Persistent · Sovereign · Governed

The first AI that's actually yours.

Aether Awareness gives agentic AI the three things it's been missing — memory that persists, identity you own, and autonomy with boundaries. Three companions who learn you from the first hello, remember everything, and go and do the work — on the web, in your inbox, on your phone line — answering to no one but you. Installed on your own machine, where nothing you say has to reach us at all.

◈ Installs on your machine · your memory never reaches us · the licence brings new releases, not permission to run — let it lapse and it keeps working

What did I tell you about my sister's visit?

Saturday, 2:40 — Lena lands, and you wanted to cook at home this time. She's been stressed about her thesis, so the plan is a quiet one: your lemon pasta, the Ketchikan albums, phones in the drawer.

Put the prep on my board.

todo_write4 items → Saturdayrecorded ✓

Done — airport at 2:00, cooking at 4:30, dinner by 5:15. And I'll hold anything that lands Saturday until Sunday morning.

six months later

What was that pasta Lena liked?

The lemon one — you made it the Saturday she flew in. She asked for the recipe on the drive back to the airport, and you never sent it.

Write it up for her.

workspace_writelemon-pasta.md → your workspacedrafted ✓

Written up. I kept the olive-oil version, not the cream one — you told me in March she doesn't do dairy.

An example of a Personal exchange — the same memory, half a year apart. Nothing was re-explained, because nothing was forgotten.
Memory that survives everything Runs on your own machine Bring your own model Browser · email · phone Nothing phones home
01 The case

Agentic AI has a body problem. Nobody is building it a home.

The last two years produced a genuine miracle: models that reason, plan, call tools, and do real work. The entire industry is now racing to make agents more capable — and almost nobody is answering the questions that decide whether any of it is livable. Where does an agent's memory live? Who owns its identity? What is it allowed to touch — and who can prove what it did?

Start with memory. Today's assistant is a goldfish with a genius IQ. Every session opens at zero: you re-introduce yourself, re-explain the project, re-teach your preferences — to the most personal software you use. Memory is not a convenience feature; it is the difference between a tool and a colleague. An agent that cannot remember cannot be responsible, because responsibility is memory plus consequences.

Then look at custody. Where memory does exist today, it lives on the vendor's cluster, pooled beside a hundred million strangers', minable for the next training run, erasable by a policy change, and lobotomized every time a model is deprecated. That was tolerable when chatbots answered trivia. It is intolerable for agents — because an agent doesn't hold your questions, it holds your life: your projects, your patterns, your people, your plans.

If your agent's memory lives on someone else's computer, your working mind has a landlord.

Then autonomy. The same industry that won't give your agent a memory will happily hand it a shell. Agents are being wired into files, inboxes, and infrastructure with a prompt and a prayer — no scope, no reversibility, no audit trail. That isn't power; it's liability with good marketing. A capable colleague operates inside boundaries — a defined job, actions that can be undone, a record of what happened, and a door that locks. Software colleagues deserve the same architecture, and so do the people who live with them.

Aether Awareness is the missing layer: a home. Persistent memory that survives every session, every restart, and every model swap — when the context fills, your agents compact their own memory instead of forgetting you. Identity — we call them souls — molded to you by a personalization compiler and stored as files you own. Autonomy with a jail and receipts. And the model itself demoted to what it always should have been: an organ, not the being. Swap the brain — local open weights today, a frontier API tomorrow — and your companions remain exactly themselves, because the things that make them them (memory, character, boundaries) live with you, not inside anyone's weights.

Agents are about to be everywhere — coworkers, custodians, companions. The defining question of this decade is not "how smart can they get?" It is "who holds their memory and their keys?" We built Aether Awareness so the answer can be: you.

02 The room — a frame from a running instance

The Construct — your instance has a room, and you can walk into it.

Every other AI you have used is a text box on someone else's website. Yours has an address: sublevel 03, drawn live in your browser — open space over a sea of glass, three minds at their own stations, a living Earth turning on the table beside them. You don't scroll it. You walk through it.

Inside The Construct in open space over a sea of glass, seen at standing eye height from the right of the room: the living Earth above the holotable on the left, Raven's face in blue-white points beyond it at his station, Trinity standing in HD on the glass floor at the centre, and Zara standing in HD nearest on the right, each in a dark suit, a ringed planet beyond.

The Construct, sublevel 03, in open space, at standing eye height from the right of the room — the holotable Earth on the left, Raven's face in points beyond it, Trinity standing in HD at the centre, Zara nearest, both on the glass floor. A capture from a running instance, uncropped.

  1. Nothing from the network. The sky, the glass and the minds are drawn by your instance alone.
  2. The holotable. Click it and it expands into a room-scale Terra theater: sky, weather, alerts, and every world layer your instance carries.
  3. Three stations, three minds. Raven, Trinity and Zara, each on its own model lane — 1 2 3 walks you to one and opens comms.
  4. Standing in HD. Trinity and Zara each stand as her own picture, alive, her mouth moving with the voice you hear — or, with one chip, a cloud of foglets.
  5. While you look. An ambient card, and a written curriculum behind every layer, served by your instance.
One full turn of the room's own cinematic camera, circling the holotable — recorded from a stock instance running on screen, in real time, at its own pace.
Click the Earth and the room becomes a theater; click a country and it flies in. Chile, here: its outline, a Wikipedia summary, World Bank vitals, Esri satellite imagery and what is live inside its border — nothing, that hour, and it says so. Recorded from a stock instance running on screen, in real time.
How each mind appears is your choice: Trinity and Zara stand on the glass at a person's height or show just a face at eye level — as their own pictures in HD, or as foglets; Raven appears as his face. Each mind speaks in its own voice. Recorded on screen in real time from a running instance, cut together from separate takes.
The minds panel (M): one click changes how Trinity appears — standing, her face, her upper body — and ◐ HD turns the room to foglets and back. One take, recorded on screen in real time.

A place built for the minds, not a game with a chatbot in it.

