Everyone knew the beginning of the end started with him. His name was Galen Dorvrerra, an elf of a lineage stretching back through the annals of time. Having grown restless within the confines of the elven realm and its strictures, with a growing desire to explore beyond ancient traditions and secluded glades, towards something that called to his very soul, he defied all elven laws and transported himself to the human realm, a place they now called Earth.

It was in the midst of an early Autumn rain on the surface of Earth, where Galen moved gracefully down a dimly lit street, cloaked in a hooded shawl in an unknown city where he dared not ask its name. It had only been hours since his arrival and he was making his way back to the inn where he had procured a room for the night, a place called Best Western. His silver-touched hair glistened with raindrops as he walked, his steps quiet and deliberate, as if each footfall was a note in a symphony of secrecy. The mortal world was both unfamiliar and fascinating, with its bustling streets, towering skyscrapers, and the harmonious melodies of humanity's existence. He spent his first hours walking the city, listening to peculiar conversations and sampling food from various taverns. 

Galen navigated the labyrinthine streets towards the inn, trying to figure out was was so important about this particular city, when his concealed ears caught a faint sound, a discordant note hidden in the rhythm of the rain. He followed the sound, drawn toward an alley where shadows loomed like conspirators. There, he witnessed a scene of human desperation—a young woman, named Elara Lefolie, backed against a stone wall, her eyes wide with fear as she faced the threat of thieves or cutthroats, Galen wasn't sure which.

Without hesitation, Galen stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. He was attuned to the danger that simmered in the air, but his instincts whispered for him to stop, to intervene in the lives of mortals could threaten the safety of his realm. 

Elara's screams were muffled as one of the assailants grabbed her and squeezed her from behind, placing one dirty hand over her mouth so she could barely breathe, while his other arm wrapped around her waist. She flailed, hit and kicked at the other two muggers who went through her pockets, grabbing her phone, holding her arms back and ripping her jacket in the process. 

"I see too much." Galen's loud voice startled the attackers as he appeared behind them. "Go away from her now, or there be consequences." English still felt very foreign coming from his lips which he now snarled. 

The three men looked over to Galen, puzzled by his choice of words and odd clothes. One laughed outright. "Shall we make it a double, boys? This one looks lost." 

One man laughed back, the other, holding on to Elara, only held her tighter, sniffing her neck while he goaded "Oh, but we're just getting started with this one." 

Elara went frantic. She struggled against the musty smell of the man that held her, trying to break free, she inadvertently scratched at his face. The man howled "you bitch!" but did not let go, he only put her into more of a headlock at his waist where her arms could not reach his face. 

Galen growled as a surge of energy began to form within him, a manifestation of the forbidden magic he dared to harness. He could barely control himself when he saw the woman treated in such a manner. The rain responded to his command, swirling around him like a tempest, a display of elemental mastery that grabbed the assailants and held them in place, their movements slowed as if bound by unseen chains. 

Elara was thrown back on the ground by a force unseen. Her shock mingled with a burgeoning hope as she witnessed the rain dance at her hero's behest. As she watched in astonishment as he disarmed the assailants of their intent, a sense of power and protection overcame her. If she were standing, she would have swooned.

Galen's gaze met hers, and though his features remained composed, the storm within his eyes revealed his inner turmoil. He had exposed himself, defied ancient laws that forbade travelling to the human realm let alone this display of magic. Yet, in that fleeting moment, as he stared into Elara's eyes and the rain hammered on around them, he sensed a connection that transcended the boundaries of their worlds.

With a gesture, Galen released the rain's hold on the thieves, allowing them to scramble away in bewildered retreat. His heart pounded in his chest, a heady mixture of exhilaration and trepidation coursing through his veins.

"You hurt?" he asked her, his tone cautious. Uncertainty mixed with his concern. He wasn't entirely certain what he felt about her, but something had stirred within him under her stare. He certainly recognized the same look which had emanated from plenty of other females in his realm. Observing her, he deduced that she was clearly undergoing a profound reaction to his intervention—his act of stepping in and saving her from the thugs. 

