Thanks to those who reviewed. In response to the Jake/Rose question, I'll just say read this chapter and keep reading the rest of this story. Rose is about to become quite important…Jake kind of isn't, but he'll be there. / Well, he is kind of important…it depends on what "important" means to you.

Oh, and I'm really sorry about not updating in so long. What with the end of school, my sweet sixteen, summer school, AP summer work, the start of school, and all that jazz, I was just too busy to work on this.

Not to go back on my word, but I won't be making a sequel. Instead, I'm going to finish the story up here. It'll be a little longer than I've planned this to be, but that's okay. 3

Also, if you happen to be a fan of my writing, be on the lookout for another one shot titled "We Shall be Called the Huntsclan" which is basically the legend of how the Huntsclan started these many years ago. Or at least my version of it, with Adelmar, Aiolos, and Sophus.

Chapter Six: Decisions

I'd done terrible things. I had taken the lives of many magical creatures, lastly a dragon. I didn't even know who I was anymore. I wasn't bubbly, mischievous Kara, but I wasn't the merciless and hate-driven Huntsgirl either. I didn't even really know what I was doing, either. I had always thought that the Huntsclan and its motives were a little shady, but still noble…in other words, the end justifies the means. But was that really true? I had nothing against these magical creatures, nor could I see a reason for any of the Huntsclan to hate them. With our teachings and legends all we had to go on, it seemed as if we were murdering these beings in cold-blood. Did that make us evil?

I couldn't try to ignore the birthmark we all shared, though. The Huntsclan insisted that our dragon-shaped birthmarks meant that we were destined to slay dragons. But how could destiny be laid out in a simple mark on our skin? It was the 'mark of the Huntsclan' in any form, since we all shared it, but I had to question how the Huntsmaster and all others could think it could even hint at meaning we were meant to slay dragons. For all I knew, it could have meant we were destined to fight alongside dragons…if it had to do with destiny at all.

All of these thoughts were swirling in my mind, and I didn't want to face them. I didn't want to leave my room at all, but with the young dragon's skull and pelt there, ever reminding me of what I had done, I found myself often wandering aimlessly through the Huntslair. Lair…even the word sounded wrong. Everything was wrong, and I knew that I wouldn't be happy here any longer. But where could I go? Even though they weren't killed by dragons as the Huntsmaster had told me, my parents were still dead. I didn't know who any of my relatives were, and nor did I believe there was a home for wayward fourteen-year-old dragon slayers. Oh, and there was that other little thing…about not being able to leave the Huntsclan. I doubt a departure of any sort would have pleased the Huntsmaster.

The Huntsmaster…he was the reason for all of this. He brought me to the Huntsclan. He was the reason my parents were dead. He was the one who trained me to hate dragons and other magical creatures to the point that I wished them all dead. He was the reason I was broken and left almost without a soul. The Huntsclan took so much away from me, and I knew to regain what I had lost, I would have to strike at its heart. But not yet; there wasn't anything I could do yet, and just the realization of that pained me even further.

Sooner than I had expected, for I had expected being trapped in this forsaken branch for at least a few months, I was being shipped off back to The Academy to be accepted as a full member of the Huntsclan. Not a master, by no means. The Huntsmaster is too wise to believe that every fool's first slaying is the direct result of training and hard work. Even a blind slayer finds a dragon once in a while, as he used to say. Instead, he or she is moved to a hunting party closer to him, so that he could personally watch for signs of a true hunter or huntress – one that has mastered the fighting and slaying techniques developed over the thousands of years of the Huntsclan's existence. Only then would one take the title of master.

And so, I went from wandering through that abysmal southern Huntslair, to wandering through The Academy. The day I arrived, I was given the same room I had shared before, the only difference being a sleek black cape folded neatly atop my bed. Though their belongings were still there, 72 and 74 were long gone, by the overall look of it; both of them had an affinity for cleanliness, and the room was speckled haphazardly with stray items – a state it would never have gotten in had either of them still been around. 74, I was sure, had been assigned to a master to train under…likely as far away as I had been sent. But 72…she was too young to begin her apprenticeship. What had happened to her?

I started each morning the same way. First, I dressed myself, which was a more complicated ordeal than one would think. Though I usually wore the main parts of my uniform – loose black pants over a forest green body suit with tapered sleeves – to sleep, there was a myriad of other things I needed to put on over that. Flexible black boots went on, the ends of the pants tucked within them. A tight gray, apparently "claw-proof", vest went on after that, then black gloves with hardened backs. The gloves were our "back-up" weapons, in the case that any of us lost our staffs. With a simple flex of the wrist, a blade of energy would be summoned up, for us to use as we so pleased. Such was the typical uniform of any novice or apprentice who had yet to slay their first dragon. After that monumental moment, two new pieces were added – the cape and telltale dragon skull. The cape was easy enough for me to adjust to; it was easily put on with the addition of dragon hide shoulder pads. The skull, however, was another struggle completely. It was easy enough to put on, as any one would think, but it was an ever constant reminder of…you know.

