But he was already pulling a chain out from under his heavy black coat, a green-and-gold badge, warped and faded with time, hung from the tarnished necklace. An officer’s badge? A remnant from a war long since forgotten? Sira couldn’t say. Nathanos and Sylvanas had once served Silvermoon, he so tactically gifted that he had been raised to the rank of ranger lord in the Farstriders, an achievement no other human had managed. The Dark Lady herself had been the one to give the promotion, the dark rangers serving Sylvanas had told the tale many times at sea. It seemed to be a favorite. Was this the badge recognizing as much? Though his eyes always pulsed with the same steady crimson glow, Sira saw that dim for a moment, fading just like the old, etched memento. “What are you doing?” Sira whispered. “We cannot simply give in to every demand and roll over like trained dogs. They will think you weak.”