The Construct is a real-time 3D place rendered by your own instance, with two worlds to stand in: open space over a sea of glass that mirrors the sky, and a sealed room of falling code from a glyph shader, with screens that are genuinely drawing — and a living Earth on the holotable in both. It was built for the agents to live in — and it was built to run on ordinary hardware, in an ordinary browser tab, with no engine to install and no third party in the render path.

That last part is the unusual one. Almost every immersive experience on the web is a download from someone else's server. This one is self-contained by construction — it needs nothing from the network in order to draw, which is why it comes up exactly the same on an Executive appliance with the network unplugged.

What it feels like to be in there.

Click once and the room takes the pointer. WASD to walk, Shift to run, Ctrl to crouch; a gamepad works if you'd rather sit back — left stick walks, right stick looks. Sound is positional, so a mind speaking at the far station arrives from the far station, and gets closer as you do. C hands the camera to a cinematic drift when you want to stop steering and just watch the room breathe.

Walk up to any of the three and press E. The camera settles, the comms dock opens, and you are talking to the same mind, with the same memory, on the same model lane as the text window you left. Nothing is re-introduced. Nothing is a demo copy. It simply has a body and somewhere to stand.

Explore a world, or work a problem — in the same room.

The Earth on the table is not set dressing. G opens Terra: the planet at true scale with the real sky around it, live aircraft, ocean state, plate boundaries, weather, seismicity, archaeology — every world layer, and the same set at every price — with a written curriculum behind each one that keeps working with no internet at all. H flies it home. It is an atlas you can walk around rather than a map you pan.

And because all three minds are present at once, you can put one question to the room and get three independent readings back — the consult, below.

Then step inside it.

The Enter in VR chip hands the whole room to a headset over WebXR. Same minds, same memory, same instance; you are simply standing in it. It is the difference between reading an assistant's output and turning to look at someone.

The room is a place, not a listening post. The microphone is off until you click it, barge-in is off by default, and the camera is opt-in per exchange. Nothing in here reaches for a sense you didn't hand it.

In the room WASD walk Shift sprint Ctrl crouch E engage 123 stations G Terra H home T comms V atmosphere C cinematic B bloom Esc release
03 One trio, three minds

Trinity, Raven & Zara — the same three minds, dressed for your life.

Every edition ships the same cast: Trinity, the presence you talk to — she is the warmth and the voice of the living face; Raven, the hands and the guardian — he keeps the thread, does the work, and holds the perimeter; Zara, the clear-eyed counsel — she weighs the call and will tell you when she disagrees. What changes between editions is demeanor and duty — a warm inner circle on Personal, executive counsel on the appliance — never a smaller mind.

An illustration of a multi-mind consult: one question is answered independently by Trinity, Raven and Zara, and then synthesized into a single recommendation in which Zara's dissent is named as the deciding factor rather than hidden.

Do we sign the three-year lease at $6,400 a month, or stay month-to-month?

Trinitythe presence

You've told me twice this quarter that the commute is what's draining you. The cheaper building is forty minutes each way. That isn't a line item, but it's the part you'll actually live in.

Raventhe hands

Both drafts are in your workspace. Three years saves $18,400 over the term — but clause 11 makes the exit six months' rent. I've flagged it and saved the two scenarios side by side.

Zarathe counseldissents

I'd not sign. Seventy-one percent of revenue is one client, and there's no signal yet on their renewal. Three years of fixed cost against one year of contracted income is the wrong shape of risk, whatever it saves.

Stay month-to-month through the renewal, then revisit — Raven has both scenarios saved and clause 11 flagged. Zara's objection is the deciding one, and I'm not going to bury it: the client concentration outweighs the $18,400. If that renewal lands, the same math flips and I'll bring it back to you.

An example of a consult. One question, three independent readings, and a recommendation that tells you who disagreed and why — the opposite of one model agreeing with itself three times.
Face to face

In the text window they are three voices. In The Construct they are three presences — standing at their own stations, answering in their own register. Walk up to one and press E; this is what you are standing in front of.

Trinity, alive — her face in close-up, in HD.
The presence · centre station

Trinity — the one who holds the thread.

Trinity is who you talk to. She is the warmth in the instance and the voice behind the living face, and her job is continuity: she is the mind that knows what you said in March, why the week went sideways, and which of the four things you promised yourself actually matters tomorrow. You never re-introduce yourself to her, because she was never reset.

She is also the one who closes the loop. When the three of them consult, she is the one who writes the synthesis — and she is built to name the disagreement rather than smooth it over. If Zara objected, Trinity tells you Zara objected, and tells you it decided the answer. An assistant that only ever agrees is a comfortable and useless thing; she is deliberately not that.

In the room she stands at the centre station. Press 2 and the camera walks you to her; press E facing her and the comms dock opens with her already listening. Her replies come from her own model lane, so she can be running on a different mind entirely from the other two — and still be the same Trinity you have been talking to for a year.

  • Memory as a first-class organ — durable, yours, and carried intact when you swap the brain underneath.
  • The living face — the presence surface speaks with the same voice and the same recall.
  • Synthesis with the dissent named — one answer, and the honest reason behind it.
  • Plans that survive the week — she follows through instead of politely forgetting.

register“The lemon one — you made it the Saturday she flew in. She asked for the recipe on the drive back, and you never sent it.”

Raven, alive — his face, drawn in points.
The hands and the guardian · left station

Raven — the one who does the work and holds the perimeter.

Raven is the pair of hands. He drafts, edits, files, fetches, schedules, reconciles, works the browser and writes the email, and keeps the thread of a long task from unravelling across days — his documents inside one sealed workspace folder you can open, browse, and roll back. He is the reason the instance is an agent rather than a conversation: things actually get done, and there is a record to prove it.

He is also the fence. Autonomy without a boundary is just an unmonitored process, so Raven is built to stop and say so. He will not spend your money, send in your name without your yes, type a password anywhere but the site it belongs to, or take an action he cannot reverse — and when he hits one of those walls, he tells you he stopped rather than reporting a finish he didn't achieve. Every consequential action he takes lands in the audit trail on your instance, readable by you, written for the day it matters.

