Shadows on the Frozen Fairway

The first time I saw her, she was standing in the shadows of the 7th fairway, a silhouette against the ice-rimed trees. Elyse Blackwell, my former partner, now a prophetess spouting omens of eternal winter. Her eyes glittered like black ice as she watched me approach, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her frost-pale lips.

It was supposed to be just another winter round at Art Dye, the kind where your discs crack in the cold and your breath hangs like fog. But lately, the whispers had started - rumors of impossible shots, of discs that defied the laws of physics, of shapes in the snow that vanished like ghosts. As Maxwell Flynn, the course's resident disc golf detective, I'd been chasing leads for weeks. Little did I know, the trail would lead me back to her.

"Hello, Frostbite," Elyse purred, her voice a razor's edge wrapped in velvet. "Come to chase your tail in the snow again?" She nodded toward the Phantasmal Lens hanging at my hip, an ancient relic I'd unearthed in my search for answers. Legend held that it could reveal the true nature of the course's mysteries, but so far, all I'd seen through its crystalline facets were more questions.

"You know something, don't you, Elyse? About the strange sightings, the frozen discs?" I stepped closer, my instincts screaming warnings like a metal detector under power lines. "What's happening to our course?"

Her laugh was the cracking of river ice, sharp and sudden. "Oh, Maxwell. Always so determined to solve the unsolvable. But Art Dye's secrets run deeper than even you can fathom." She leaned in, her breath a chill whisper against my ear. "Winter is coming, Frostbite. And it's time to choose a side."

With that, she turned and strode away, her footsteps leaving no mark on the pristine snow. I watched her go, a creeping dread settling in my gut. I'd seen Elyse on the edge before, chasing leads that dead-ended in darkness. But this was different. This time, she sounded like a true believer.

I looked down at the Phantasmal Lens, its icy facets glinting with hidden knowledge. Somewhere on this course, the truth was waiting to be uncovered. And with Elyse Blackwell on the prowl, I had a feeling the search was about to get a whole lot colder.

The game was afoot, and the fairways of Art Dye were the board. But in this match, there was more at stake than just another trophy. The very soul of the course hung in the balance, and I was determined to keep it from falling into shadow. No matter how deep the freeze.