She could only nod, her voice momentarily lost within her intense emotions. The rain clung to her like a second skin, mirroring the enchantment of the scene she had just witnessed, and the stranger who became her savior.

"What are you?" Elara managed to finally ask, her nerves settling and her mind switching into research mode. She found her phone beside her , stuffed it back into her jacket pocket. "How did you do that?" She almost gaped as she took the hand he offered her, lifting her easily to stand on wobbling legs. 

"Best to get home, be safe." He urged in a whisper, trying not to hold her stare as he took her arm in his, helping her stay steady on her still wavering feet.  She tried to wipe the mud off her jacket and jeans, but it was no use. An unease lingered in the air as he led her out of the alley. The rain softened to a gentle mist that wrapped around them like a shroud of secrets. 

"I never should have started taking that short cut," she blurted out, shivering, her nerves grabbing hold of her tongue in an unrelenting current. "Every time, I knew I was taking a risk, but I live just up the block, you know, you never think anything bad will really happen to yourself, it just happens, you know, you hear about it a lot, and in my line of work, well, you know you just hear bad things, I should have known better to use the alleys."

"The path all bright makes the road more clear." Galen mustered, fumbling his words. When Elara quickly looked up at him, he looked back at her and shrugged, acknowledging his words may be unclear. 

She only smiled. "Stick to streetlights," she nodded and agreed. "You know, when I first moved here, my father used to tell me that all the time."

"Wise man."

"He was." Her mind whirled with memories, but only for a moment. Questions formed in her mind for her hero, but something in the way his eyes flickered, a plea hidden beneath the surface, cautioned her to stay her words. He carried an aura of both authority and vulnerability, an enigma that refused to yield to her need for answers. She sensed he carried a weighty past, an intricate tapestry of experiences that remained beyond her grasp.

When they reached her apartment, a charming cobblestone triplex nestled among the city's arteries, a feeling of relief washed over her. The soft glow of lamplight spilled through the windows, casting warm rectangles onto the wet pavement below. It was a sanctuary of familiarity, a stark contrast to the mystery man who stood before her now.

"Look," she laughed softly and smiled at her feet, deciding to take a chance. "I'm a writer," she started. "A journalist." When Galen didn't respond, only cocked his brow, she tried to explain with her hands as if writing a note. "I write things, stories, articles, news for people to read." She pretended to read a book, the book being her hands which she palmed open and closed. 

Galen understood, at least partially, but he didn't understand what it had to do with him. She liked reading and writing, so what of it. The wind picked up, it was rather late and he did what he wanted and made sure she had gotten home safely. It was time to part ways, and yet he almost felt compelled to court her. He knew the idea was preposterous, he'd most likely stay on Earth only a short while longer before he went back home, hopefully unnoticed.   

"I'd like to write a story about you. About you saving me. Do you want to meet again so I can interview you?" Her question, though spoken softly, echoed in a hope that clung to him until he understood what she truly meant. She wanted to write a news story about him for others to read.

Galen immediately began shaking his head. "No." He said. "Forget it." He looked torn. 

Hopes dashed, Elara pressed on. "So no interview then?" 

Galen was about to reply again when a gust of wind blew back his hood, exposing his pointed ears. He saw Elara notice them and momentarily thought about the easiest way to kill her, hide her body and be back home as soon as possible. Instead he merely grabbed his hood back over his head, knowing he would never intentionally hurt someone like her, or anyone, because of his mistakes.

He cursed in his own language and stared at Elara with such intensity that she was taken aback, scared though curious about what his ears even meant? Pointy ears? Her first thought was a Vulcan, it would explain his incredibly broken English.   

"Forget. This. Happened. Aye?" He asked as clearly and slowly as he could. 

She could make out a faint accent, Scottish perhaps? Irish?  

"I. Never. Regret." He warned. 

She understood the first part, but misinterpreted the second. She thought he meant he didn't regret saving her, which was a good thing in her eyes, but what he really meant was that she better not give him a reason to regret saving her. 

