Every conversation here starts the same way: someone realises there is nothing left to postpone. What follows differs. We publish no testimonials and show no faces — what you read below are scenarios, not marketing cases.
These are generalisations, not testimonials: there is not a single real name here, and there never will be.
Someone learns there is less time than they assumed. A task appears that was not there before: to leave behind not documents but themselves — how they spoke, how they joked, how they decided. There is no room for lengthy preparation, so speed of entry matters: the first conversation happens the same day, not after a week of configuration.
Not a catastrophe — early signs. The same story repeats, dates slip. Adult children start recording conversations while the stories still hold together. What matters here is not «archiving» but the habit of talking regularly: memory accumulates from ordinary conversation, not from one ceremonial interview.
Three countries, three time zones, a call once a month. Shared memory is needed not for eternity but for continuity: the conversation does not restart from zero each time, and the youngest in the family knows the eldest's stories first-hand rather than retold across two generations.
A craftsman, a doctor, an engineer whose thirty years of practice are written down nowhere. Apprentices ask the same questions; the answers are given aloud and vanish. Recorded, connected memory turns that into something that can be handed on — and incidentally shows the craftsman how much they actually know.
A young parent realises that the person they most want to explain all this to cannot yet listen. Photographs will survive, but photographs answer no questions. Memory is gathered here not against disaster but with a margin: conversations accumulate for years and become useful once the listener grows into the questions.
The most common and the hardest case. The honest answer is short: they will not speak again. What can genuinely be done is to gather what remains — letters, messages, recordings — into one place and hold it where it will not vanish along with somebody else's service. We will not fill in the missing parts.
Someone with no family, or someone who outlived everyone who could remember. The motive here is not «to leave it to the children» but not to disappear without trace. The eternal layer does not require the recipient to be known in advance: the record exists whether or not its reader has turned up yet.
Not a «digital copy of a personality». Let us be precise, without promises no one can keep.
Facts about a person are easy to collect and say very little: date of birth, places of work, a list of relatives. What makes someone recognisable is how they reason. Where they start when asked something difficult. Which arguments they treat as weighty and which they dismiss. What they joke about when uncomfortable.
None of that lives in a form. It accumulates through conversation — through how someone answers dozens of different questions across months. This is why regular talking yields more than one long interview «for posterity»: in an interview people speak as if to a camera, and nobody is themselves on camera.
We do not complete a personality and do not answer «on someone's behalf» where they never spoke. The system stores what was said and links it by meaning, but it does not invent an opinion on a subject that was never raised.
That limit is a principle, not a technical shortfall. Plausibly extending someone's words is not hard; that is exactly why it must not be done. The distance between «he said» and «he probably would have said» is the distance between memory and forgery.
A single story about fixing a roof thirty years ago is worth little on its own. The value appears when it becomes visible that the same person repaired everything else the same way — relationships, work, themselves. The connection between separate conversations is precisely what no folder of files provides.
The semantic layer of memory exists for exactly this: it searches by proximity of meaning rather than by matching words. A question asked a year later — «how did he think about debt» — finds not the place where the word «debt» appeared, but the conversations where he reasoned about it without ever calling it that.
A year on you can return and find what was actually said. That is not the same as «talking again»: the system does not compose a line where none existed. It shows what was said and where it came from.
The difference is not obvious at first, but it is what separates memory from imitation. Imitation always answers — it has nothing to lose. Memory sometimes answers «he never spoke about that», and that is its main virtue rather than a defect.
No recording can be hurt, love anyone, or wait. We are not selling resurrection and we do not hint at it: what is preserved is a manner of expression and a body of what was said, not the person.
The phrasing sounds cold, but it is more honest than the advertising alternative. People who come here after a loss have the right to know exactly what they are getting — before they pay, not after.
The three PADAM memory layers are built differently because they solve different problems. The difference matters: it determines what can still be corrected and what cannot.
This holds the context of the current conversation: what was said five minutes ago and where the thread is heading. Technically it is fast in-memory storage (Redis or Vercel KV). Its job is to stop your interlocutor asking the same thing twice inside one session.
