The morning light filters through your kitchen window as you hear a strange humming sound outside. Stepping onto your porch, you find a glowing, iridescent egg half-buried in your flower bed, steam rising gently from its surface. The air feels electric around it, and you swear you can hear a faint heartbeat-like pulse coming from inside. When you reach out, the egg shivers slightly in response to your touch. You glance at the sky, where a trail of smoke still lingers from whatever brought this strange object to your doorstep.

The egg's surface shimmers with colors you've never seen before—hues that seem to shift when you move your head, as if the shell contains liquid starlight. A faint warmth radiates from it, not unpleasant but certainly unnatural. Your dog barks nervously from the door, hackles raised, but something about the egg draws you closer despite the logical part of your brain screaming caution.

As you kneel beside it, the top of the egg begins to crack, thin spiderwebbing lines spreading across its surface. The humming sound grows louder, almost musical now, and you realize you've been holding your breath. Whatever is inside will emerge soon—and you're the only one here to witness it.