Building The Strongest Family

One Month Later – Varenyan Skies

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The VTOL helicopter sliced through the storm clouds like a knife, its engines humming a deep, rhythmic tune that reverberated in the reinforced cabin.

Arthur sat with his back to the cockpit, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes glued to the swirling gray clouds outside.

Across from him, President Dravik fidgeted nervously in his seat, his usually composed demeanor fraying at the edges with barely concealed irritation.

Next to Dravik were his trusted advisors, General Orlov, Defense Minister Koval, and Chief of Staff Vera Petrovna, all handpicked by Arthur's "recommendations," though they remained blissfully unaware of this fact.

"Where the hell are we going, Osborn?" Dravik finally snapped over the roar of the rotor blades.

Arthur didn't flinch. "Patience."

Petrovna leaned forward diplomatically. "Mr. Osborn, with all due respect, you pulled us out of a security council meeting without an explanation. The president's schedule is..."

"...flexible," Arthur interjected coolly, leaving no room for debate.

Dravik's jaw tightened. "You don't get to decide my schedule."

Arthur turned just enough to lock eyes with Dravik. "Don't I?"

The silence that followed was heavier than the storm clouds outside.

Orlov, a bear of a man with a cybernetic eye reminiscent of Vex's, cleared his throat. "If this is about delays in the Phoenix Initiative..."

"It's not about delays," Arthur cut him off sharply. "It's about results."

The helicopter jolted as it hit turbulence; Koval gripped his armrests until his knuckles turned white.

Ethan lounged casually in the co-pilot's seat and swiveled around with a grin. "Relax, folks! If boss wanted you dead, you'd already be splattered on the pavement."

Dravik's eye twitched at Ethan's nonchalance. "That's not comforting."

"Wasn't meant to be," Ethan replied cheekily.

Arthur checked his chrono. "Ten minutes."

And ten minutes later…

The clouds parted like curtains drawn aside.

Before them lay an astonishing sight: what had once been a crumbling relic of an old Varenyan military base was now transformed into something monstrous and awe-inspiring.

A sprawling complex of blackened steel and reinforced plasteel stretched across the horizon,its sheer scale defied belief! Six-tiered defense walls bristled with auto-turrets; hangars loomed large enough to house entire battalions of mechs; runways capable of launching full wings of stealth bombers simultaneously sprawled out before them; and at its heart stood a command spire that pierced the sky like a dagger aimed at heaven itself.

Dravik's breath hitched in his throat as the scene unfolded before him. Petrovna gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Orlov's cybernetic eye flickered, zooming in and out as if struggling to comprehend the astonishing sight.

Koval murmured something that sounded like a prayer, his voice barely audible over the tension in the air.

Dravik turned to Arthur, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and confusion. "Holy shit! What... is this?"

Arthur's grin spread slowly across his face, deliberate and unsettling. "Progress."

As the helicopter descended toward a landing pad emblazoned with the Osborn sigil, Dravik noticed a line of generals and commanders standing at attention below.

Their uniforms were crisp, their salutes sharp,but none of them looked at Dravik. Every single one acknowledged Arthur first.

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The moment the VTOL touched down, the hatch hissed open, releasing a gust of wind mixed with the acrid scent of industrial lubricants.

Arthur was the first to step out, his coat billowing around him like a living shadow.

Dravik stumbled after him, legs unsteady, not from the flight but from sheer disbelief. "This... this was the old 12th Division outpost," he muttered, staring at the colossal structure looming before them. "It was abandoned... derelict. How...?"

"You said Varenya needed a modern military," Arthur replied casually as he strode forward without looking back. "So I built one."

Orlov, ever vigilant as a soldier should be, began assessing the defenses surrounding them. "Those are Mark VII pulse turrets… that's Zephyrian tech! How did you…?"

"Trade secrets," Ethan chimed in with an easy smile as he fell into step beside Arthur.

A general approached with a face chiseled from stone and snapped off another salute. "Facility is operational at 92% capacity, sir. Final systems coming online within the week."

Arthur nodded approvingly. "Good."

Dravik's expression darkened as he interjected incredulously,

"Sir? You address him as 'sir'?"

The general didn't even glance in his direction.

Petrovna, ever the politician,sought to salvage what remained of their dignity: "This is… impressive, Mr. Osborn. Truly impressive! But surely this took years to plan, the resources required,the manpower…"

Arthur finally turned to face them; his eyes glinted dangerously in response to her question: "A month."

Silence hung heavy in the air.

Dravik clenched his fists tightly at his sides. "That's impossible!"

Arthur merely shrugged nonchalantly. "And yet here we are."

Koval wiped sweat from his brow and gestured weakly toward their surroundings: "The cost alone…"

"That's irrelevant," Arthur interjected, his tone sharp and unwavering. "What truly matters is that Varenya now possesses the most advanced military complex on the Noctis continent, and it's mine."

Dravik's voice cut through the air like a knife. "Yours?"

Arthur met his gaze with unyielding confidence. "Did you honestly believe I would hand you the keys to an army? As I've said before, you manage the domestic affairs of our country while I handle military operations and international threats!"

The truth settled over Dravik like a heavy shroud. This wasn't a gift; it was a leash.

---

Arthur guided them through the complex as if he were a king unveiling his grand castle. With each step, they encountered more staggering sights:

The Armory: Rows upon rows of next-gen plasma rifles, sleek mech suits, and enough ammunition to wage a decade-long war.

The Drone Command Center: A bustling hive of technicians monitoring autonomous kill-swarms capable of reducing a city to ashes in mere minutes.

The Barracks: hundreds of thousands of soldiers training in perfect synchrony, none of them Varenyan conscripts but loyalists purchased from the system mall.

Dravik's complexion paled with every shocking revelation.

Finally, at the heart of the command spire, Arthur paused before an enormous holographic display of Noctis, its borders glowing in Osborn green.

"This is just the beginning," he murmured softly.

Dravik stared at the map and then back at Arthur. "You're not rebuilding Varenya."

Arthur smiled knowingly. "No. I'm building an empire."

Outside, the first squadron of Osborn Phantom-X fighters roared into the sky, their engines igniting clouds with fiery trails.

And in that moment, Dravik understood far too late: he had never been president; he was merely a placeholder.