The actions of the Whisperers were noble, though they brought them neither fame nor allies.

Birds circled the skies and flew away, only to come back again. Flowers pierced through the soil, then wearily lowered their heads. The trees bore fruit then lost their leaves, and snow melted, only to fall again. Time passed ruthlessly, and it was only the suffering that never stopped, nested as it was in human hearts like a worm in rotten meat.

The Whisperers also grew old. Some passed away in silence, drained of strength, while others more suddenly due to the claws of Horrors. Though they had searched all around the world, they could not find any trace of the Great Artifacts.

So they sat together, joined in a silent union of hearts, and called it the Covenant. They all swore oaths, renewing the vows their ancestors once made to Dolya and bound by this pact yet again, dispersed around the world to find their successors.