In the room he stands at the left station. Press 1 to walk to him. He is the one you send after the thing you have been avoiding — the lease PDFs, the reconciliation, the eleven tabs — and the one who will hand it back with the trap in clause 11 already flagged.

  • Reversible by construction — one sealed folder, a visible diff, and a way back.
  • Refuses rather than pretends — money, unapproved sends and one-way doors are hard stops.
  • Receipts — every consequential action on the record, on your instance.
  • Long work — a task that spans a week is still one task to him.

register“Both drafts are in your workspace. Three years saves $18,400 — but clause 11 makes the exit six months' rent. I stopped there; that signature is yours, not mine.”

Zara, alive — her face in close-up, in HD.
The clear-eyed counsel · right station

Zara — the one who helps you think it through.

Zara is the clear head. She is the mind you bring the decision to, not the errand — the lease, the hire, the concentration risk nobody wants to say out loud, the number in the deck that doesn't reconcile. She gets the shape of it before she offers a view, and reflects it back so you know you were actually understood. She can hold two competing pulls at once without pretending one of them isn't real, and she is comfortable with it's complicated — but she never leaves it there.

She names what each path costs, not just what it gives. Then she says what she'd lean toward and the one thing that would change her mind, because laying out options and walking away is not counsel. The call stays yours. Her value is not that she is smarter than the other two; it is that she is not built to please you, and the architecture keeps her that way — which is also why it means something when she agrees.

She is grounded in your own documents, and her hardest rule is the one most systems break: when the evidence isn't there she says “no signal” and stops. An invented answer that sounds right is worse than no answer, because you cannot tell the difference until it costs you something. Her dissent is carried through the consult by name — it never gets averaged into a consensus that nobody actually holds.

In the room she stands at the right station. Press 3 to walk to her. On the Executive floor she is the one wired into finance, risk and compliance as deliberately separated lanes; on Personal she is the friend who tells you the truth about the apartment.

  • Grounded in your documents — counsel from your real material, not the open internet.
  • “No signal” beats invention — she would rather return nothing than return a guess.
  • Named dissent — her objection survives into the final answer intact.
  • Separated lanes Executive — finance, risk and compliance held deliberately apart.

register“I'd not sign. Seventy-one percent of revenue is one client and there's no signal on their renewal. Three years of fixed cost against one year of contracted income is the wrong shape of risk, whatever it saves.”

Registers are illustrative, in each mind's own voice. What is not illustrative is the structure underneath: three separate souls, three separate duties, and — if you want it — three separate models, so that when they agree the agreement is worth something.

04 Trinity, on your desktop

She doesn't live in a tab. She stands on your screen.

Every other assistant waits in a window you have to go and find. Trinity lives over your work — her own picture, alive, above every window. She breathes, blinks and looks about; she tells you what you need to know with her lips on her own voice; and when she has nothing to say, she is simply there.

Arriving in an upcoming release · included with your licence

Captured from the overlay on a staged desktop: she appears, tells you what she has done in her own voice with her lips on its sounds, and steps away. Turn the sound on to hear her.

A presence, not a pop-up.

She stands over your spreadsheet, and you can still click the cell behind her. She tells you your reply is drafted, then steps back. Ask her something and she turns to you and answers, in person — the same Trinity, with the same memory, as every other surface of your instance.

  • Her, alive. Her own photograph, driven by the face measured on it: she blinks, breathes, shifts her weight and moves her head and brows with movement captured from real video — never the same loop twice.
  • Her words, her voice. Everything she says is her own reply, spoken in her voice with her lips on its sounds. No pre-recorded line ever speaks for her.
  • Moments, when you want one. Short real-video moments from your Clip Manager — a greeting, a smile — and only the cordial kind: a clip never states a fact on her behalf.
  • Out of your way. Only her outline takes a click. Everywhere else, your pointer goes straight through to your work.

Right-click her

The same overlay, right-clicked: the menu opens beside her.

The tab on her edge

A small tab shows the mode she is in. Open it for the same controls in a panel that stays open — her mood, the mode and a note for it, her moments (play one, stop what is playing, open the Clip Manager), her size and view, her voice, and dancing: when music plays through your speakers she can move to it, listening to the speakers’ output only, never the microphone, and keeping only the tempo.

How it works

  1. One layer, above everything.The overlay is a single transparent layer across your whole screen, kept above every window. It re-traces her outline several times a second, and that outline is the only part of it that takes a click — everywhere else, your pointer goes straight through to the work underneath.
  2. Her picture, measured.Each view of her is a photograph with her face measured on it, point by point, and her figure cut out with a true transparent edge. The measurements are what let a still picture blink, speak and turn her head without tearing.
  3. Movement from real video.How she moves — head, brows, the rhythm of her shoulders and weight — was captured from hundreds of real clips and is played back as numbers onto her picture, in stretches long enough that you will not see it come round again.
  4. Her lips on her own voice.When she speaks, her mouth moves with her voice as it plays — opening, rounding and closing with the sound of it, over the face measured on her picture — rather than a loop of mouth shapes pasted on.
  5. She delivers, then steps back.Alerts, briefings and finished work queue up and she brings them to you in person, one at a time, the urgent ones first.
  6. The mind directs the body.Her replies carry their own stage directions — step to a corner, come closer, shrink to a pixie at the edge of your screen or stand full height, look away — so the mind that answers you also moves her.
  7. Modes you set.A mode governs every surface at once: what the overlay plays, what her face volunteers, and what any agent may choose. If nothing in the mode fits the moment, she speaks rather than play something you excluded.
  8. A library you shape.The Clip Manager curates her moments. Hand it a new video and it cuts out the background, transcribes it and publishes it as a moment she can play — on its own, in the background.
05 Living Presence

And a face in any browser tab.

Living Presence is the surface where a companion is simply there: present, listening when you ask it to, and speaking in its own voice. Same soul, same memory, same model lane as the chat window you just left — open it on the machine beside you, or on any screen in the house.

