Henry's father lost three molars that morning, which meant a good harvest. They sprouted from his left forearm in a neat row, white and glistening, ready for extraction. His Pa twisted them out with the pliers, barely wincing, and dropped them into the collection bucket with a satisfying clink.

"Twenty-seven today," Pa said, running his calloused hands over his arms, checking for new buds beneath the skin. "Could be thirty by evening if this weather holds."

Henry nodded, dragging the bucket toward the sorting shed. His own arms were smooth. Eighteen years old and still nothing. Not a single incisor, not even a baby tooth. The family called it a "late bloom." The doctor called it "delayed follicular eruption." Henry called it a reprieve.

Inside the shed, Ma was winding up her tooth-strings. She grew hers differently—long strands of connected teeth, like beaded necklaces, that emerged from between her shoulder blades each night. She harvested them every morning, pulling them out hand-over-hand like a sailor with rope. The teeth clattered into her basin, still warm.

"Your sister got twelve canines off her shin," Ma said. "Premium grade. We'll make quota this month, easy."

Through the window, Marcus could see Jenny in the south field, sitting cross-legged, using the extraction knife on her calf. She was singing. Jenny always sang during harvest. Said it made the teeth come cleaner.

Pa entered, carrying his second-harvest bucket. "Henry, I want you taking the north plot tomorrow. Soil's rich there—we sowed it with that bone meal last spring. You'll get your first growth there, I guarantee it."

Henry's stomach tightened. "Pa, I've been thinking—"

"Good, good. Thinking's important. Farm needs thinking. Your grandfather, he never thought enough, just pulled and pulled. Depleted his whole torso by forty. But you, you've got a mind for the business side." Pa clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll run this place right."

"I don't want to run it."

The shed went quiet except for the soft clicking of Ma's teeth as she sorted them by size.

Pa's expression didn't change. "Come again?"

"I want to be a lightbulb."

Jenny appeared in the doorway, a fresh bandage on her leg, her bucket swinging. She stopped when she saw everyone's faces.

"A lightbulb," Pa repeated.

"Yes sir."

"You want to be. A lightbulb."

"I've been practicing. At night. I can already do sixty watts, sustained, for almost four minutes." Henry held up his hand. It trembled slightly, then began to glow, a soft yellow light emanating from the palm, spreading through his fingers until his whole hand was luminous. The light filled the shed, cast their shadows long against the walls.

Ma made a small sound.

Pa stared. "You're glowing."

"Yes sir."

"How long have you been glowing?"

"Since I was fourteen."

"Fourteen." Pa set down his bucket carefully. "Four years you've been lighting up and you never said a word."

"I knew you'd be disappointed."

"Disappointed? Henry, we're tooth farmers. We've been tooth farmers for six generations. Your great-great-grandfather lost his jaw farming teeth. It grew back in his kidney. He died a wealthy man." Pa's voice rose. "You think he did that so his descendant could be a lightbulb?"

"It's what I am, Pa."

"It's what you're choosing! You think teeth just happen? You think I wanted roots growing out of my arm hair? I cultivated this. I made myself useful. Lightbulbs—" He waved his hand dismissively. "Lightbulbs are a novelty. A party trick. You can't feed a family being a lightbulb."

"The city's hiring," Henry said quietly. "Street lamps. Office buildings. They pay good money for consistent lumens."

"The city." Pa said it like a curse. "You want to stand on a street corner all night, glowing, while strangers walk past?"

"It's honest work."

"Honest work is here! On this land!" Pa grabbed Henry’s arm—not roughly, but firmly. "Feel that? Right there, that bump? That's a premolar coming in. I can feel it. You're going to bloom, son. Any day now. And when you do, you'll understand. There's nothing like that first harvest. Pulling something from your own body that the world needs. That's purpose. That's legacy."

Henry pulled his arm away. The bump was there. He'd felt it for weeks, hard and urgent under the skin. "What if I don't want to pull it?"

"Then it'll keep growing. You know what happens when you don't harvest. Old Halloran down the road, he tried to quit farming. Refused to pull. Now he's got teeth growing through teeth, layers of them, all up his back. Can't lie down. Can't sit back in a chair. That what you want?"

"I'll pull them. I'll just—I'll do it privately. Send you the money."

"Money." Pa laughed, a harsh sound. "This isn't about money, Henry. This is about what you are. The Johnsons grow teeth. That's what we do. That's what we are."

"No," Henry said. His hand was still glowing. He made it brighter. Eighty watts now. Ninety. The shed blazed with light, sharp and clean. "This is what I am."

Pa shielded his eyes. "Turn that off."

