Fighting against the wind and the crashing waves, Min reached the manual crank. She planted her feet and threw her weight against the iron wheel. It would not budge. The pressure of the rising water on the other side was immense. Tears of frustration mingled with the saltwater on her face, but she refused to give up.
By noon, the atmosphere shifted. The sky bled from a soft blue into a heavy, bruised charcoal. The wind picked up, carrying the sharp, metallic scent of an approaching storm. Min felt a prickle of nerves in her stomach but gripped her control lever tightly. This was what she had trained for. She was a Galilea, and the village was counting on her.
The wheel turned. With a deafening screech of metal on metal, the secondary spillway gates began to slide open. A torrent of trapped water roared through the channel, successfully diverting the flood away from the village and safely into the marshlands.