Footprint Frenzy: Episode 1

The morning mist hung heavy over Creekside, transforming the disc golf course into an ethereal landscape of shadows and silhouettes. Towering redwoods emerged like ancient sentinels from the fog, their massive trunks disappearing into the milky haze above. The usual sounds of the forest seemed muffled, as if the very air was holding its breath in anticipation.

Rowan Oakwood stood on the first tee pad, weathered hands clasped behind their back, surveying the gathered disc golfers with keen eyes that reflected decades of forest wisdom. The Grand Sentinel of the Wildwood Guardians wore simple earth-toned clothing adorned with subtle embroidery depicting leaves and tracks, a stark contrast to the modern athletic wear of most competitors.

"Welcome, seekers of the unseen," Rowan's voice carried clearly despite its soft tone. "Today marks the beginning of a journey that will test more than just your ability to shape the flight of plastic through air. The Footprint Frenzy awaits, and with it, perhaps answers to questions you have not yet thought to ask."

Among the players, Gabriel Kenney shifted nervously from foot to foot. Tall and lanky with thoughtful eyes, he clutched his disc bag close as if it might shield him from the strange energy permeating the course. Unlike the other players who chatted excitedly about the tournament, Gabriel remained silent, his attention drawn repeatedly to the deepest parts of the mist-shrouded forest.

Rowan approached him, footsteps utterly silent on the damp ground. "First time at Creekside, young Gabriel?"

Gabriel startled. "How did you know my name?"

A knowing smile crossed Rowan's face. "The forest speaks of those who walk within it. And you... you have been walking these woods in your dreams long before your feet ever touched this soil."

Before Gabriel could respond, a commotion near the practice area drew everyone's attention. A commanding figure emerged from the fog, flanked by several athletic individuals dressed in matching dark olive-green tactical gear. Their leader stood with military precision, steel-gray eyes scanning the gathering with predatory focus.

Rowan stiffened. "Raven Blackwood," they muttered, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "The Shadow Hunter comes."

Raven Blackwood approached with calculated strides, the group of players instinctively parting before this imposing presence. A cold smile that never reached those piercing eyes spread across Raven's face.

"Oakwood. Still playing guardian to myths and shadows?" Raven's voice cut through the mist like a blade. "I thought you might be here. Wherever there's whispered nonsense about forest spirits and giant apes, you seem to materialize."

Rowan met Raven's gaze steadily. "And wherever there's opportunity to desecrate the sacred, you and your Apex Hunters arrive with nets and cages. This is a disc golf tournament, Blackwood. Nothing more."

"Is it?" Raven's smile widened fractionally. "Then why the unusual fog? Why the... atmosphere?" One gloved hand gestured toward the forest. "You've always been a poor liar, Oakwood."

The tournament director's whistle cut through the tension, calling players to their starting holes. Gabriel found himself assigned to hole three alongside three other players, including one of Raven's associates—a sharp-featured woman who introduced herself as Kira.

As Gabriel stepped onto the tee pad, Rowan's voice seemed to whisper in his mind: Trust the mist. It guides those with pure intentions.

The strange thought momentarily distracted him, but as he settled into his stance, a peculiar calm washed over him. The disc—a blue driver with a pattern reminiscent of swirling fog—felt unnaturally warm in his hand. His throw released with perfect timing, the disc cutting a path through the mist that no normal flight should follow. Instead of hooking left as physics demanded, it glided straight before disappearing into the fog.

Kira scoffed. "You'll never find that one."

But Gabriel felt drawn forward, feet moving with unexpected certainty through the underbrush. The mist seemed to thin before him while thickening behind, separating him from the other players. He found his disc resting beside a small creek bed that wasn't marked on any course map—a creek that by all accounts shouldn't exist.

The water barely trickled over smooth stones, but one rock near his disc caught Gabriel's attention. Unlike the others, it was perfectly flat and marked with what appeared to be carvings. Kneeling down, he brushed away centuries of moss to reveal an intricate pattern of symbols surrounding what was unmistakably a large, humanoid footprint pressed into the stone itself.

As his fingers traced the footprint, the mist around him swirled with sudden purpose, condensing into tendrils that caressed the stone. The symbols began to glow with a faint, bluish light.

"You've found it." Rowan's voice came from behind him, though Gabriel hadn't heard anyone approach. "The First Track."

