Zenith by Sasha Alsberg

Cell 377
    Thirty-six days of endless darkness.
    It surrounded Valen Cortas in cell 377, twisting and turning itself into his bones until he and the darkness had become one.
    His thoughts had long since stopped running wild with every groan and creak of the prison walls. A thinning blanket, his only companion, was wrapped tightly around his shoulders, though it didn’t block out the cold kiss of air that snuck through the threads.
    I am Valen Cortas. He rolled the words over and over in his mind. It was the only thing that kept him going, and it leashed a sharp coil of courage around his veins as he added, Vengeance will be mine.
    What he would do, what he would give , to have a single moment of time in the light. To feel the touch of a warm, mid-day breeze on his skin; to hear the rustle of the wind through the trees that swept through Arcardius.
    Valen had traveled all his life, leaving his home for long stretches at a time, sometimes to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. It wasn’t until here, in the darkness of cell 377, that his memories of Arcardius had begun to grow dim. He had always looked at the world and seen it in a thousand colors, his fingers itching to paint each turn of light, each curl of wind sweeping through the silver streets.
    Every shade was unique in Valen’s eyes.
    And yet...he was losing colors, too.
    Try as he might, Valen couldn’t remember the precise shade of green that sprouted from the floating mountains. He couldn’t recall the blue of the moons that hung in the sky or the sparkle of starlight when darkness fell, a constant, glowing guide. As each moment in this abyss passed, the colors all melted into a single shade of black.
    He shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around his thin shoulders. The pain of remembering things loved and lost had sunk its claws into him, threatening to crush his bones. Somewhere, in the dank darkness, a scream rang out. Razor sharp, like the tip of a blade scratching its way down Valen’s spine.
    He rolled over, pressing his hands to his ears.
    “I am Valen Cortas,” he whispered, fingertips touching his cracked lips. “Vengeance will be mine.”
    Another scream. The sizzle and pop of an electric whip, a flash of blue light that ghosted across the bars. Valen gasped, his eyes aching, head throbbing, memories churning. Color. A blue like the powerful sea, a blue like the open, cloudless sky. And then...darkness again, and silence.
    The new prisoners always screamed for days, crying out the names of loved ones until their throats were raw and ragged.
    But names no longer meant anything. On Lunamere, everyone became a number in the end.
    Deep in the belly of hell incarnate Valen became 377.
    The cold was endless. The food was enough to keep skin hanging on bones, but muscles atrophied and hearts slowed. The stink of bodies hung in the air like a dense fog, a scent that had long since sunk into the steel and stone.
    Only a worn wall separated Valen and countless prisoners from the void of space and their deaths. He’d thought of escape. He imagined breaking through the wall, diving out into the airless abyss. It would be a quick death.
    Death had never scared Valen, and with each day that passed, it grew closer and closer to becoming his greatest wish.
    But he had to survive.
    He had to bide his time, and hope that the godstars had not forgotten him.
    And so he sat, wrapped up in the cold arms of darkness.
    I am Valen Cortas.
    Vengeance will be mine.

Chapter One
    Her nightmares were like bloodstains.
    They were impossible to get rid of, no matter how hard Androma Racella tried to scrub them from her mind. On the darkest nights, they clung to her like a second skin. In them, she could hear the whispers of the dead, threatening to drag her down to hell where she belonged.
    But Andi had decided, long ago, that the nightmares were her punishment.
    She was the Bloody Baroness, after all. And if surviving meant giving up sleep, then she would bear the