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Corner him early in one of his solitary walks, before he sinks too deep into his own head. It’s the only way to convince him to sit down long enough to get this over with. Give him a few moments to settle in, to tamp down that endless wanderlust a little.
Tell him the bad news, the awful news, the worst news he’s ever heard. Tell it without euphemism or circumlocution, the way he would tell it to you.
And wait.
Listen to the scope of his mask whirring in the stillness, watch it telescope in and out, in and out as he looks at you. Through you.
And hear him say:
“Well done. Well done, Matoro.”
Wait in vain for him to say something more, to lean on one of the tired old cliches that most people would lean on in times like this. Scrutinize his posture for any signs of tension or weakness.
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
“What else is there to say? He did his duty as a Toa.”
“He was your friend.”
“No. No, he wasn’t… My friend.”
Don’t fail to notice his flexed fist, his leg bouncing like he wants to get up and continue his walk, his head turned to the side, gaze fixed on the horizon.
“I didn’t… Know him that well. Our paths only crossed for a short time.”
“It’s alright to be ups–”
Flinch away from him when he stands so abruptly, though he makes no move for you. Comprehend for the first time the raw power of a Toa Nuva, even when he’s not trying to be menacing. Feel the temperature of the room nosedive, see the puff of your breath curl upwards through the dry, frigid air, towards the ceiling.
“Upset? The Mahri. They fought beside him. They were his friends. Ask them if they’re alright. You’re wasting your time here. And mine.”
Bolt after him as he heads for the door in a perfectly straight line, as if he’s tethered to the horizon. Regret chasing after him the moment you do it.
Ask him:
“Where are you going?”
“… We’ll see.”
Wait outside his locked chamber door. Remember that he can see through walls and step back further, giving him his space. Reassure him by your absence that he is alone to do whatever it is he needs to.
Don’t approach him as he storms out of his chambers and departs alone to wander the endless wilderness again. Understand it won’t do any good.
Let your curiosity get the better of you. Enter his chambers. Marvel at how clean, how organized they are. Spot the one thing that isn’t tidy.
An ice carver’s pick, discarded on the floor. Beside it, a puddle, and shards of ice now slushy and misshapen.
Swear that one of the shards looks like half of a Kanohi Akaku, whittled crudely out of the ice by the hand of an amateur carver.