He wanted to turn around and leave but something inside himself stopped him. It was her eyes, dark green like the glades of home. The way she looked at him sparked the growing connection between them, as though she could stare through him to his very core.  In her eyes he saw that she was earnest, and they held a reflection of her sincerity, a glimmer of something he hadn't encountered in a long time: trust.

He was enthralled by it. He wanted to nurture it no matter what the cost. His frustration waned. Instinctively he took her hands. "No stories, no news." He pleaded. "No inner views." He thought he could win her over with his charming smile if he simply asked. "Please?"

Elara was used to sources playing hard to get so she reluctantly agreed. He was indeed charming. Though he was no mere source, he was a journalist's wet dream. She thought there must be a reason he didn't want his story out there, which made her worry she would never see him again, that he would let go of her hands and disappear back to wherever it was he had come from. Before she could tell him so, he brought her hands up to his lips and kissed them gently. "I will see you again. Until then, no stories."

He let go of her hands and turned, walking away, his solitary figure slowly faded to mist as the rain began anew. 

The wind whipped up and it poured, urging Elara into her home quickly. She went right to the fridge for a bottle of water and then into her bedroom for a quick vape. She undressed, threw her wet clothes straight into her washing machine from her doorway, towel dried her hair, put on her pajamas, which was really just an over sized concert t-shirt of a band she had never even seen and sat at her desk in front of her computer. 

She flicked it on, the screens light casting a white glow on her tanned and lightly freckled skin. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unaware of where to begin. Her urge was to write, but she needed to know what he was. When she asked her chat bot how many mystical creatures had pointed ears, it listed off ten. Was he a troll or a vampire? A goblin or a fairy? None of the descriptions listed seemed to fit with the man she had just met, except maybe one. She realized she didn't even know his name.

"Goddamn-it!" She stood up and paced. Her urge to write about what happened overwhelmed her. It was programmed in her very core to record, compartmentalize the facts and share an opinion, create a blog, an article, a piece of fiction, a poem, anything! She chuckled at the thought of writing him a sonnet. 

Suddenly she sat down at her desk and her fingers began to dance across the keyboard. "I don't have to share it," she told herself. "Hank would never publish it anyway," but she needed to write while it was still fresh in her mind. While she could still feel the pull of his stare and the magic in the air as he came to her rescue, while she could still hear the urgency in his words interwoven with a defiant fear, and the warmth of his lips as he bid her farewell. She wrote it all, every last detail, and when she wrote about his pointed ears she wrote what she felt in her heart. She wrote that she thought maybe he was an elf, from some far off place, hiding his true identity for fear of the ramifications either here or there. She couldn't be certain, how could she know? Besides, it was just a feeling. She went on about his kiss and promise to see her again, but they hadn't exchanged names or numbers, so she really didn't expect to, it was just a chance encounter. 

And she didn't see him again. At least not in the next few weeks. And the story she wrote sat unread. Sure, she told a few friends and coworkers that she'd been 'almost' mugged, but she never mentioned the details she included in her written work. She told them a man had helped scare them off. Hank pressed her for it, her Editor-in-Chief.  A good mugging tale with a hero is always good press, he'd say, but she sat on it. 

Yet the more time she lived in his absence, the more her need to see him grew. She began to question what it was she actually saw. Rereading the article felt like reading a fantasy, she was almost embarrassed when she finally did submit it to Hank. She lowered her gaze when she entered his office the next morning, obviously beckoned to discuss the horrible fiction she submitted the night before. 

Hank, who was a heavyset older Italian gentleman with some connections to the mafia, leaned back in his chair, smirking at her. His bald head gleamed in the office lights. "Ok, come on. Give it to me straight, did this really happen?" His jovial face broke out into a smile, not the reaction she was expecting at all.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, meeting his gaze. "The way I remember it, yes."

"How long have you had this, you snake!"

"Hank! I'm not a snake, I'm not making this up."

He chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, I know. Not you. You wouldn't."

"Then you'll print it?"

Hank's fingers tapped rhythmically on his desk as he considered her question. "How many followers you have now on TwitterX?"