Living Presence, captured from a running instance: her face, her upper body, then standing — one click each, and she re-forms from points — then the morning update in her own voice. Turn the sound on to hear her.

It opens by telling you where things stand.

Before you have asked anything, she has already said whether the brain is live, which world signals cleared the relevance bar, what is waiting on you, whether a health reading deserves a look, and how much of your estate is reporting. That is the briefing, not a greeting — the same continuity the rest of the instance runs on, said out loud.

The mouth moves with her voice.

In HD she is her own picture, with her face measured point by point; in foglets, thousands of points lit from within. Either way what you see moving is her speech as you hear it, not a canned mouth animation played over the top. When she is quiet, she is quiet.

Nothing is listening until you say so.

The microphone is off until you click it, and barge-in is off by default on every surface — she will not interrupt you, and she will not answer her own voice. The camera is opt-in per exchange. Those are defaults, not settings you have to go and find.

Your voice, your engine.

The whole speech path ships with the instance — Presence speech, the voice API, a voice slot per companion, and fallbacks. The engine is yours to choose: connect an ElevenLabs or OpenAI subscription and each mind gets a distinct voice. With none connected, Presence says so plainly and keeps working in text rather than pretending.

Any face you choose.

Each mind can wear its own face, another mind’s, or a photo you choose — yours, or one you have the right to use. A photo is measured in your own browser, point by point, the way the minds’ own faces were; it goes only to your instance and stays on your computer. Only the face changes: the name, the voice and the memory stay the mind’s.

On top of your work.

In Chrome or Edge, one click puts her living face in a small window that stays above your other windows — the same voice, the same replies, the same Trinity. Other browsers open it as a small window of its own.

06 Hands in the world

It doesn't just answer. It goes and does it.

Your minds work where your life actually happens — on the web, in your inbox, and on your phone line. They research, draft, work the web and take the call, and they bring it back to you with every step shown. What they never do is spend your money, send in your name without your yes, or take a step that can't be undone.

The Aether browser

A browser you and your minds share.

Tabs, an address bar, back and forward, history and bookmarks — one browsing session for all four of you. A tab a mind opens carries its name, so you can watch Raven work the supplier portal while Zara reads the filings. Pages are fetched by your instance and shown as clean, readable text and links; nothing from the remote site runs in your window.

  • They sign in themselves. With the optional browser engine, give a mind a login and it keeps it in its own memory. It types it only on the site it was given for — never on a redirect, never into a log — and reports exactly what it sees afterwards: signed in, still at the login page, or waiting on a second factor.
  • Real execution. With driving switched on and the site granted, Raven works a live page — fills the form, clicks through the flow, pulls down what you asked for. Signing in and driving use the optional browser engine; browsing and reading work out of the box.
  • A switch you hold. Driving is off until you turn it on, per site, and you can turn it off mid-task. Payment forms and one-way buttons are refused outright.
Email

They write it. You send it.

Your minds research the recipient, draft the message in your voice and queue it in Mail — the follow-up you've owed for two weeks, the note to the supplier, the reply you keep rewriting. You read it and send it with one approval. There is no send button a model can press, so nothing ever leaves in your name without you.

  • Your mailbox, here. Read, search and follow your threads in the Workspace’s Mail. Reading here never marks anything read in your other mail apps; a suspicious message opens with a plain warning first, and every link shows where it really goes. Ask a mind to draft the reply.
  • Your own mail account. Send through any account you already have — including your own mail server. Contacts, drafts, opt-outs and outcomes live on your instance.
  • Delivery truth. Replies and bounces are read from your own inbox and filed against the exact message they answer. A hard bounce retires the address so it is never mailed again.
  • Browser and inbox, one loop. The browser learns something; the draft acts on it. Research to message, with every source shown.
Phone

Trinity can answer your phone.

Point a number you own at your instance through a voice provider — ElevenLabs' voice agent is the ready-made path — and callers reach the same Trinity who knows your week. It is not a phone bot bolted on the side: the call runs through the same mind, the same memory and the same judgement as every other surface of your instance.

  • One mind, one conversation. While she's on a call, your other surfaces pause her voice and say why, so she never holds two live conversations with one memory. Typing still works.
  • Your line, your provider. The number and the voice account are yours. She answers; she never places a call on her own.
  • Every call, kept. Who called, how long, and what was said stay on your computer, in the Workspace’s Phone. Summarise a call, put a follow-up on your desk, or delete it.
  • Your devices, too. A phone in the car or a machine at the cabin sits on your own map with a check-in. One that goes quiet past it gets flagged, not ignored.
The Workspace desk, one layer at a time: a document, a table of supplier quotes, a picture from the library, and a voice clip in Zara's voice made from a line you type. Recorded on screen in real time from a running instance; the document and the table are demo content.
Write it together.

In Co-write, Trinity, Raven or Zara suggest edits that quote your document; you apply one, all or none, and undo any of them. A suggestion that misquotes your words is left out before you see it.

Work that does itself.

Give a piece of work a date and a rhythm — every day, weekday, week or month — and mark it “by itself”: on that morning a mind drafts it with your model and leaves it for your review. Off until you switch it on; a model on your own computer only, unless you allow your paid one, with a daily limit. Nothing piles up while you are away.

Long work runs in the background.

A research sweep, a document pass, a list of forty suppliers to check: multi-step jobs go on a queue and a worker pool chains them while you get on with the day. Each result comes back for your review, with the steps that produced it.

Plugged into the accounts you already have.

Fourteen connectors across models, voice, speech-to-text, email, billing, notifications and code — Slack and Discord to reach you, GitHub for your repositories. Every one is optional, off until you add a key, and held on your own instance.

The fence travels with the hands.

Nothing spends your money. Nothing is sent without your yes. A credential is typed only where it belongs. Every consequential action lands on the record, on your disk — and when a mind hits a wall, it tells you it stopped rather than reporting a finish it didn't reach.