Gabriel looked up, startled. "What is this? How can a footprint be preserved in stone like this?"

Rowan knelt beside him, reverent fingers hovering over the artifact. "This is no ordinary footprint, and no ordinary stone. This is one of the Wayfinders, created when the Ancient Ones still walked openly among the trees. The Sasquatch have been guardians of these forests since before humans first entered these lands."

"Sasquatch? As in Bigfoot?" Gabriel's voice held disbelief, but the glowing symbols before him made dismissal difficult. "That's just a legend."

"All legends begin in truth," Rowan replied. "The question is not whether Sasquatch exists, but why they have chosen to remain hidden for so long. This artifact is one of many scattered throughout these forests, left as markers for those who would protect rather than hunt."

A twig snapped nearby, and the mist parted to reveal Raven Blackwood, standing with arms crossed, expression triumphant.

"How convenient that your new protégé should stumble upon such a find, Oakwood." Raven's voice dripped with cold precision. "Every unexplained track is just another breadcrumb leading to inevitable capture."

Rowan rose slowly to face Raven. "This is sacred ground, Blackwood. You have no right—"

"Rights?" Raven laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally through the trees. "I have the right of discovery, the right of pursuit. That artifact belongs in careful hands—my hands—where it can be studied, documented, and used to track down the creature that made it."

Gabriel felt a strange heat building in his chest, a pressure that seemed to push outward through his skin. The mist around them began to thicken and swirl with increasing speed.

Raven stepped forward, reaching for the stone. "Stand aside, boy. That's not a toy for amateurs."

As Raven's gloved hand extended toward the artifact, Gabriel felt something inside him snap. The pressure exploded outward, and with it, the mist responded. It surged between Raven and the stone, coalescing into a barrier so thick it appeared almost solid.

Raven recoiled, eyes widening in genuine surprise. "What trick is this, Oakwood?"

But Rowan looked just as astonished, gaze fixed on Gabriel whose outline had become strangely blurred, as if he were partially dissolving into the mist itself.

"The Mistwalker awakens," Rowan whispered. "After all these years..."

Gabriel felt disconnected from his body, simultaneously more and less substantial. The mist moved as extensions of his limbs, responding to his thoughts and emotions. Through the swirling vapor, he could somehow sense Raven's racing heartbeat, the calculating thoughts behind those cold eyes, and most disturbingly, the emptiness where connection to the forest should exist.

Raven recovered quickly, reaching into a tactical vest pocket. "Impressive parlor trick. But mist burns away under the right conditions." A small device appeared in Raven's hand, thumb hovering over a button.

Before Raven could activate whatever device was clutched in that gloved hand, the stone beneath Gabriel's feet trembled. The symbols on the artifact flared brighter, and the carved footprint began to fill with what looked like water but moved like quicksilver.

Rowan spoke urgently, "Gabriel, the stone recognizes you. Touch the footprint again."

Without fully understanding why, Gabriel reached down, his now semi-substantial fingers connecting with the liquid-filled impression. The sensation was electric, images flooding his mind: vast forests untouched by human hands, massive figures moving with impossible grace through ancient trees, a network of sacred sites connected by invisible paths, and most vividly, a map etched into his consciousness showing locations that corresponded to future tournament sites.

The vision ended as suddenly as it began. Gabriel found himself fully solid again, kneeling beside the stone which now appeared ordinary—the glowing symbols and quicksilver footprint gone. In his hand rested a small disc-shaped object made of the same stone, marked with a single symbol from the larger artifact.

Raven stood frozen, device still in hand, calculating eyes taking in everything. "This changes nothing, Oakwood. You've simply confirmed what I've long suspected—there's more to these woods than myths and legends. The hunt has officially begun."

With that, Raven turned and disappeared into the mist, which no longer parted accommodatingly.

Rowan helped Gabriel to his feet. "What you experienced was no accident, Gabriel. The Mistwalker is more than a bag tag; it's an ancient mantle of protection. For generations, the Wildwood Guardians have awaited one who could commune with the mist as you just did."

Gabriel looked down at his hands, still feeling the strange energy coursing through them. "What does this mean? What did I just see?"

