Giving an AI a real memory of your world.

Most assistants meet you as a stranger, every time. A stranger can't be on your side.

Ask a blank slate to draft a note to Priya. It doesn't know who Priya is, what you last said to her, or that you owe her an answer by Friday. It performs helpfulness without the context that would make it useful. Every conversation starts from nothing.

So Carillon keeps a model of your world. Not chat logs. A small structured picture of what matters: the people you deal with, the threads still open, the commitments you've made. Three plain nouns. Most of a life fits inside them, and getting that structure right matters more than any cleverness stacked on top.

Structure is what makes memory act. A thread has a state. A commitment has a who, a what, a by-when. Because those are named and connected, Carillon notices a promise going stale and raises its hand before Thursday, not after. A search box waits to be asked. Memory reaches back.

And because this is a map of your life, it lives on your machine and answers to you. The same conviction runs through Meteor: the intelligence stays on hardware you own. A memory of your world belongs to the person whose world it is.