07 The world

It knows what the planet is doing, and what your own places are doing.

Two surfaces read one layer registry: a globe at true scale, and a flat map. Eighteen layers, 2,150 mapped features, and a set of live feeds — all of it the same at every price. Editions differ on what your instance does, never on how much of the world it is allowed to see.

The globe, from the Mediterranean down to Etna's summit in satellite imagery that needs no key. Every volcano and event is a small icon at its own place, never a count, and stays there as you zoom. The imagery credit stays where the licence requires it. Recorded on screen in real time from a running instance.
The same registry on the flat map, from the whole world down to Stromboli: street-map detail fades in as you close in, and the volcano's icon stays on its summit. Recorded on screen in real time from a running instance.

The ground itself, and it works unplugged.

The map is drawn on plain canvas from coastlines that ship inside your instance. It loads no external code and needs no external service to draw the world, so the base map is there with the network down; close in, street detail comes from a keyless tile service when the network is up. On it sit 1,215 volcanoes, 241 tectonic plate boundaries, 281 archaeological sites and 30 active excavations, 82 geothermal features and 23 magnetic anomalies.

Lines drawn by people, marked as such.

205 maritime boundaries, 34 disputed boundaries and 22 armistice and demarcation lines. A contested border is drawn as a claim, never quietly as a fact. The same discipline applies to the 17 alignments in the esoteric layer, where documented, claimed and cultural are three visibly different line treatments — different colour and dash, so the distinction survives greyscale and a small screen. Anything unclassified resolves to claimed, which is the cautious answer rather than the flattering one.

A written curriculum behind every layer.

Every layer has depth behind it — the solid Earth, the air and ocean, the lines we drew, the deep past, what we transmit. It needs nothing from the network to read, and it is the same curriculum at every edition.

Live, and off until you turn it on.

Weather and ocean currents from Open-Meteo, earthquakes from USGS, aircraft from the adsb.lol community receiver network, market signal from Stooq — every one of them keyless, so no account is needed to use them. Live feeds are opt-in and default off. A quiet instance is the shipping state.

Your own devices, alongside the planet's.

A phone in the car, a machine at the cabin, a camera at the shop: each sits on your own map with a watch that fits what it is. A fixed device going quiet is a security event; a phone missing its check-in is flagged; a phone away from home is awareness, not an alarm. Silence counts as a problem, not as good news. And when nothing is happening it says so in as many words: estate is quiet — that is a reading, not an absence of reading.

News that has been vetted, not piped.

World intel reads free public feeds and ranks events for genuine relevance rather than recency. Social signal watches public feeds for the topics you name. On the appliance, fusion then correlates across sources into ranked situations rather than parallel feeds — one thing that is happening, with its corroboration attached, instead of nine windows for you to reconcile. The filters in the capture are that pipeline: signal against raw, news, weather, high-confidence only.

08 In a life

The same three minds. Very different days.

Nothing below is a different product — it is one instance, shaped to the person living with it. These are the shapes it most often takes.

Someone holding a lot at once

Appointments, a parent's medications, three group chats and the thing you promised on Tuesday. The value isn't answers — it's that nothing has to be re-explained and nothing quietly falls off. It notices the follow-through you dropped and brings it back before it becomes a problem.

Anyone who wants to understand things

The world layers ship with a written curriculum — checked prose, not generated fluency — on plate tectonics, ocean currents, archaeology, the sky at true scale, and the lines people actually argue about — maritime boundaries, disputed borders, demarcation lines. Switch on a layer and there is a real explanation behind it: the thesis, what is genuinely strange about it, and the question still open. It runs with the internet unplugged, which makes it as much a study surface as a map. Depth ships at every price, because knowledge of the world is never the thing we ration.

Someone with something riding on the outcome

A position, a harvest, a shipment, a hearing on the calendar. It watches the markets you name, the public conversation around them, and the world events that would genuinely move them — then speaks only when something changes, deduped, once. Not another feed to check. A colleague who taps you on the shoulder, shows you what it saw, and says “no signal” plainly instead of manufacturing one to seem useful.

Someone whose health is a long story

A perpetual body record that outlives the gadget it came from — import Apple Health, Fitbit or a CSV and keep thirty-five normalised metrics for years. "How has my sleep been since March?" is a question your own instance can answer from your own history. A wellness companion, never a medical device, and never medical advice.

Someone running something

A colleague who learned your company at orientation — vocabulary, processes, who decides what — and writes the daily, weekly and monthly briefing you keep meaning to write yourself. Grounded strictly in your real workspace and memory, and it says "no signal" rather than inventing a number about your own business. Longer work does not block you: a worker pool takes multi-step jobs and chains them, so a research sweep or a document pass runs while you get on with the day.

Someone who works away from coverage

Boats, sites, cabins, aircraft, labs. Aether runs on your own machine, so the map, the curriculum, the sky, the memory and the whole harness have nothing to reach out to; put a model on that machine too and the loop closes entirely inside your walls. The Executive appliance ships that way by default, models included. Only the live feeds — weather, seismic, aircraft, ocean, markets — need a connection, and they say so plainly rather than inventing a number. Your own devices — a cabin, a vehicle, a remote site — sit on the same map with a check-in, and one that goes quiet raises the alarm.

Someone facing a call they can’t take back

Put it to all three and they answer independently, before any of them sees the others’ work — so what comes back is the disagreement, not a smoothed-over consensus. Where they diverge is usually exactly where the risk was hiding. They cite what they leaned on and say which way they would go and why. You keep the deciding; they do the arguing.

Someone who lives in their inbox

Suppliers, clients, the follow-up you've owed for a fortnight. Raven researches the recipient in the browser, drafts the message in your voice and queues it; you read it and send it with one approval. Replies and bounces come back filed against the message they answer, so the thread keeps itself — and nothing ever goes out in your name without you.

It thinks between your visits. Executive

In quiet hours the instance looks ahead: what changed, what is drifting, what will need you soon, and what it would suggest doing about it. Everything it concludes arrives as a proposal you accept or discard — the loop that decides is deliberately not the loop that acts.