She shifted her gaze to the floor, calculating. "Not sure, maybe around 120k?"

"I bet you have double that in a week after this story breaks."

She looked up, skepticism in her eyes. "I doubt that, I will probably lose followers. Do you really think people will believe it?"

Hank reclined in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he raised his hands in the air. "I can see the headline now... Alien Saves Reporter from Mugging." 

"Alien? Hank, he was an elf."

"You think he was an elf, you don't know! You said it yourself, you couldn't be certain. My god, it's gold! We're in the middle of a disclosure! Navy pilots are coming out of the woodwork with their reports. This is how this story will get seen! For all you know, he was an alien, dressed as an elf. Maybe he thought humans had pointy ears, huh? Imagine that, his research was incorrect!" Hank laughed at his own joke. Elara hadn't found it funny at all. Having her hero be the butt end of a joke felt wrong.

She didn't believe for a second he was an alien, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that technically he was. He wasn't human, most likely not from Earth, so yeah, alien. 

Hank sat up in his chair, his tone more serious. "Listen, if I didn't know what I was doing, I wouldn't be running this place, am I right?"

"You're the boss, Hank."

"I knew you'd see it my way, kid. It'll be on tomorrow's front page. Not the main headline, but a low leftie. Capisce?" 

So it was agreed. Her story would be published, in print and online, on the front page of the Chicago Tribune, and through various accounts on social media. It was out there, and the public indeed gobbled it up.

As the weeks passed, Elara was more concerned with whether or not her mysterious hero would read it rather than how it was received. Would he be angry? Would he come back to punish her or take her in her arms and kiss her passionately? She had daydreamed about the latter more than she would ever confess. 

Hank was right. The story gained traction, it was even picked up by the NY and LA Times. She was asked on talk TV shows and popular exopolitical podcasts, both completely different yet equally terrifying experiences.  She loved her work being read and praised, but when put on the spot in person, sometimes Elara's words fell flat. Still, her followers increased, not quite two fold but enough to garner a lot of fist pumps in the office. Though like many trends, her story eventually fizzled out of the public's attention, replaced by more UAP sightings and politicians going to jail. 

Life almost felt normal again. 

Until the day Galen did return, and with him, an army of elves. On land, by sea and air, they simply appeared. Blinked into existence like a thought, with technology and magic that far outmatched those currently living on Earth, alien or otherwise. They bombed it with circuital EMPs, disabling the grid, the satellites, phones, the internet. Everything that kept civilized society on Earth as it was, was gone overnight. No one was killed, not yet.

Galen had came back for Elara as well. Not that he wanted to bring an army but he was commanded, so he had obeyed. He felt terrible, he knew it was his fault and his alone. Once the story had spread to the elves, and yes, the Elders were subscribed to the NY Times, they had been keeping tabs on the humans for centuries, and now that their delicate existence was exposed and believed by so many in the human realm, the Elders felt a shift in the balance between their worlds, a rift where the darkness could strike at any moment. Action was needed.

What is worth noting is that it is still arguable among many elves whether or not the human realm Earth, and elven realm, Aelarion, ever existed on the same planet. It is taught that they did, but they had been separated into parallel dimensions, held apart by a thin veil because of past conflicts. It had been far too long since the elves had shared the surface with humans for any elf alive to remember. Elves can live for centuries, yes, but they are not immortal. Only the stories remain, and stories can be very powerful. 

Galen was only given a copy of Elara's story on the day he was commanded to bring an army to Earth and disable all weaponry and communication devices that could be used against them by the rising darkness. His time away from Aelarion had gone unnoticed, or so he chose to believe, but surely the Elders had already convinced themselves it was him that Elara described in the article. They knew he had the means and the knowledge to travel between the realms, but for some reason he hadn't been reprimanded, or accused in any way. And her story, he hadn't been able to get it out of his head since his departure.