"You've been shown the Trackway—the sacred path that connects all the sites where Sasquatch has left markers of their presence. The tournament locations this season follow this ancient path, though I doubt that's coincidence." Rowan gestured to the small stone disc in Gabriel's hand. "That is a Key Stone, the first piece of a greater whole. Keep it safe."

As they made their way back to the course, Gabriel asked, "Who is Raven Blackwood? Why do they want to find Sasquatch so badly?"

Rowan's expression darkened. "Raven leads the Apex Hunters, collectors of trophies and destroyers of mystery. To them, Sasquatch is the ultimate prize—proof of their hunting prowess and a ticket to fame and fortune. They've been tracking signs for years, but recently their efforts have intensified. I fear they're closer than ever before."

"And the Wildwood Guardians? That's your group?"

Rowan nodded. "We protect the balance between worlds, maintaining the veil that keeps some wonders hidden from those who would exploit them. Sasquatch is not merely a creature to be documented or captured—they are guardians of ancient knowledge, keepers of forest magic that sustains more than humans can comprehend."

When they rejoined the tournament, Gabriel was surprised to find that what felt like hours had passed in the mist had only been minutes in tournament time. His group had just begun searching for his disc when he emerged from the fog.

The remainder of the tournament passed in a blur. Gabriel played with newfound confidence, his discs flying with uncanny accuracy through the lingering mist. Other players commented on the strange fog that seemed to follow him from hole to hole, sometimes thickening around errant throws from Raven's associates while clearing perfectly for Gabriel's shots.

At the final hole, Gabriel found himself on the lead card alongside Raven. As they approached the 18th tee, Raven leaned in close.

"Enjoy your beginner's luck while it lasts, Mistwalker," Raven hissed. "But know this—I've already left my mark on this course. Not all tracks lead to truth, and by the time you realize which are false, I'll be three steps ahead."

Before Gabriel could respond, Raven launched a perfect drive that disappeared into the distant fog, followed by the distinct sound of chains.

After the scores were tallied and the tournament concluded, Rowan gathered the players around a campfire near the first tee. The mist had finally begun to lift as evening approached, revealing a sky painted with brilliant oranges and purples.

"Today marks the beginning of a season unlike any other," Rowan announced, flames casting dancing shadows across their weathered face. "What some of you experienced as simply a disc golf tournament, others recognized as the first steps on an ancient path. The Footprint Frenzy has awakened something long dormant in these woods."

Rowan's eyes met Gabriel's across the fire. "Some of you may have noticed unusual occurrences today—discs flying against the wind, strange shadows moving through the trees, perhaps even glimpses of footprints where none should be. These are not coincidences or tricks of light. They are invitations to look deeper, to question what you think you know about the world around you."

From within their robes, Rowan produced a set of wooden bag tags, each carved with different symbols and titles. "These are more than tournament rankings. They are roles in the unfolding story, positions of responsibility in the search for truth."

When Gabriel received his tag, the word "Mistwalker" was burned into the wood, along with an intricate symbol matching one from the artifact. The wood felt warm in his hand, almost alive.

As the gathering dispersed, Rowan drew Gabriel aside. "The mist has chosen you, but this is just the beginning. Raven wasn't lying about leaving false tracks—the Apex Hunters will try to confuse and mislead at every turn. You must learn to distinguish true signs from deception."

"How?" Gabriel asked, turning the Mistwalker tag over in his hands.

"The Key Stone you found today will help guide you. Keep it close, and between tournaments, walk the forests with open senses. The mist will speak to you if you learn to listen." Rowan glanced toward the darkening trees. "And be vigilant. Raven Blackwood doesn't accept defeat gracefully. The Shadow Hunter will be watching, waiting for any advantage."

As if summoned by the mention of their name, a raven's harsh call echoed from the forest edge. Gabriel turned to see the actual bird perched on a low branch, its black eyes reflecting the dying firelight with unnatural intelligence.

"Until next time," Rowan said softly. "When the Trackway leads us all to new discoveries, and new dangers."

Gabriel nodded, feeling the weight of the Mistwalker tag against his chest where he'd hung it on a cord. As he walked toward the parking lot, the mist swirled briefly around his ankles, like a faithful companion reluctant to part ways.

Behind him, unseen in the gathering darkness, a massive footprint appeared in the soft earth beside the dying campfire, only to slowly fade away as the last embers turned to ash.