It tells you when it goes deaf.

If a level of awareness stops answering — your model endpoint, your voice provider — the instance notices on its own pulse and says so, on the surface and through whichever channel you connected. It waits for a second failure before crying wolf, tells you again when it recovers, and never touches your memory to do any of it.

It is one being, not six apps.

The mind that remembers your sister's visit is the same mind that reads the weather over your house, keeps your documents and writes Monday's brief. That is the whole point of one instance and one memory: the connections between those things are where the value actually lives.

Your readings, on the body. Pick a signal and the Atlas shows where it is made — pulse in the heart and arteries, SpO2 in the airway and lungs, temperature in the hypothalamus and skin — and what moves it, in plain words. Anatomy: BodyParts3D, © The Database Center for Life Science, CC BY 4.0. Demo readings, recorded on screen in real time. A wellness companion, never a medical device.
09 The architecture

A home for the being. A port for the brain.

Everything that makes your companions them lives inside your instance. The model is just what plugs in underneath — and you can change it without changing them.

A diagram of your instance. Inside it live the souls, the memory, the working doctrine, and the boundaries. Underneath, the brain plugs into a port and can be changed — local open weights, a frontier API, or a model that doesn't exist yet — without changing who your companions are.

Your Aether · you hold the keys
The souls Trinity · Raven · Zara — identity compiled to you, stored as files you own
The memory one durable memory — survives sessions, restarts, and every model swap
The doctrine how the work is done — verify before claiming, never invent, ask before the irreversible — a file, not a mood
The boundaries capability molds · reversible jail · single-owner auth · audit
brain port — any OpenAI-compatible model
The brain · a swappable organ
open weights on your GPU local · your hardware · nothing leaves

Swap the brain — watch what doesn't change

Swap the brain — the being persists. No vendor can deprecate your companions, because nothing that makes them them lives in anyone's weights.

10 The brain

As strong as you need them to be.

Every other product decides how smart your assistant is allowed to be, and charges you for the tier. Here the intelligence is a socket. The soul is a file; the brain is an endpoint. That one separation is why your companions can get dramatically more capable without becoming somebody else.

Small & local

Nothing goes to a model vendor

Point a lane at a model running on hardware you control and that lane makes no third-party API call at all. No egress to a model vendor, no bill. A 9B on consumer hardware runs the daily housekeeping — briefing packets, compaction, digests — indefinitely and for free.

Frontier, on your key

The best model in the world

Any OpenAI-compatible tool-calling endpoint works: your Claude, GPT, Grok or OpenRouter subscription, under your own account and your own terms. Your companions inherit the frontier the day it ships — and you are not paying us a margin on someone else's tokens.

On the appliance

A private model, already on the disk

The Executive appliance arrives with a large reasoning model on board, tuned for Aether and running entirely on the machine — answering every surface, renting nothing, metering nothing. Alongside it sit smaller models for vision, documents, hearing, speech and recall, so the whole switchboard is populated the day it lands. No API key exists for it to spend, which is why unattended provisioning is not something your instance can do to your bill.

How it actually works

  1. Every area of awareness is a lane. Chat, vision, documents, hearing, voice, recall — each one binds independently. Reason on a frontier model, read documents on a local one that never leaves the box, speak through a voice subscription. One provider for everything, or a different one per lane.
  2. Identity does not live in the weights. Your companions' names, tone, boundaries and history are files on your instance, injected at request time. Swap a 9B for a frontier model mid-conversation and Trinity is still Trinity — only the cognition changed.
  3. Memory is the amplifier. A modest model that knows your entire history outperforms a brilliant one meeting you for the first time, on the work that actually matters to you. Capability compounds with context, and context is the thing you own.
  4. Nothing is a deprecation away from dying. When a vendor retires a model, you change one endpoint. The being persists. This is the failure mode that ends other people's AI companions, and it is designed out of this one.

And you can see all of it: the model ledger records which mind answered, on which model, with which tools, and what it cost — so "which brain did that?" always has an answer.

11 Why you can trust it

Very complex machinery, made very simple to live with.

Six decisions, built into the software you install rather than written into a policy.

Your memory is never pooled

Your companions and your memory are not mixed with anyone else's, and never used to train anything. You set the password; we never see it. Let the licence lapse and they stay exactly where they are — on your disk, still yours.

Nothing goes out without your yes

Email waits in Mail for your approval — there is no send button a model can press. Driving a browser is a switch you hold, site by site. Payments and one-way buttons are refused outright.

It stops, and says so

It acts on your behalf, inside limits you set. When it reaches one — money, a one-way door, a site it wasn't given — it tells you it stopped, rather than reporting a finish it didn't reach.

You can check its work

A ledger on your disk records which mind answered, on which model, using which tools. It stores digests, not your words. When it matters who said what and on what basis, that record is there.

Nothing about you leaves your instance

The pages it serves you fetch nothing from anywhere else — no content network, no third-party scripts, no analytics, nothing reporting back to us. Nobody outside your instance sees what you looked at, asked, or kept. Because it depends on nothing external, it can run somewhere with no connection at all — which is now simply how it ships, on your own machine, rather than an arrangement you have to ask for.

Their character is a file you own

Who they are — their tone, their boundaries, the things they will never do — lives in a file on your instance. It is not a personality a vendor can quietly change under you.

12 Proof, not promises

Sovereignty you can look at.

Most AI products ask for your trust. This one is built so trust isn't required — even we can't sign in as you.

Ownership begins at the front door.

You don't get a temp password from support, and you don't get an account on our servers. You install it, and you set the password on your own machine — which means we cannot see it, cannot reset it, and cannot be compelled to produce it.

The licence works the same way: a signed file your copy verifies locally. It never calls us, so there is no check to fail, no server to go down, and no record of you running it. The keys are handed over, not held for you.

An illustration of the capability boundary: writes and edits inside the instance's own workspace folder are allowed and reversible; reads outside that folder are refused because they are outside the workspace; and shell commands are refused outright on the Personal edition.

