Marcus Aurelius Vance was born into a world of hyper-modern, absurd luxury. The delivery room wasn't in a sterile hospital; it was a specially sanitized wing of the Vance Manor in the rolling countryside just outside London, outfitted with more medical technology than some small nation's primary care facilities. He wasn't wrapped in a cotton blanket, but in a bespoke, hand-stitched silk christening cloth flown in from Milan.
His father, Alexander Vance, Sr., was a man whose personality was perfectly engineered for global domination. He was sharp, demanding, and possessed a deeply entrenched, albeit non-magical, arrogance. His empire, 'Vance Global Tech,' dealt in everything from advanced robotics to personalized orbital satellites. Alex Sr. spoke in billions, not millions, and viewed the world as a market waiting to be optimized.
His mother, Seraphina Vance (née Rossi), was the epitome of grace. A former supermodel who now channeled her formidable energy into high-profile philanthropy and managing the absurdly complex Vance household. She was beautiful, warm, and utterly devoted to her son, even if she occasionally treated him like an extremely valuable, delicate piece of fine art.
They were an exemplary, loving, and completely, hopelessly Muggle family. They knew nothing of the wizarding world. To them, the "Vance Manor" wasn't warding against dark wizards; it was protected by twenty-three layers of laser grids, thermal scanners, and ex-Special Forces security guards—a testament to Alexander Sr.'s paranoia regarding corporate espionage.
Marcus, the reincarnated Alex Miler, observed this existence with a detached, often comedic, perspective. His first three years were a bizarre blend of soul-numbing infant routine and high-stakes business discussions conducted within earshot of his crib. He was learning to speak both English and the complex financial jargon of his father simultaneously.
By the time he was three, Marcus understood the immense responsibility of his new life. His EX-Level talent wasn't just for magic; it translated into a terrifyingly rapid learning curve for everything. He spoke perfectly, his vocabulary extensive enough to critique his father's quarterly reports.
The family's security and staff, accustomed to the oddities of the mega-rich, simply viewed him as a child prodigy. Alexander Sr. loved it.
"Look at him, Seraphina," Alex Sr. would boom, watching Marcus meticulously stack Italian marble blocks into a complex, structurally sound archway. "Discipline. Precision. He's already optimizing the load-bearing requirements! That's my boy. A true Vance!"
Seraphina, meanwhile, focused life moments. She taught him to bake simple lemon tarts in the ridiculously huge kitchen, laughing when he got flour on his nose. She read him stories not of wizards, but of Greek heroes and Roman emperors, hoping to instill a classical, worldly outlook.
One afternoon, at age four, Marcus was frustrated while trying to tie his shoelace. He grunted deeply, a small, frustrated exhalation that was subconsciously tinged with the Dragon Tongue power he was still learning to suppress.
"YOL!" he mentally commanded, trying to make the laces behave.
Suddenly, the shoelace snapped taut and tied itself into an impossibly complex Gordian knot. The sheer, raw magic of the word had done its job with excessive force.
"Oh, Marky, darling, you have such strong hands!" Seraphina cooed, rushing over and effortlessly untying the knot. "You don't need to strain! Here, let Mommy show you the bunny ears technique."
Marcus stared at his mother's simple, Muggles solution. He realized that the greatest power he possessed was completely invisible to the people he loved most. He had to learn to live two lives simultaneously: the Billionaire Heir and the EX-Level Sorcerer. For now, the focus was on the family.
The Vance family vacations were legendary. At six, Marcus found himself in a private villa overlooking Lake Como. Alexander Sr., perpetually tethered to his phone, was trying to broker a massive land deal, stressed and snapping at staff.
Marcus watched his father, recognizing the pressure. He decided to subtly help. He was tired of seeing his father stressed and his mother worried.
While Alex Sr. was on a difficult conference call, Marcus, playing quietly on the floor, focused his burgeoning magical power. He didn't use a Draconic shout; he used the subtle, unconscious force of his EX-Level talent. He merely thought about the concept of clarity and persuasion directed at the microphone on his father's desk.
