Six things Luma does for your household, shown the way the app itself draws them.
A diary the house writes about itself, one line at a time, each traced to what it observed. It stays on the Core, readable by your household alone.
Keep saves a line for good. “This wasn’t right” puts the record straight, and Luma learns from the correction. Forget removes the line, and what it taught.
The Lounge woke up.
The Laundry washing machine finished its cycle.
The Bedroom heater is drawing 1712 W.
The first thing you read is what’s happening, in words:
One sense is enough to start: by day three, Luma knows the kettle.
A sense reads light and movement: enough to say a room is awake, not enough to recognise anyone. When the house knows a name, someone declared it - a tap at the door, a note signed Maya.
The round markers on the day lane link into the Journal: tap one and the diary opens at that line.
Maya taps her pass on the way in, and the Journal writes it down by name - because she said so, not because anything recognised her. Included with every kit, free.
Maya tapped in home.
Every answer shows its working. One rule underneath it all: a light, it’ll handle; a door, it asks.
The house goes quiet about now most nights. Shall I ease the lights and switch the studio heater off for the night?
Luma notices the shape of your days and offers to carry the repeating parts. Accept once and it’s yours; decline and it’s never pushed.
Errands - the groceries, the ride to the airport - are where this is headed. It starts with the evenings.
Any screen with a browser, propped where you pass - today’s sentence, readable across the room.
A trusted surface by the bed - first words in the morning, last check at night.
The app, when connected - the same home, sealed in transit.
{{ reserveAmount }} reserves your place - refundable any time until your kit is on its way, late 2026.
The household operating system. Shipping late 2026.