"But how?"
The baby squealed. The sound was like a baby bird's cry. It promptly kicked off the bottom half of its shell, making me gasp again. Instead of the legs of a human infant, our baby had scaly bird legs.
"Um," I said, blinking. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing, Weston?"
"Yes, my love. I am." He laughed. "It's our first born son."
Weston hopped closer to our baby. With his feathers puffing out to create warmth, he instinctively nestled on top of him so he wouldn't be exposed to the cold. Even though he was mostly the shape of a human infant, he was tiny, smaller than most human infants. His little body disappeared comically underneath Weston's feathers.
But he didn't seem to be unhealthy. In fact, he proved this by sticking his face out of Weston's chest fluff and letting out a shrill chirp.
I started laughing, too. "Well, I'm glad he's healthy. But... What is he?"
"Judging by his feathers and talons, I think he's a harpy," Weston said.
That took me by surprise. Weren't harpies half-human, half-bird creatures of myth? I'd heard of them before, but only in fiction. I didn't know they were real. This was even crazier than finding out I could shift into a koi fish.
"Do you think my father has anything to do with this?" I asked.
Weston nodded. "I believe so. Just like your ability to control water, and Zakariel's ability to breathe underwater. Our son must've inherited some kind of magic from Nautilus."
I suddenly remembered Father's cagey remark about the fates. Hadn't he implied that our children would be special somehow? Maybe this was what he meant.
"A harpy," I murmured. "Well, if that's not special, I don't know what is."
Our son poked his head out of Weston's chest fluff again, like he knew we were talking about him. I couldn't believe how capable he was, even as a newborn. He wasn't anything like a human infant, which were basically fragile, crying little blobs. I knew newly hatched chicks could at least stumble around after coming out of their shells. Did he take after his bird heritage in that way?
"What were the two names you liked? Cloud and River?" Weston asked.
"Oh, right! Yes." I glanced down to the second egg still pressed against my chest. "Should we wait until they're both hatched to decide whose who?"
Weston nodded. "Good idea."
"I hope that happens soon," I murmured, stroking the egg. "Come on out, little one. Your whole family is waiting to meet you."
Our harpy son suddenly tumbled out of Weston's feathers and knocked into the egg. Before I could freak out, Weston chuckled.
"That's normal," he said. "It encourages the remaining eggs to hatch if they know their siblings have already come out."
Encouraged by this, I watched our firstborn snuggle against his bigger sibling, who was still in the shell. I grinned when the egg rocked, then did so again.
"It's moving!" I said.
But despite that, the egg didn't pip. I looked to Weston for encouragement again but there was a clouded expression on his face. He was usually the calm and collected one, so that worried me.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I don't want to worry just yet," Weston said slowly, "but if my hunch is correct, I have a suspicion the bigger egg might not be able to make it out on its own."
"What?" I cried. "Then we have to help!"
"It can be dangerous to try and help an egg that's hatching," Weston warned. "Let's wait a little longer."
I bit my lip anxiously. "What's your hunch?"
Weston stared at the egg in deep thought. "The eggs are two drastically different sizes. What if the second baby is a different species than the first?"
"I was thinking the same thing. But then... Is it a fish?"