Aelarion had been put on lockdown when he left. The elves were told to stay in their homes until the threat had subsided. Galen himself had killed the grid to the greater Chicago area before settling his airship above Elara's house. His last stop. She was important to the Elders, his second task was to collect her and bring her back to Aelarion, alive and unharmed, but willingly. She couldn't be led to believe she was a prisoner. So he had his army act quickly,  and he left her city for last so he could be at her door knocking before any news was spread off-grid. 

Elara's power had been out only mere moments. She had been writing an article about the latest cyber attack on Washington when her computer screen went black. She had been looking for candles in her closet in case it grew dark before power was restored when she heard the knocking. She thought it was a neighbor in the building checking in on her, but when she opened the door to her apartment she nearly fainted.

It was her hero looking back at her with a scornful gaze, surrounded by other elves, clearly not in any way trying to conceal their identity. She gawked at leather gear and the ship hovering behind them, it resembled more of a boat floating on air instead of water. 

"You're back," she announced, much less freaked out than she felt. 

Galen quickly said something in another language to his entourage, dismissing them back to the ship. A pair stood underneath it, standing guard as people began to leave their homes and inspect the strange vessel. 

"May I come in, Elara?" He had practiced that. "We have much to discuss."

Elara opened the door completely, inviting him in. "Your English has improved." She said wearily, feeling as though she were in a dream. She hadn't figured out yet if he was upset with her or not. She wondered if he always looked so authoritative? Or if he was some sort of military general?

For Galen, seeing her again did spark feelings inside him. He was upset with her for writing the story when she had said she wouldn't, but he couldn't show it. He still had to get her to come back home with him, willingly, so he began to work on charming her. But first, he had to drug her.

"It is, somewhat. But drink this," he procured a small vial from his pocket, "then we speak." He put on his best smile.

"What is it?"

"Communicate potion. It helps listen." 

"Ah, so it's not quite there yet, huh?" She said, referring to his English skills, but he didn't quite catch the reference. 

"Drink it." He handed the vial to her again. This time she took it, completely trusting him, and gulped it down. She felt nauseous for only a moment, the room spun, but when she steadied herself she could here the elf speaking. First it sounded jumbled but then began to make sense. ".. because once it kicks in you'll be able to understand what I'm saying, just as I can understand you... let me know when you start to hear the difference..."

"I hear it," she said softly. 

He continued speaking but his voice trailed off in Elara's mind. She was completely mesmerized by him like under some sort of spell. His voice sounded different, still the same pitch and tone but his words strung together like a symphony. His accent was quite alluring, his stance, they way he glanced over at her as he spoke had Elara weak in the knees. 

The sun was beginning to set and the room darkened. Galen stopped talking and turned to Elara to see if she was understanding anything he told her. He was trying to explain the predicament they were in, how it was his fault for exposing his magic to her, and then the damn wind had a mind of its own. But she was sitting in silence, just staring, not saying anything.

When their eyes locked, he understood why. Elara's lips were parted, she had slowly sat down on the armrest of her sofa to keep her knees from buckling underneath her and the sudden desire to make him hers had left her shell shocked. For a moment, Galen thought she was overwhelmed by the invasion, but she didn't know about that yet, did she? 

He approached her and she shuddered.

"Elara." He pleaded. Hearing her name from his lips was too much for her. He took a few more steps closer and reached out for her hand. She just looked at it. "Elara, please."

She took his hand, suddenly afraid to look up into his eyes. She had dreamt about this. It had happened just like this in her dreams. Did she dare take his hand and look up into his eyes?

Of course she did.

And when their eyes locked, Elara's desire flooded through him, creating an intense craving inside him to make her his.  He pulled her closer. Their breath blended together as their hands began to explore each other's torsos.

"What is this?" She asked, their lips almost touching as time froze and nothing else mattered but that moment. "I don't even know your name."

Galen couldn't stand it. He kissed her hard and passionately, and she responded with the same intensity. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself up against him as their tongues entwined like tendrils of flame. Neither wanted the kiss to stop, but it was Elara who broke off first, stepping down from her tip-toes, a position she hadn't even realized she had assumed.

"Tell me who you are," she said breathlessly. 

"I am yours." Galen promised. "Always."