"We, the Velren, are a prideful people, Ren," Rohan said while running his hand over the lock, "as such, we don't ask for favors with the reliance of one's own goodwill being the groundwork."
As Rohan explained this, he used the sharp nail of his index finger to slit the palm of his right hand, pressing it against the steel surface of the lock.
"What're you…?" He began to ask, but stopped.
Filling the spiral grooves, the blood seeping from the elder's cut palm replaced the emptiness of the lock with a fresh crimson as a click resounded.
...Just what the hell is he trying to offer me? I'd feel bad for taking something this coveted, but I don't think he'll take no for an answer, he thought.
Without answering, the macaque elder stood up as he placed his hands on the edges of the chest's lid. Rohan strained himself to lift the heavy lid, but surprisingly managed to lift it before he could try to assist him.
