Eido
Driftwood's companion has a name. Eido lives in the Tide — the conversation space — and its one unusual property is simple to state: it has read what you've written, and it remembers.
Most AI chat starts from zero every time; you re-explain yourself forever. Eido opens a conversation already knowing the threads — the thing you wrote about in January that's back again, the name that keeps appearing, the dream image that repeats. You talk; it holds the context.
You can stay at the surface or go deep — Eido follows your lead. There are three depths you can set: a brief reflection, an ordinary back-and-forth, and the undertow, a long-form register for when you actually want to go down into something and stay there.
When something you say echoes something you wrote months ago, Eido can surface it — the real fragment, with its real date. And when you ask it to go further — what do you see in this dream? — it will offer a reading: grounded in what you actually wrote, framed as one way of seeing it, yours to take or reject.
That's the line the whole product is built around: "here's what I see" is Eido's job; "here's what this means," delivered as a verdict about you, is the line it doesn't cross. Every reading stays an offering — you're the one who decides what your own writing means.
Trust here isn't asked for; it's inspectable.
Eido knows the difference between a conversation and care. If something comes up that needs more than a conversation, Eido is built to say so plainly and point toward real support. It holds the role it can actually hold — a companion in your own writing — and stops there.