The sky above Droitwich darkened as the Romans drove their prisoners toward the hill. The people of the town watched in silence, for crucifixion was no spectacle but a warning. Among the condemned walked Taranis, his chains clinking, his gaze fixed on the storm rolling in from the west. He was barely twenty, yet his presence carried the weight of ages. Some whispered he had already survived more deaths than one man should and that the storm itself seemed to bend toward him.