Anyway, going on. After dressing myself, I made my way through the hallways to the cafeteria. This was always a source of blissful distraction. In addition to the obvious cacophony that settled over the room, there was always a hint of angst and the ubiquitous scraps over whom the best hunter was, or who was going to be the Huntsgirl or Huntsboy of their class. You know, the usual. Despite the fact that I had to incessantly watch over my shoulder for any jocks that happened to be following me, since they all apparently wanted to date a girl who could slay a dragon and no less, it was alright. The meals were decent, and I was spared the usual rush of getting ready for training; it was always amusing to watch the younger students scramble around, scared of being late, for if they were, they would have to fight a magical creature in full view of their peers. As was I, back then; not one of us ever fancied having to do battle with various magical creatures prematurely, far before any of us knew the proper techniques.

Sooner than I'd hoped to, I found myself falling back into the routines of The Academy. I was losing sight of what really mattered, far too often finding myself content with demonstrating for dragon slaying classes or running errands for the masters. How could I have been happy like that? How could I have even thought of ever being happy like that? I was lost…lost in an endless cycle of meaningless movements, contenting myself with the mediocre.

It was my new assignment that really jolted me back into reality. The Huntsmaster had called me into his chambers personally. Our conversation was much more…daunting than our last, back when he had named me Huntsgirl, even as frightening as that had been.

"Huntsgirl, you have slain your first dragon, have you not? Congratulations," he had said, mere moments after I had entered. Taken by surprise at the quick acknowledgement, I stiffened and bowed, though his reaction was far from what I had expected. His eyes narrowed, but he raised one hand and called, "There is no need for such subtleties. I need to ask you something."

Raising my gaze from the ground, I stared into his eyes, trying to steady my voice as I replied, "Yes, master?"

"What did the dragon look like?" There was such cold indifference in his voice; I wondered if he actually cared about what it looked like. I managed to reply, "Well, it was rather small…she probably hadn't really - "

"Insignificant details," he muttered, raising his own staff. Rather unwillingly, I flinched, convinced that I had done something wrong. His amusement flashed in his eyes as a hologram appeared just above the blade of his staff. It was long-boded and tan-colored with a distinctively spiky crown of scales on its head. "Tell me, is this the dragon you have slain?"

Staring into his amused gaze, I took a deep breath and said, "Yes, this is said dragon. I have the pelt, if you'd like to see it. And, as you know, I wear its skull with pride." I needed his trust; from what I could see, I had it already, so I might as well have kept it, and that meant telling him what he wanted to hear.

He seemed to relax a bit as I said this, sinking into a long silent pause, though at the same time my muscles tensed. I don't know why, but I was scared. Very, very scared. Something about his calm, indifferent silence unnerved me, but at least he seemed not to notice. After what seemed like an eternity, he went on. "Very good, Huntsgirl. You are…most definitely one of us."

I tipped my head down so that my skull helmet shielded my face from his gaze to hide the anger reminiscent in my eyes, but I still had to bite my tongue to hold back a sharp reply. Unable to say anything myself, I waited for his next action. This came fairly quickly, as he went on, "You will need a new assignment. I was thinking…"

"If I may, master, I have a suggestion," I said, my voice edged with anger, not at the dragon, but at the Huntsmaster and his twisted ways. "You told me that it was the American Dragon that murdered my parents. I want to hunt that dragon, above every other one. I have a score to settle with him."

"An interesting request, Huntsgirl."

He didn't realize just how interesting the request was. He thought I was trustworthy. He thought I was loyal. He really thought I only wanted to slay the American Dragon.

He thought wrong.

"Very well. You shall join me as my new apprentice. Adelmar knows I need a new one after what happened to number 72."

My eyes widened in shock as I heard my old roommate's name, and I immediately tensed up. 72 was the Huntsmaster's apprentice? But…she was too young. Things couldn't have gone well. Weakly, I asked, "72? What happened to her?"

"We lost her to hobgoblins," he said, waving a hand as if to dismiss the thought. "She was no loss. She wasn't strong enough."

At this my fists clenched tightly, and I longed to bring them down over the Huntsmaster's head. She wasn't strong enough. That's all he had to say! No remorse behind his words; he couldn't even pretend to be sorry that she was…gone.

"Y-yes…master. She was…not strong enough," I replied, fighting to hold back tears.

Here, in these past seconds, I had heard all I needed to hear to make my decision: I had to leave the Huntsclan.

And not only that. I had to speak to the American Dragon. And above all else, I had to speak the American Dragon's wife, the one the Huntsclan knows as the Betrayer, the one I know to be Rose.