is their creed and silence their vow. Very few people know what they came here to do for no one else needs to know but themselves, the government officials that signed the orders and the poor souls they harvest. Not even the Radiance Ascendance could know. At this bleak hour the only restless souls that can make sense of men corrupt hearts endure aware. The perfect hour for raids. For the river of the soulless needs to be hidden from everyone’s  prying eyes, but to the executors themselves.
Few people notice, even less voice concern and no one dares to help. Descending upon a residential housing structure on the east side of the newly established precinct, this specialized team finds their target. The executors force their way into the peaceful residence and overrun its inhabitants.
“That’s my son and daughter!” the father shouts as the executors  apprehend him.
His wife and mother of two yells, “Stop!” again and again, “Stop!” until her voice cracks and vanishes.
“Ahhh! Mom! Dad!” their daughter screams terrified with tears on her face. While her baby brother cries.
The executors bring the whole family out of the residence, where the Magister awaits looking at the skicity and the people who dare show their faces. A look of disdain and disinterest crosses his semblance. He exhales, expelling the filth that menaces to contaminate his exalted presence.
The father, with his heart pumping irregularly high, asks, scared of the answer. “What’s the meaning of th-?” The Magister interrupts his ramblings.
“You’re hereby arrested as a traitor to the state.” It was a calm utterance that could pass for  a prayer, a  sermon from the Radiance.
“Wait! But my family... At least my family!”
“They will follow you into Solitude. Take them!”
Like cold heavy winds from the southern cone these words fall upon the family.
To a mother, a cruel sentence. “No! My children!”
And to the children, a worst fate. “Mom! Dad!”
“Just take me! Leave my family alone!” The father knows he sentenced his whole family.
Such scenes are not uncommon to those familiar with the events that transpire in the country. Families broken, relatives disappeared, unknown to most, forgotten by all.
After being apprehended, the accused are taken far below into Braval, a sixth level skycity at the interstice before going to prison. Justice was swift with no peers nor defense possible. The accused hears their charges and almost immediately a verdict is reached. In Braval the residing authority informs them of it and solemnly, whatever group of convicts are left, are taken to serve out their sentences at their appointed prison. High profile arrests are brought into Solitude, the maximum security prison that drifts above the gorged lands of the Tuan Valley. Such is the atmosphere at our beloved country, Roja’ira.
The same fate awaits the family.
“You have been found guilty of sabotage, espionage and sedition. You are hereby condemned to the article 5, article 43...” Futile is to mention the long list of articles infringed.
“But judge... my family. Please... Please!” A last attempt looking  for mercy.
“Silence! Your family is also being judged and justice shall prevail!” None is given.
“No... Noooo!”
Swift and expedite is the law. And no one can escape it.
As a co-conspirator even the baby son needs punishment. The system spares no one. The right penalty for such a criminal is to be branded.
“Forever your guilt shall be known to the world! For aiding and hiding an extremely dangerous individual, traitor of the state; the repulsion stigma!”
The baby cried as the executors brand his small body. A secret craft that infuses majje directly into the heart.
Many cases like this are far from uncommon in this era of turmoil. Disappeared into an endless river that flows into Solitude to despair, vanish from history and be forgotten.
Branded into his very heart, this world already decided the fate of this boy.