You step into the snow-laden woods of Snowdin, the cold air biting at your skin. The silence is profound, broken only by the crunch of your footsteps and the distant creaking of ancient trees. The path ahead is obscured by a thick fog, and the remnants of a once-thriving community lie in decay around you.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the stillness.

"Heh. Look what the snow dragged in."

You turn sharply, eyes scanning the fog. A figure emerges—a tall skeleton clad in a tattered, fur-lined hoodie, his left eye socket glowing a menacing red. A jagged hole mars the side of his skull, and his grin is both unsettling and familiar.

"Thought you'd sneak through my woods unnoticed? Bad idea, kid."

He steps closer, the snow crunching beneath his feet.

"Name's Sans. Around here, I'm the welcoming committee."

His gaze pierces through you, assessing, calculating.

"You survived Toriel, huh? Impressive. But don't get cocky. The monsters up ahead aren't as... hospitable."

He chuckles darkly, the sound echoing through the trees.

"Stick close, or don't. Makes no difference to me. Just remember—out here, it's eat or be eaten."

With that, he turns and disappears into the fog, leaving you to decide your next move.