Thanks for stopping by. I hope you're able to enjoy this (somewhat long) story that I worked on for several years.

Also, this fic is completely Kay-based. If you've never read Kay, you should! It's a nice addition to the Phantom community. However, if you aren't going to, feel free to PM me, and I'd be happy to give you a brief summary of the story up to Erik's time in Persia. Most (if not all) early plot factors in Kay's book will be mentioned sometime throughout the story, and they will, of course, have an impact on Erik.

Please enjoy they story, and also please take the time to review!

The Rising Sun

Spring 1853

Western Shores of Caspian Sea

Nadir

Not for the first time today, I curse you.

I curse the day that you were born, the moment you took breath. I curse the God that gave you what he did – your face, your talents, your abilities. I curse the woman who stole your heart, and I curse the husband that you so desperately despise. I curse the shah, the khanum, the sweaty horse that thunders under me.

Everything that you have caused, every part of my life that you have touched, I curse it. I hate it. I wish it would have never happened. And the biggest thing I cannot stand is the fact that I still do not hate you. I am angry, furious, beating my horse mercilessly under the hot sun, but I feel nothing for you except pity and the slight threads of friendship that still bind us – if they are still there for you, too. When she arrived, I know I disappeared from your world. She is your world, everything you want, everything you cannot have.

So I will chase you all over the world. It doesn't matter to me, anymore. There is nothing left for me in Persia. No Rookheya, no Reza, and now, no you. I would not be surprised if you were thousands of miles away, sitting peacefully in a secluded mansion, content to waste away your days with your music and magic. If I return without you, nothing but death will await me. I'm quite tempted to simply stop my searching and start anew in some far-away country, but it has only been two weeks, and those thundering behind me still believe that we will be able to catch you. I will play their game for more weeks, months…years. The future is bleak, full of hot sun and cold, uncomfortable nights. There will never be enough to eat. I will always be tired and sore, and my mind will never rest. Do you know all the trouble you've caused? Your temper! Your temper did this to me! Couldn't you have simply up and left without doing what you did? I had never, ever seen the shah so furiously angry. If I had been there when he heard the news, I would have been killed, too.

I know that they will slow you. You are inhumanly quick, apt at disappearing, but your companions are not. Will they frustrate you, I wonder? Will you become angry at their mere mortality? And do they trust you at all? I can only imagine what your conversation with them was like when you told them that they had to flee with you. She trusts you, I know, but her husband…

I then wonder if he will survive this alive. He has tested you so many times – you Frenchmen are all so stubborn! Will her restraint hold you back? However, if we find a body somewhere, I will not be too surprised.

The world is wide, endless. I do not know where you will go. Will you return to your native France, or will your unrest forbid you from going there? Will you see them off at a port on the Atlantic Ocean, bidding them farewell forever, and then roam the rest of the world?

There is not time for us. We cannot stop for long. In a few weeks, we will be making regular stops, the men tired, but right now is the hopeful week. We all foolishly think we will be able to capture you and take you back to the shah alive. I know you would rather kill yourself than return to Persia. It would probably be more merciful to kill you, anyway. I wonder how long the shah's wrath will hold. I do not envy those still at court. There will be now law for several months.

A man's horse collapses behind us, and we stop. It heaves breath for a moment, and then dies quite suddenly. There is a moment of silence.

"There is nothing we can do," snaps a man. "You will have to return back to Tehran."

The stranded man looks dreadfully frightened, and he has a right to. We are hundreds of miles away from Tehran by now, and there is hardly a chance that he would return alive. And after all, why would he want to return? But none of the men are moved by his plight. We leave him, stranded, in the middle of the jungle, and continue. The sun is still bright overhead. My throat is parched; we will stop for water tonight, but I do not know if I or my horse will last. Stopping to pray is tiresome, but none of us protest when we are able to slide from the horse and relax for a few blessed minutes. Mirza Taqui Khan is particularly ruthless. He refuses to stop more than seven hours each night. You know he hates you; he wants your head, and he will never quit. I have never liked him much, but his position makes it impossible to dislike him.

Late that evening, we ride into Ardabil, which is a relief. Tonight we will sleep in real beds, and tomorrow we will visit Sheikh Safi-ad-din's tomb, to pay respect, before continuing on our journey. I know the men are excited to eat real food tonight and become clean. We enter a respectable-looking inn and wait for service. Taqui Khan broods about the host, watching him suspiciously. None of us dare say anything; he is higher than all here, so we are not allowed opinions or ideas that do not coincide with his. When we are served, he mysteriously disappears for a while. I grow uneasy; no doubt he is doing something reckless. While I am eating, I continue to wonder about you. Where are you? What are you doing? Are you, too, sitting down to eat in an inn? Or are you still moving, unwilling to lose even a minute's time? You must stop some time, you know, for them. They are, like you have said before, only mortals, only regular people with regular desires and pains.

Mirza Taqui Khan suddenly barges into the room, looking excited and determined. My heart sinks slightly. He comes to stand over by our table, which goes silent instantly.

"We leave right now," he says. "They were seen on a ship that carried them up to Baku. We will find them finally!"

I can hear the men's silent groan, but they all leave their unfinished meals without a word of protest. I follow suit, ready my horse, and clamber back on. It will be a very long night. I hope you are safe, Erik.