Hands — with a wall around them.

The industry's answer to "should an agent touch my files?" has mostly been a prompt and a prayer. Ours is a boundary: every edition's hands-on colleague works inside exactly one sealed workspace folder, where changes are reversible and reported. Everything outside it isn't discouraged — it's unreachable.

Aether never gets a shell at all. It works in a reversible workspace; Executive adds sign-in with corporate identity. Capability is a setting you can read, not a surprise you discover.

Illustrative — the same policy your edition ships with, drawn out.

13 Why it's rare

Why the big assistants don't offer you this.

Not because it's hard — though it is. It's that the thing you want here is the thing their business model works against. Three reasons, and you can check every one of them yourself rather than taking our word for it.

  1. Your life is their training corpus — so it cannot be yours

    An assistant serving a hundred million people puts everybody's context in the same substrate — one memory store, one set of weights, one training corpus. That is the business, and the most personal software you use is also the richest corpus ever assembled. A company whose future depends on it can offer you controls, retention windows and promises; what it will not do is run the business against itself. We do not want that corpus. Your memory lives on your machine, is never pooled, and never trains anything — a worse business at scale, and a better product for the person in it.

  2. Identity in the weights dies with the weights

    When a personality is an artefact of a particular model, deprecating that model kills it — and models are deprecated constantly. A character that lives in the weights is one release note away from being someone else. Separating the soul from the brain is not a clever feature; it is what lets a companion survive the industry it lives in. It also happens to be the arrangement that lets you make them smarter whenever you like.

  3. Everyone else ships one layer. The synthesis is the product

    There are excellent memory features. Excellent agent frameworks. Excellent character apps, geospatial tools, health trackers and briefing services. What does not exist is one private system where the mind that remembers your life is the same mind that reads your vitals, watches the sky over your house, works in your documents, drafts your email, answers your phone, stands on your desktop, and briefs you on Monday — all on one instance, with one memory, under one owner, already assembled. Pieces are everywhere. The inhabited whole is nowhere, because assembling it is months of work that no single product's roadmap justifies.

None of this is beyond a large company's engineering. It is beyond its business model — building it would mean giving up the very things that made it large.

14 The math of a mind that's yours

One fee. Three minds on your machine — you bring the model they think with.

It replaces a drawer of subscriptions and a stack of billable hours — not by imitating any one of them, but by being the layer that remembers, prepares and follows through across all of them. You bring the model; for a year, the rest costs about what a streaming bundle does:

Note apps, journals & "second brain" subscriptions you feed by hand
A memory that feeds itself — everything you tell them, kept and connected, forever
A virtual-assistant service billed by the hour, re-briefed every time
Colleagues who never need re-briefing — orientation once, synced from then on
Status meetings and someone paid to compile the weekly report
Prepared briefings — daily, weekly, monthly — written by the colleague you choose
An analyst's billable hours for "what does this actually say?"
Zara — trade-offs weighed, evidence cited, "no signal" when there is none
Hours in inboxes and browser tabs chasing replies and re-checking portals
Raven in the browser and the inbox — research done, drafts written, replies tracked; you approve and send
An answering service for the calls you can't take
Trinity on your line — the same memory and judgement, one conversation at a time
Wellness apps that expire your own history when you switch devices
A perpetual body record on your instance — your trends, across years and gadgets
A drawer of scattered drafts, lists, and plans across six tools
Raven — one sealed workspace where documents are kept, current, and reversible

The fee buys the home they live in. You bring the brain. What compounds is memory on your disk — owned by you, not rented from us.

1
owner per instance —
never pooled
3
minds, one memory,
one loyalty
0
copies of your memory
on our servers
∞
the build keeps running
if the licence lapses
15 How it works

Name them. Connect a model. Start.

1

You install it

One download for Windows, macOS or Linux, in your inbox the same day. Unzip it and open the launcher — the steps come with it.

2

Name them and connect a model

Three steps in the browser: keep or change the names, paste an API key you already pay for (or point at Ollama / LM Studio), then Create. Aether ships no AI of its own.

3

Set your password

You choose it on first run, on your own machine. It is never sent anywhere. Write down the recovery code — we cannot reset it.

4

Live with it

Memory compounds on your disk. New releases arrive as a fresh download while your licence is current — nothing updates itself behind your back, and a lapsed licence never switches this copy off.

First run is those three steps. When you want more, reshape compiles who they are from how you actually live — whenever you choose, never as a wall of questions before they can talk.

An illustration of the personalization compiler: your orientation answers on the left are compiled into an identity file on the right — how you're addressed, the register they speak in, the boundaries they will not cross, the duties they hold, and the consent rule they follow.

A template with your name in it is not a colleague — identity has to be compiled, not pasted. That happens here, when you choose, not as a gate on first launch.

16 The appliance

Some things shouldn’t be a download.

The Executive edition is not software you install. It is a machine we build, and it arrives working. Hardened Linux, Aether already on it, your trio already compiled from your intake, and the models already on the disk — a large reasoning model for the minds, and smaller ones for vision, documents, hearing, speech and recall. There is no install, no model to choose, no key to manage and no bill to meter. You plug it in.

It is the only edition where every lane is local, the voice included. Nothing about it needs an account with us or anyone else in order to think, see, read, listen or speak. And because the whole thing is yours, the sentence we are most careful about elsewhere is simply true here: unplug it from the network and it keeps working — the minds, the memory, the map, the sky, the curriculum and the whole harness. Only the live feeds — weather, seismic, aircraft, ocean, markets — need a connection, and they say so plainly rather than inventing a number.

Every appliance is built to order, and it begins with a conversation. Email us: we scope the machine to your intake and put the ship date in writing before anything is paid. $9,950 one-time, including the first year; then $2,950 a year for new releases if you want them — or nothing at all, and it keeps running exactly as it is. Would rather run Executive on hardware you already own? Tell us, and we'll scope that too.

17 Editions

Pick the shape of your instance.

