It had started with Jinho's visits.
Seo Yunhan had permitted them — reluctantly, and for reasons he hadn't examined too closely.
Cutting off the one person Aran had trusted before any of this seemed like the wrong move.
He understood that much.
What he hadn't anticipated was watching the two of them train together in his own garden. Jinho's hands on her waist, steadying her through a basic stance. Their shoulders almost touching as he guided her through a slow sequence of movements. The easy, unthinking closeness of two people who had fought side by side for years. Something in his chest had gone cold and sharp at the sight.
That night, without quite meaning to, he had said it.
Walk properly from now on.
In front of everyone — especially Jinho. Stand on your own two feet so well that he never has a reason to put his hands on you again, not to help you up, not to steady you, nothing.
But with me — only with me — you don't have to try so hard. If you're tired, you can drop to all fours. You can sway your hips if you want. That part, I want to keep.
He hadn't meant it as a command, not really. It had felt, in the moment, like nothing more than a jealous wish spoken too honestly.
But the next morning, Aran had stood.
Fully upright, steady on her own two feet for nearly a full minute before her balance gave out — a transformation far too sudden to be anything but unnatural, though she herself seemed to have no idea what had caused it.
"It must be all the kissing," she'd told him that morning, entirely matter-of-fact, recovering her balance with a small, satisfied huff.
"My body's clearly responding well to it. We should probably do more. For my recovery."
Seo Yunhan had not corrected her.
"Hands here," he said now, holding both of her hands in his own.
"Now push up. Slowly."
Aran scowled at him but did as he said, planting her feet and pushing upward — with far less effort than she would have needed just days ago. Her knees wobbled, but held.
Seo Yunhan reached out and patted her bottom twice, lightly, entirely too pleased with himself.
"Hips down a little. There you go."
"Don't touch me there," Aran snapped, though she adjusted her stance exactly as instructed.
"It's for balance," he said, the picture of innocence. "Purely scientific."
"You're enjoying this."
"I am enjoying watching you improve," he said, smiling.
"The fact that your wobbling little duck-walk happens to be unbearably cute is a separate matter entirely."
She took a step. Her balance wavered, and she pitched forward without warning.
Seo Yunhan was already moving before she fell — arms open, perfectly positioned, as if he'd been waiting for exactly this the entire time.
He caught her easily, pulling her flush against his chest, and broke into a wide, unguarded grin.
"Careful," he said, not sounding remotely sorry that she'd fallen.
Aran glared up at him from where she was pressed against him. "You weren't even surprised."
"I have excellent reflexes."
"You were ready."
"A good teacher is always ready to catch his student," he said solemnly, not loosening his grip in the slightest.
"Let go of me. I need to practice."
"In a moment." He made no move to release her at all. "Try standing again. From right here."
"I'm already standing. You're holding me up."
"Mm," he agreed, entirely unbothered. "Best kind of practice."
She huffed at him, but there was no real force behind the next shove she gave his chest.
The standing lessons, it turned out, involved a great deal more falling than walking. Neither of them seemed to mind.
Baek Jinho arrived that afternoon, as he had several times since the incident at Il-yang-gwan, each one a little more carefully timed than the last.
He found them still in the garden — Aran standing on her own, steadier than he'd ever seen her, no longer needing the kind of hands-on help he'd been offering.
"You're walking," he said, something complicated crossing his face.
"On your own. And your words—" He stopped, staring at her properly.
"You're speaking so clearly now."
He looked almost stunned, as though he hadn't let himself hope for this until he was looking straight at it.
"Is the curse breaking?" he asked, voice quieter now, almost reverent.
"Is it actually lifting?"
"Slowly," Aran said.
"And mostly by falling, still."
Jinho didn't laugh at the joke. He reached out automatically, the way he always did, hands halfway raised to help steady her — and found there was nothing for them to do. She didn't sway. She didn't need him.
His hands dropped back to his sides.
He should have felt nothing but relief. The General, recovering. The curse, breaking. Everything he'd hoped for since the night she vanished.
His eyes moved over her — the silver hair, the delicate face, the same small frame she'd had since that first night at Il-yang-gwan. Still her. Still this version of her.
Thank god she still looks like this, at least, he thought, before he could stop himself.
The thought landed wrong the moment he heard it in his own head.
He froze slightly, genuinely startled by himself. What kind of thing is that to think, while she's finally getting her own life back.
He cleared his throat and looked away, deciding it was best not to examine that particular feeling any further.
Seo Yunhan, watching the small, conflicted expression cross Jinho's face, felt something far simpler and far more satisfied settle in his own chest.
A servant approached a moment later with a message requiring his attention at the palace. He excused himself with perfect courtesy, leaving the two of them alone in the garden.
The moment he was gone, Jinho's expression shifted.
"I came because I needed to speak with you," he said, lowering his voice. "It's about the curse. I've learned something."
Aran's attention sharpened.
"The Seo family," Jinho continued, "has long been known for a curse of their own — a vicious one, passed down through generations of men. No woman has ever survived living under their roof. You've heard the stories."
"I have," Aran said carefully.
"What you may not have heard," Jinho went on, "is that the High Monk at the mountain temple has guided this family for generations. Arranged the marriages. Steered them around disaster after disaster. The Seo line has survived this long because of him."
He paused, lowering his voice further, as if sharing something he shouldn't.
"And people say the Saintess who cursed you spends time at that very temple. Often."
The garden went very quiet.
"I keep thinking about the timing," he said.
"Your curse. This family's old arrangement with that monk. You, ending up here, of all places, the very same night." He shook his head slowly, as though even he didn't want to believe what he was suggesting.
"I just think you deserve to know what's being said. Whatever you decide to do with it is your own affair."
Aran said nothing for a long moment.
Then she simply nodded, expression unreadable, and the conversation moved on to lighter things — Jinho asking after her progress, describing some minor squabble among the border troops, until he eventually took his leave.
It was only that evening, sitting alone by the lake while Seo Yunhan attended to some matter inside, that the thought truly settled.
A monk with foresight. Guiding this family for generations.
Something about it nagged at her, familiar in a way she couldn't immediately place.
Then it surfaced — Lee Sunrye's voice, from that very first night, half-remembered through the haze of her transformation: the High Monk told me to bring her to my son's house without fail.
A monk who knew. Who sent me here, specifically, before any of this began.
Aran sat very still, staring at the water.
I need to speak with him myself.
When Seo Yunhan returned to find her later, she looked up at him with unusual seriousness.
"Yunhan," she said. "I want to meet the High Monk. Will you take me to him?"