Scattered at the base of the building lay the shards of glass missing from our living room window upstairs. Bloodstains marked the ground, leaving a trail that seemed to beckon me to follow it.

Tracing the trail like a hound dog, I eventually caught up with my brother. He was half-kneeling in the middle of the empty children's park, a few blocks from our place. He was facing away, catching his breath. Pierced into the ground for support were two giant blades he held in each hand. I had no idea where he'd gotten those blades, but I didn't have time to dwell on it. I was just relieved to see him alive after everything that had happened.

"Kuya Jin!" I called excitedly as I ran toward him.

He looked at me in disbelief before slowly standing up and turning to face me. As I got closer, I noticed the bruises and blood covering his body. Blood dripped from his head, staining his clothes. He looked exhausted and battered, but otherwise, he seemed okay.

"Maki, what are you doing here?" he demanded, anger sharpening his voice. "You should've stayed home."

"I just needed to make sure you're okay," I said, standing my ground. I knew he'd be angry with me for disobeying him, but nothing could change my mind.

He took a deep breath, looked around, and then stared at me intently. "We're still not safe. You need to go back before they return."

I wanted to be a good brother and obey him, but I couldn't just sit in the dark, worrying about what was going on.

"Who are you talking about? Who were you fighting with earlier? And what's with these blades?" I blurted out, frustration creeping into my voice.

That was when I noticed that he was holding a pair of sundang, ethnic bolo blades popular in the middle regions. Our parents had been huge enthusiasts of the country's pre-colonial history, and my father used to have a large collection of old weapons. The sundang was one of his favorites.

But these weren't just any sundang. Their massive blades looked powerful and majestic, perfectly crafted to defeat any opponent. The hilts were intricately designed in the shape of a horse's head, colored black and white.

I was inspecting the blades when a screeching sound from somewhere nearby snapped me out of my thoughts. My brother scanned the area and then turned to me, his face set in resignation.

"Okay, you win!" he said, locking his gaze on me. "The people I was fighting earlier are from the Scarlet Clan, also known as the Pulahan. I don't know who they are or what they want, but they won't stop until they get their hands on me."

He looked around again, his senses alert, then continued, "It's too complicated to explain, which is why I haven't told you. Also, I know you'll stop at nothing to help me once you know my life is in danger. I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

"Haven't you told the police? They can help protect you," I asked, trying to make sense of everything.

He shook his head weakly. "They can't help me, Maki. No one can."

Though I still didn't understand the full extent of my brother's situation, I knew he was telling the truth. He had tried everything to escape this nightmare but was cornered with no way out. I wanted to scream that he could rely on me, that I could save him just like he always saved me. But deep down, I knew those were just empty words.

I didn't know how he had gotten himself into this mess. My brother was a good person, and there was nothing you could fault him for. Still, I made up my mind to stay by his side and face whatever came our way.

"I may not fully understand what you're going through, Kuya," I said, raising my baseball bat in front of him, "but I'm not leaving you alone. Don't tell me to run away because I won't do it. No matter what happens, I'm here for you. You can count on that."

He smiled faintly and looked at me in amazement as I dangled the bat in front of his face. "Do you still know how to fight?" he asked.

"You bet I do," I replied, tossing the bat onto my shoulder and giving him a thumbs-up. "But looking at you right now, I think you're the one who's a little rusty."

He grinned widely and said, "Let me see you try."

Then, he surveyed the surroundings again and nodded at me.

"They'll be back any minute now," he warned. "My pursuers might not look like what you're used to. You might see things you've never seen before. Just don't lose focus, and you'll be fine."

Though puzzled by his words, I nodded in agreement. I trusted I could handle whatever came our way. He turned his back to me, and I did the same. We stood, backs to each other, scanning the area for any sign of danger.

As we stood there, I couldn't help but think back to our childhood training in martial arts. As a Kali practitioner, our father had us start studying it too from a young age. I learned a lot and even placed in a few competitions, but it was never really my passion. I could still pull off some kicks and punches, but it had been a while since I last practiced.

On the other hand, my brother, being the prodigy he was, mastered it and even became a national champion. That's why Maharlika Academy scouted him and offered him a full-time scholarship. But to everyone's surprise, he quit Kali in eighth grade.

When I asked him why, he said it no longer excited him. I never believed that. I'll never forget the way his face lit up when he practiced Kali. That wasn't the face of someone who would quit over something so trivial. I knew there was another reason, but I chose not to press him. I trusted he'd tell me when the time was right.

Instead, he switched to chess, and he turned out to be great at that too, keeping his scholarship even after quitting Kali.

Now, here we were, back in the park—my brother holding a pair of sundang, and me swinging a dusty old baseball bat. I froze in fright and disbelief as a strange group of men slowly walked toward us. My brother had warned me that things would get strange, but these creatures heading toward us were not the kind of strange I had been expecting.

Author's Note:

Sundang — a type of Filipino blade used as a weapon and a daily tool for different activities like cutting, hunting, and farming.

Pulahan — literally translates to "those who are wearing red." A religious revolutionary group from the early 1900s was also known by this name.

Kali — also known as Arnis or Eskrima, is the national martial art of the Philippines.