The year is 2035. My name is Armand, and I live in Riga. Today I write these lines on my tablet under the roar of jets flying overhead. They are returning from exercises in the Gulf of Finland. We've grown used to it—Europe sounds different now. It is no longer the continent it was ten years ago. Everything changed after the summer of 2025. That was when Europe truly woke up. The war in Ukraine had entered its third year, and the attacks on civilian infrastructure were getting harsher. I remember watching the coverage from the conference in Rome. Zelensky—tired but resolute—was speaking with US senators. They nodded. A month later, new Patriot batteries appeared in Ukraine. Then came new deliveries of Storm Shadow missiles, German IRIS-Ts, Norwegian rockets, Polish tanks. People I spoke to still hoped for peace. But peace was gone. So Europe chose to rearm. I, then an engineer, went to work at a factory in Jelgava that began producing ammunition. We were told: "You forged swords—now you forge freedom." We worked 12-hour shifts. But for the first time in decades, we felt purpose. Schools introduced civil defense classes. New divisions were formed. Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, and Finland signed the Baltic Defense Pact. France and Britain shared their nuclear programs. The media called it “the rebirth of European resolve.” In 2030, the European Defense Fund came online. Its symbol: a stylized bullet piercing steel. We started producing drones, missiles, sensors. Ukraine gained NATO membership in 2032. That night in Riga, people took to the streets with flags. The city echoed with songs. It was more than politics—it was proof that we could defend ourselves. Looking back now, I understand: the phrase written on posters in 2025—“Peaceful Europe needs missiles and bullets”—was prophetic. We do not love weapons. We do not want war. But we live in peace today because we were prepared for the worst. I believe our strength lies in unity. And let future generations know that in 2025, we made the right choice.