"I can't anymore. I tried. For years I tried to stop it, tried to be what you wanted, but every night I'd light up anyway. In my sleep. I'd wake up glowing. Do you know what that's like? Trying to stop being yourself?"

"Henry—"

"I'm going to the city, Pa. I've already applied. There's a position at the Central Station. They need someone for the main platform. Eighteen-hour shifts. I can do it—I tested at one hundred and twenty watts, steady."

Ma finally spoke. "That'll burn you out, baby. Eighteen hours? You're not a machine."

"I'm also not a tooth farm." Henry turned to her, his light softening. "Ma, you know I'm right. I'm bright. Really bright. That means something."

Jenny stepped forward. "Let him go."

Everyone looked at her.

"Let him go," she repeated. "I'll take the farm."

Pa blinked. "Jenny, you're—"

"I'm a better farmer than he'll ever be. You know it. I pull clean. I grow fast. I've been doing his share of the work for two years anyway." She looked at Henry. "No offense."

"None taken."

"And I like it. I like the farm. I like the feel of the harvest, the smell of the soil, the way our product makes a difference. You know how many teeth the city needs? For currency? For trade? We're essential. I'm proud of that." She crossed her arms. "But Henry isn't. And he's never going to be. So why make him stay and be miserable and half-productive when he could be out there—" she gestured vaguely toward the window, toward the city somewhere beyond the fields, "—doing what he's actually good at?"

Pa looked between his children. The light from Henry's hands made strange shapes of his face, all the worn lines deeper, the stubborn set of his jaw more pronounced.

"You really glow that bright?" he asked finally.

"Brighter," Henry said. "I haven't shown you my full range. I was afraid."

"Afraid of your own father."

"Afraid of disappointing you."

Pa sat down on the sorting bench, suddenly looking older. "Come here."

Henry approached, hands still luminous.

"Brighter?" Pa said. "Show me."

Henry took a breath and let himself open, really open, for the first time in front of his family. The light poured out of him, not just his hands now but his arms, his chest, his face, until he was incandescent—a figure of pure radiance standing in the center of the shed. The light was warm but not hot, steady as a heartbeat, filling every corner, erasing every shadow.

Pa stood and walked around him slowly, examining. Professional. The way he'd examine a crop.

"How long can you hold this?"

"Six minutes. I'm working on eight."

"And you dim on command?"

Henry reduced himself to a soft glow, then back to full brightness. "Yes sir."

Pa nodded slowly. He reached out and put his hand near Henry's arm, feeling the heat—or rather, the lack of it. "Efficient," he muttered. "No energy waste."

"That's what the city said."

"I bet they did." Pa withdrew his hand. "You know what you're giving up? This land will be Jenny's. Legally. In writing. You walk away now, you don't come back and claim a share later."

"I know."

"And you're sure? City's loud. Dirty. People won't know your name. You'll just be a light to them. Something they use without thinking about."

"That's okay," Henry said. "I don't need them to think about me. I just need to shine."

Pa was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet bag, worn soft with age. He shook three teeth into his palm—molars, yellowed with time.

"These were my grandfather's. His last harvest, day before he died. He told my father, 'Save these for the boy who needs them most.'" He pressed them into Henry's hand. "Take them. Seed money. First month's rent in the city."

Henry's light flickered with surprise. "Pa—"

"Don't make a big thing of it." Pa's voice was gruff. "Just promise me something."

"Anything."

"You burn bright, understand? Brightest damn lightbulb they ever saw. Make them remember there's a person in there, glowing. Make them remember it's not just light—it's you."

Henry's vision blurred. He dimmed to almost nothing, not trusting himself to speak.

Ma came over and pulled him into a hug, then Jenny, then Pa, all of them standing in the darkened shed, holding onto each other.

"Also," Pa added, "you come home for harvest holidays. Your mother worries."

"I will."

"And if you ever grow any teeth—"

"I'll send them straight to you. Promise."

They separated slowly. Henry pocketed the three ancient molars and walked to the door. Outside, the afternoon sun was lowering, casting long golden rays across the tooth fields. He could see the plots Jenny had been working, the turned earth dark and ready, and beyond them the road that led to town, and beyond that the city, waiting.

He turned back. His family stood in the doorway, silhouetted.

"Thank you," he said.

Pa nodded once. "Go on now. Before I change my mind."

Henry walked down the path, and as the dusk gathered around him, he began to glow—softly at first, then brighter, then brighter still, until he was a moving star crossing the fields, heading toward the horizon where the city's lights were just beginning to flicker on, one by one, calling him home.

Behind him, he heard Jenny call out. "Show 'em how it's done!"

And Henry, for the first time in years, laughed out loud. His light pulsed with the sound, warm and steady and true.

He was going to be the brightest lightbulb the city had ever seen.