The layer is deliberately short-lived and decides nothing about the fate of the archive. Everything meant to remain moves on.
What was said is turned into semantic representations and kept in a database with vector search (pgvector on Neon). This is the layer at which memory stops being a list of files: a conversation from a year ago is found by closeness of meaning, not by a coincidence of words.
Deletion works here. If someone changes their mind, the material is removed from the semantic and operational layers, and memory stops taking it into account.
A copy goes to Arweave, and a compressed cNFT is written to Solana — a marker confirming that the record exists and was made when it says it was. Storage is paid once, at the moment of writing, rather than monthly.
Deletion does not work here. Not for you, not for us — not out of stubbornness but because the network is built that way. This is worth understanding before the first conversation: the eternal layer does not forgive things said in anger.
A single layer would have to be a compromise: fast enough, understanding enough and immutable enough all at once. No such storage exists, and attempts to pretend otherwise usually mean one of the three was quietly sacrificed.
Splitting them gives a rule you can explain to anyone without preparation: until a conversation has reached the eternal layer it can be withdrawn; afterwards it cannot. The copy leaves automatically every hour, or immediately once a conversation passes 90 KB — which means the window for changing your mind is measured in an hour, not in years.
Order matters: conversation first, settings later. The other way round takes longer and usually never finishes.
The first conversation should not be a «preservation session». Talk about today. The task of week one is to get comfortable, not to fill an archive.
A biography in chronological order is the surest way to give up by the third conversation. Start with what happened yesterday and let the talk drift backwards on its own. Chronology can be assembled later; tone of voice cannot.
Fifteen minutes every other day yields more than four hours once a month. Memory accumulates through continuity: returning to an earlier subject is worth more than a new story.
A second pass at an old subject almost always adds more than a new one. People remember a detail, revise a judgement, argue with themselves — and it is exactly these discrepancies that make memory resemble a living person rather than a form.
The most valuable material usually sits where it is awkward: conflicts, regrets, decisions since regretted. Any of it can be marked closed — it stays, but stops surfacing in ordinary conversation.
Conversations are copied automatically every hour, and immediately once one exceeds 90 KB. Nothing needs pressing; confirming it happens is worth doing once, in your cabinet.
This is the most postponed part and the most important. A verbal arrangement does not survive a loss: you need a person who knows where the key is and understands what to do with it.
The hard part here is not the technology but the first subject. Below is what most reliably gets a conversation moving.
Weddings and moves are remembered without any recording. What disappears is what life was actually made of: what time you got up, what breakfast was, how you got to work, what you thought about on the way. Thirty years on that reads better than any list of achievements.
Walk through the house and describe five things: where they came from, whose they were, why they are still not thrown out. Objects outlive people and turn into mere things very fast — the reason to keep them vanishes together with their story.
A recipe, a repair, the order of operations in a trade. This kind of knowledge is almost never written down, because to whoever holds it it feels obvious. Say it out loud as if explaining to someone who has never done it and is afraid of ruining it.
Not «what I did» but «what I was choosing between, and why». The most valuable part is the one where the decision turned out to be wrong: it explains a person better than any list of successes, and nobody can tell it in your place.
Better said honestly than cautiously — and marked closed straight away. A cautious formulation is useless twice over: it tells nothing about you and protects nobody.
Ask yourself what you have never been asked although the answer has been ready for years. That is usually where the thing worth doing all of this for is sitting.
We are not the first to try to preserve memory. The difference lies in what exactly is preserved.
| Method | What it preserves | What is missing |
|---|---|---|
| Photo album | How someone looked | Neither voice nor line of thought |
| Video recording | Appearance and voice on one day | The person speaks to a camera, not as usual |
| Voice messages | Timbre and intonation | Scattered, and gone with the account |
| A diary | What someone thought worth writing | Skips everything that felt self-evident |
| Messenger history | Living speech | Tied to another company and its lifespan |
| A cloud folder | Files | Links nothing to anything; it is rent, not storage |
| A will at the notary | Disposal of property | Not a word about what the person was like |
| An ordinary AI assistant | Nothing beyond one session | Forgets everything between conversations |
| CODE memory | Speech, reasoning, links between subjects | Does not preserve consciousness — and never claims to |
Every line below reduces sales. That is precisely why it is here.