The magical energy flowed invisibly. The opposing party, suddenly finding Alex Sr.'s proposals unbelievably reasonable and clear, agreed to the terms within the hour.
Alex Sr. slammed the phone down, eyes wide. "Seraphina! It worked! They signed! I don't believe it! That was the easiest negotiation of my career!"
Seraphina smiled brilliantly. "See, darling? A little time away, a little fresh air, and your wonderful mind solves everything."
Marcus, sitting on the plush carpet, merely shrugged. He was learning that the greatest use of his power, in this context, was to enhance the slow burn of his family's happiness. He could make his father successful and less stressed, ensuring the family remained close and supportive.
As Marcus grew older, the need for advanced schooling became apparent. Alexander Sr. hired the most expensive, specialized private tutors money could buy. Marcus devoured the material, not because he needed to, but because he saw it as an exercise in mental discipline, a way to sharpen the mind that would soon be wrestling with Transfiguration and Charms.
During these years, the Dragon Tongue manifested in peculiar ways. Since he was strictly avoiding the explosive power of the shouts, the power funneled into his understanding of other, related languages.
By age twelve, Marcus was fluent in seven human languages and had mastered ancient Greek, Latin, and Sanskrit. His tutors were aghast.
"Mr. Vance," his Latin tutor once stammered, "Marcus doesn't just translate the text, he seems to understand the intent of the ancient author. It's almost... uncanny."
Marcus simply knew that the rhythmic chanting of classical Latin, the foundation of future incantations, felt naturally resonant because of the deeper, draconic power waiting to be unleashed. He was mapping his two worlds together.
The Family bond deepened during these awkward adolescent years.
One day, at age thirteen, Marcus walked in on his mother, Seraphina, crying softly in her walk-in closet. The stress of managing her charity foundation and the relentless scrutiny of the media had finally cracked her composed façade.
Marcus didn't use magic. He didn't need a powerful spell. He simply sat next to her on the floor, hugged her tightly, and used the sharp, clear analytical mind his father had prized so much.
"Mom," he said quietly, "you're trying to manage three times the workload of the board members, and you haven't delegated the accounting. Dad says this is 'sub-optimal resource allocation.' Let me help. I can build you a better framework this afternoon."
Seraphina wiped her eyes and looked at her intense, brilliant son. He wasn't giving her a fluffy comfort; he was offering a solution. That was the Vance way, even in emotional support.
"Oh, Marcus," she sighed, pulling him into a fiercely loving embrace. "You really are your father's son, aren't you? My clever boy."
It was a perfectly normal, loving, upper-class moment of family bonding, tinged with the unique, high-IQ comedy of their situation. He helped her optimize the charity's operations that weekend, earning a rare, truly peaceful smile from his mother.
As Marcus approached his fifteenth birthday, the world felt too small. He had mastered every academic challenge, secured his family's stability, and spent countless hours in the Manor's expansive, soundproof basement carefully experimenting with suppressed, non-lethal Draconic syllables, just powerful enough to levitate a single playing card.
He had become everything his parents could ever want: brilliant, disciplined, and unfailingly supportive. They were entirely oblivious to the secret power growing within him.
On the morning of his birthday, a small, elegant party was held in the garden. Alexander Sr. presented him with a controlling interest in a fledgling, cutting-edge software firm. Seraphina gave him a beautiful, custom-built watch. They toasted his brilliance and his future.
"To Marcus," Alexander Sr. announced, raising a glass of sparkling cider, "the smartest, most grounded young man in the world. Who needs to run off to some stuffy, old European boarding school when you can run the world from here?"
They laughed, completely unaware of the irony.
Less than an hour later, the laser grids of the Vance Manor's perimeter alarms began screaming, followed by the frantic shouting of security staff. A brightly dressed, flustered woman with hair that seemed perpetually frizzled had just popped into existence in the rose garden, clutching a heavily sealed roll of parchment.
Marcus saw the purplish suit and the look of utter distress on the woman's face. He knew his mundane life, beautiful as it was, was over. The slow burn had reached its peak.
The letter had arrived. The magical world was finally calling.