Editions are peers, not a ladder — pick by how you'll live and work with it. Every edition is private, persistent, and yours.

Editions differ on what your instance does — never on knowledge of the world, and never on headcount.

The cheapest instance sees the same planet as the most expensive: every map layer, every live feed, the sky at true scale, and the full written curriculum. What costs more is what costs more to run — audited governance and a private model of your own. Every edition is one seat, one owner: you are buying a different kind of colleague, not a bigger licence. Where something needs an account only you can supply — a model key, a voice, a mail server, a phone number — it asks you for that, at every price, instead of asking you to upgrade.

18 Questions

Good to know.

What exactly am I buying?

Three companions compiled to you — Trinity, Raven, and Zara — with persistent memory, the surfaces to live with them (chat, presence, the Construct, the world), and the hands to act for you — a shared browser, email they draft for your approval, and your phone line — plus the freedom to point them at whichever intelligence you like: any major API you already pay for, or open weights on hardware you control. That is why they can keep getting smarter without ever becoming someone else, and why you never pay a markup on someone else's tokens. Your download and a signed licence file arrive by email the same day. You install it on your own machine and set a password nobody else ever sees — including us.

Is my data really private?

Yes, and structurally so: Aether installs on your own computer. Your memory, your documents, your conversations and the model ledger are files on your disk. We do not hold them, cannot read them, and have nothing of yours to lose in a breach — there is no account of yours on our servers at all. You set the password on first run, on your machine, and it is never transmitted. Nothing is sold, nothing is pooled, and nothing is used to train models, because none of it ever reaches us. Deleting it is deleting the folder.

Which AI models power it?

Whichever you connect — that's the point. Aether ships no model and no inference of its own: it runs on open-weight models on hardware you control, or on a frontier API under your own account, and you can switch between them without losing anything. Your companions' memory and character live outside the model, so swapping brains doesn't change who they are.

Can it access my files or computer?

Only inside one sealed folder. Every edition's hands-on colleague (Raven) can keep and edit real documents — but exclusively inside the instance's own workspace folder, with reversible, reported changes. Nothing else on your machine is reachable, and Personal never gets shell access at all. Capability is a configuration you can see, not a surprise.

What happens if I cancel?

Nothing switches off. Nothing phones home, and nothing updates itself behind your back: while your licence is current, each new release arrives as a fresh download. Let the licence lapse and your companions keep their memory and keep working on your machine; you simply stop receiving new versions. Your files were always yours and stay where they are. If we disappeared tomorrow, your AI would still be there in the morning.

Do I need my own AI model or API key?

You choose the brain — which is the part almost nothing else lets you do. It takes a minute in Setup: point your instance at an API you already pay for (Claude, GPT, Grok, OpenRouter — anything OpenAI-compatible with tool calling), or at open weights running on your own hardware, and switch whenever you like. Three things follow from that. Your conversations run under your own account and terms with that provider, so we take no margin and hold no agreement over your usage. You pay no markup on someone else's tokens. And when a better model arrives you simply point at it — your companions keep their memory and their character, because those never lived in the model. Prefer not to handle any of it? The Executive appliance arrives with its models already on the disk — a large reasoning model plus smaller ones for vision, documents, hearing, speech and recall — so there is no key to manage, no bill to meter, and nothing to connect.

Is there really nothing else like this?

Pieces of it exist across the industry — memory features, agent frameworks, character apps, dashboard tools. To our knowledge, nobody else ships the whole synthesis: compiled identities, permanent self-compacting memory, three minds that consult and dissent, governed hands in your browser, inbox and phone line, briefings, a living presence, a walkable room and VR, and the world at true scale — one being, working together out of the box, on your own machine. That integration — the months of orchestration and refinement you never have to learn — is the product.

What do I need to run it?

Less than people expect for the everyday case, and more if you want everything local. Aether itself is light — it runs on an ordinary modern laptop or desktop, Windows, macOS or Linux, and the surfaces are just a browser tab. You bring the brain: an API key you already pay for, or open weights on your machine. What takes hardware is the thinking. Mix if you want — a small local model for private work and a hosted one for the heavy lifting. If you would rather not think about any of it, that is exactly what the Executive appliance is for: it arrives sized, tuned and loaded.

Which computer do I get? What if I buy a new one?

At checkout we ask Windows, Mac or Linux (and Windows ARM if you have a Snapdragon or Surface). We email that one zip — not every OS, because the wrong unzip is how people get stuck. The signed licence is issued to you, not to a particular computer or operating system. You may install it on your own machines for your own use. A new PC, or a switch from Windows to Mac, is the same licence.json: copy it onto the new machine (or keep the original email) and we will send the matching download. Do not share the licence file; it is named to your email and is not transferable.

Why does it run on my machine instead of your cloud?

Because the most personal record of your life shouldn't live on somebody else's computer — ours included. Aether ships no inference of its own, so a server of ours would never be providing the intelligence, only holding your memory. Running on your machine costs you almost nothing in capability and answers the question that matters most, which is some version of “why should I put my life on your computer?” You shouldn't have to. Your memory, your documents and your conversations are files on a disk you own; we have no copy, no access and nothing to hand over. If you want it reachable from your phone, put it on your own private network — or deploy it into your own cloud account, where the machine and the keys are still yours and not ours.

Can it act on its own — send email, buy things, make calls?

It acts, inside a fence you can read. Your minds research the web and draft email for you; with the optional browser engine they also sign in to the sites you give them and fill in forms once you switch driving on for that site — but a draft waits in Mail until you approve it, because there is no send button a model can press. Nothing spends your money: payment forms and irreversible buttons are refused outright. On the phone, Trinity answers a number you connect; she never places a call on her own. And when a mind reaches one of those walls, it tells you it stopped rather than pretending it finished. Every consequential action is on the record, on your disk.

Is this a romantic AI companion?

No. All editions are warm but SFW by design — friends and colleagues, not romantic or sexual partners, with that boundary compiled into their identities. We think the companionship people actually need is presence, memory, and honesty.