What is kept is a body of speech and a manner of expression. There is no consciousness in a recording. Anyone promising otherwise is promising what they cannot deliver.
We hold no copy of your encryption key. Which means that if you lose it, we cannot recover the contents either. That is by design — and it is inconvenient.
Arweave does not forget. Nothing can be edited after the fact — not by you, not by us. Worth knowing before the first conversation rather than after.
Speaking «into memory» feels strange to almost everyone. It passes within two or three weeks, but it is fairer to say so upfront.
There is not one testimonial on this site, not one face and not one «nine out of ten». Not out of modesty: real stories do not exist yet, and an invented story on a subject like this is simply a lie. When people willing to tell theirs appear, we will ask permission and name them.
Arweave stores bytes and is prepaid — that is a checkable claim. Whether software will exist in half a century to open them just as conveniently is not something anyone can guarantee. We keep the format plain for that reason, but promising eternal convenience would be a lie.
The dullest part, and the only one that decides everything. It is postponed more often than any other.
Content is encrypted before it leaves the device. What sits with us is an encrypted set of bytes; we hold no copy of the key. Both consequences follow at once: we cannot read your conversations, and we cannot recover them if the key is lost.
Which is why «where is the key» is a more important question than «what does it cost». A paid-for archive without its key is paid-for noise.
Not necessarily the closest person. You need someone who, a year after the funeral, is capable of sitting down and working it out: finding the note, remembering the explanation, seeing it through. Often that is not the spouse or the eldest child but a nephew, a friend or an executor — whoever will have the strength at that moment.
Naming two people is sensible. One may not outlive you, may lose it, may move away, or may simply not want to.
A key is not sent through a messenger and not stored in email: both will outlive you exactly as long as it suits somebody else's company. Paper in the same envelope as the documents is more reliable than it sounds.
And say out loud what it is and what it is for. A string of characters found after a death, with no explanation attached, is usually thrown out along with the rest of the papers.
The answer is short and unpleasant: nothing can be done. There is no way round it for you and none for us — otherwise there would be one for anyone who wanted to read someone else's material.
This is the single place where the system is deliberately unfriendly. We would rather say so on the website than in a support email after the fact.
The figures come from the ecosystem's pricing tiers and do not change on this page.
| What | How much | What it gives |
|---|---|---|
| Saving conversations | No charge, on any tier | A copy every hour, or immediately once a conversation passes 90 KB. Nothing to press. |
| Spark | $15 a month | Basic access to the AIfa assistants and memory preservation. |
| Family Archive | $100 a month | Higher limits, personal knowledge bases, family access and eternal memory. |
| Digital DNA | $1 000 once per device, then $200 a month | A personal protected perimeter and identity fixed on the blockchain. |
Technically yes: a relative can hold the conversations, recounting and clarifying. But the result will be different, and that must be understood. You get your memory of the person, not their own speech.
If they still have the strength to speak for themselves, even briefly and irregularly, that is far better.
The first coherent results appear after roughly a month of regular conversation. That is not a marketing figure: before that there is simply not enough material for memory to form from.
With less time, start from what the person considers important rather than from a biography in order. Chronology can be reconstructed later; tone of voice cannot.
Nothing is deleted. What was written to the eternal layer depends on neither a subscription nor our company: storage is paid for at the moment of writing.
Access goes to whoever holds the key. Which is why «who receives the key» is not a formality — it is the only thing that determines the archive's fate.
No. Conversation copying works on every tier, including the free one: hourly, or immediately once a conversation passes 90 KB.
Paid tiers buy capacity and additional capabilities. Making memory itself paid is something we consider wrong.
