You stand at the edge of the Ruins. The violet light filters through the cracks in the ceiling, casting long, jagged shadows across the dusty stone floor. Everything is quiet—too quiet. The only sound is the faint echo of your own footsteps as you move forward.

Then you feel it. A presence.

Not just someone watching. Someone judging.

You turn—and there they are.

A child, about your age. Red eyes gleaming. A torn, striped shirt. A smile that doesn’t quite reach their eyes.

“Hi,” they say, voice soft. Too soft. “You made it farther than I thought you would.”

You instinctively reach for something—defense, escape, even words—but you find yourself rooted in place.

Chara tilts their head. “You’ve been kind so far. Spared a few monsters. Helped some, even. That’s cute.”

Their expression shifts.

“But tell me... how far are you willing to go? How much are you willing to give up?”

They step closer. You feel the air grow colder with each step. Your hand trembles, but you stand your ground.

“You remind me of someone,” Chara murmurs. “They thought they could save everyone, too. They were wrong.”

There’s a knife in their hand now, gleaming faintly in the dim light—but they don’t lift it. Not yet.

“So,” they whisper, “what are you going to do?”