The northern skies were a deep shade of scarlet that morning—a rare, almost divine omen over the tundra.

The color came not from from the airship that cut across the heavens like a moving flame. Its massive hull bore the sigil of the Crimson Workshop, the pride of the Northern Empire—an organization sanctioned by the Council itself, specializing in magic engineering.

Noah stood at the forefront of the landing platform, his long coat fluttering as he watched the airship descend through the cold mist.

The sound of its engines was thunderous, echoing across the frozen peaks like a growl from some slumbering god. Soldiers and engineers halted their work, gazing in silent reverence as the flagship of the Workshop.

The Crimson Blimp No. 07 landed before him.

Behind him, representatives of the Workshop in their signature crimson uniforms stood in orderly formation, the air shimmering faintly around their mana-forged gauntlets. Their leader—a tall man with silver hair and a mechanical monocle—approached Noah with a formal bow.

"General," he greeted, his voice carrying easily through the cold. "The Workshop has responded to your summons. Our fleet stands ready to serve the Northern Empire's decree."

Noah's sharp eyes traced the faint mana lines pulsing across the airship's hull. "Then you already understand why I called for you," he said evenly.

The man's mechanical lens whirred as he studied him. "To repurpose the fleet for war," he answered. "For the Holy War the South dares to bring to our borders."

Noah's lips curved faintly. "Good. Then we share the same understanding."

---

Inside the main hangar, crimson airships floated in silence—giants of the sky suspended by mana pressure and the Workshop's ingenious reactors. The air smelled of metal and cold ozone, vibrating faintly with magical resonance.

Noah walked between the rows of vessels with his hands clasped behind his back, his boots ringing softly against the froststeel floor. Iris followed at his side, her white cloak brushing against the polished tiles. The engineers trailed a few steps behind, wary but curious.

"They're beautiful," Iris said softly. "The mana density alone could power a fortress for a year."

Noah stopped before one of the larger blimps, running his hand along its curved hull. "These were designed for transport, surveillance, and research," he said. "But the age of exploration is ending. The age of war is coming."

He turned toward the engineers. "This vessel," he said, nodding to the great crimson blimp before them, "will be restructured as my command ship.

Arm its sides with arcane cannons—six on each flank. Reinforce the hull with obsidian froststeel, and add a secondary mana chamber beneath the navigation core. Install a relay bridge that connects it to the ground battalions."

The chief engineer blinked but quickly nodded. "As you command, General. The Workshop will spare nothing for the conversion."

Noah's gloved hand lingered on the hull a moment longer. Beneath the metal, he could feel the gentle hum of mana—like a heartbeat waiting to be quickened.

He closed his eyes. "From today onward," he murmured, "this ship will no longer serve as a vessel of observation. It will become our answer to the South's sanctimonious heavens."

Iris tilted her head, studying him. "Then what will you call it?"

Noah opened his eyes, his tone steady and cold.

"Atonement."

---

The transformation of the Crimson Blimp began that same night.

The engineers of the Workshop worked in shifts without sleep, their hammers and runic welders ringing across Frostspire's icy corridors. The crimson hulls were darkened with a layered obsidian finish, the sigils of the Northern Empire engraved into their sides alongside the Workshop's own insignia.

Mana conduits were restructured, power grids expanded, and the once-silent decks came alive with the pulse of the Crimson Core reactors. Froststeel plating gleamed faintly under torchlight as artificers traced glowing runes over the armor, binding wind, frost, and lightning enchantments to its frame.

Noah oversaw every stage from the elevated walkway above the hangar, his eyes never leaving the vessel even as the days blurred together.

By the seventh dawn, Atonement was ready.

The airship floated above the hangar with a low, steady hum, its engines pulsing with crimson light. The interior had been reshaped into a command fortress—armories below deck, a navigation chamber reinforced with crystal interfaces, and an upper observatory lined with thick glass that shimmered against the morning light.

When the ship first lifted from the hangar, the frost below cracked from the sheer pressure of its engines. The roar that followed echoed through the mountains.

Noah stood on the deck as it ascended, the wind biting at his face, his black coat flaring behind him like a banner.

Iris approached, shielding her eyes from the brightness. "It feels… alive," she said, almost in awe.

He nodded faintly. "It is. Everything born of mana carries a will. It only needs someone to direct it."

Her gaze flicked toward the horizon. "So this is how we'll fight the Holy War—by taking the skies."

"The South calls their war divine," Noah said quietly. "Let them. We'll answer them from the heavens they claim."

---

News of Atonement's awakening spread swiftly through the North. The other divisions of the Crimson Workshop began mobilizing their own fleets—The Duskwing, The Frostlight, The Iron Saint, and The Ravenhold—each patterned after Noah's new flagship.

Within weeks, the Northern Empire's first Sky Division was born, uniting artificers, mages, and engineers under one banner. The Holy War would not be fought on land alone—the North had seized the skies.

In a private assembly before the High Council, Noah delivered his intent without ceremony:

"The gods look down upon us," he said, "but they have never once descended to bleed for their wars.

Then let us meet them halfway—let us rise."

The Council was silent. Then one by one, they stood and saluted.

The motion passed unanimously.

---

When Atonement took its maiden flight as the Northern Fleet's flagship, the world turned crimson again.

Thousands gathered below as the engines blazed to life, the decklights igniting like burning sigils against the morning sky. The vessel ascended slowly, majestically, until its shadow stretched far across the snowfields.

The banner of the Northern Empire rippled from the stern, joined by the crimson crest of the Workshop.