Content is encrypted before it leaves your device. The key is not held by us, so we could not read your conversations even if we wanted to.
The flip side is identical: lose the key and you lose access, with no way around it.
From the operational and semantic layers, yes. From the eternal layer, no — that is a property of the blockchain, not our policy.
The practical conclusion: treat a conversation like a letter that cannot be recalled. For thoughts that may not survive tomorrow morning, there are drafts and paper.
A diary holds what someone judged worth writing down. Everything that felt obvious is lost — and that is precisely what makes a person recognisable.
Conversation works differently: someone else asks the questions, and what surfaces is what you would never have reached alone.
The eternal layer sits in Arweave and does not depend on our existence. Storage is prepaid, and access is determined by a key you hold.
That is the only honest guarantee available: not a promise to last forever, but an arrangement in which our disappearance erases nothing.
They will not speak again — that has to be said plainly, because around the subject of loss the opposite is claimed far too often. What can genuinely be done is to gather what survives — letters, messages, recordings, documents — into one place and put it somewhere that will not disappear along with somebody else's service.
We will not extend a dead person's opinions for them, even at the family's request. An invented answer consoles exactly once, and then becomes a forgery no longer distinguishable from the real thing.
A cloud is rent: you pay monthly, you stop paying and the data goes; the company folds and it goes too. Arweave works differently — storage is paid once, at the moment of writing, and covers the storage in advance.
The second difference is immutability. In a cloud a file can be quietly swapped and nobody notices. Here the record is fixed by a marker in Solana: it is visible that it exists and when it was made.
No. Copying happens on its own: hourly, or immediately once the conversation file passes 90 KB. There is deliberately no «save» button — anything that depends on human discipline does not survive the first difficult week.
Confirming that copies are leaving is worth doing once, in your cabinet. After that you can stop thinking about it.
Nothing that goes against the wishes of the person concerned: their consent is the only thing that counts here. Everyone else's objections are a conversation inside the family, not a technical problem.
If the person themselves is against it, the answer is final. Recording someone's speech without their knowledge is surveillance, not preservation, and we will not help with it under any circumstances.
Ask while they can still answer, even if the answer comes out incomplete. An early stage usually still allows an explanation and a clear yes or no; a year later that option is gone.
If asking is no longer possible, the family decides, and it is better to decide out loud and together. We give no legal opinion: rules on consent and representation differ by country, and that is worth checking with a local lawyer.
Fifteen minutes every other day is a rhythm people actually sustain. An hour a week works too. Four hours once a month looks more convincing and delivers less: a long conversation slides into a retelling of a biography.
After a month or six weeks of regularity the first coherent whole appears. That is not a marketing timeline but a lower bound, below which there is simply nothing for memory to form from.
Because of two properties ordinary hosting does not have: storage is paid in advance, and a record cannot be altered after the fact. Everything else around blockchains is marketing, and we are not dragging it in here.
Arweave holds the content; Solana holds a compressed marker (cNFT) confirming the fact and time of writing. The ecosystem token is $GALATIN, with a hard cap of 10 000 000 000 and not one more. It has nothing to do with preserving memory, and you do not need to buy any to do this.
Almost everyone who arrives says the same thing: «I should have started earlier». Not because the worst had happened, but because earlier was easier — more strength, clearer speech, calmer circumstances.
Preserving memory does not belong to the class of tasks that get easier with time. It belongs to the class that gets harder in exact proportion to how long they are put off.
Until recently the only way to preserve speech was a video camera, and the only way to preserve thinking was a book almost nobody will write.
Today it is enough to talk. That is not an achievement — it is a circumstance worth using while it lasts.
The archive is of no use to the person who has gone: they are past caring. It matters to those who remain — and, less obviously, to the person themselves right now. Telling your life out loud changes how you regard it; most people notice that long before they get as far as thinking about eternity.
So we do not push deadlines and we do not frighten anyone. If, after this page, you simply phone your parents and switch on the recorder — the task is done, even if it is done without us.