Personalized bedtime stories, new every evening

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Nalurio writes a brand-new bedtime story every day — with your child's name, their friends, their pet and whatever they currently love. With a lovingly made illustration, waiting in your inbox right at bedtime.

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Nalurio

7:00 PM

Tonight

🌙 Mia and the Dragon Who Couldn't Sleep

High on the hill behind Mia's house lived a very small dragon with a very big problem …

5:12

Every evening. All by itself.

As easy as tucking in

Set it up once — Nalurio does the rest. Every evening.

Tell us about your child

Name, age, favorite color, best friends, pets, favorite topics — set up in two minutes.

The story is there by 7 PM

Every evening, a new one-of-a-kind story lands in your inbox — with its own illustration. Pick any time you like.

Read aloud, snuggle, sleep

Every story winds down gently and makes falling asleep the best part of the day — exactly the way a bedtime story should close.

Read for yourself — with your child's name

Three tastings from the Nalurio evening programme. Type a name above and watch every story transform.

Garden & little bugsages 2–4

Mia and the Upside-Down Humming Map

Mia was walking through the humming flower meadow. She wore a soft cream jumper and green boots. Tall flowers brushed her sleeves. Then she heard an unusual sound. “Hmmmm. Hmmmm. Hmmmm.” Mia stopped. She listened. Then she chose to follow it. The warm grass smelled sweet. Bees buzzed. Leaves went swish, swish. In the daisy patch, Mia found Bea Bumblebee and Dot Ladybird. Bea was round and golden, with velvety black stripes and pollen on her feet. Dot was bright red, with neat black spots. They carried a broad green leaf. A golden pollen trail and a little bluebell mark made it a map. “We are going to Bluebell’s evening humming nook,” said Bea. The sun felt warm, so Dot lifted the leaf over Bea like a sunshade. “Ahhh,” hummed Bea. Then Dot lowered the map again. But now it was upside down. Off they went. Tap, buzz, tap. They passed a white daisy. Then another white daisy. Then the very same white daisy again. “We are going round and round!” laughed Dot. Mia looked at the map. “Where are you going?” she asked. “To Bluebell,” said Bea. “When did the path begin looking wrong?” Mia asked. Dot thought. “After I used the map as a sunshade.” Mia noticed that the little bluebell mark was upside down. So was the golden arrow. “It needs turning!” she said. She turned the leaf right-side up. Now the arrow pointed away from the daisies. Mia held the map and led the way. Through the clover they went. Step, buzz, tap. At last, they reached Bluebell’s sheltered nook. Bluebell was a living flower. Deep blue petals bowed around a tiny doorway, just the right size for bugs. Mia blinked. A flower with a door! How wonderful. But the petal doorway was shut. Bea hummed at it. “Hmmmm?” Dot hummed too. “Hmm-hmm?” “Could you open, please?” asked Bea. The petals stayed folded. Mia crouched beside Bluebell. She truly wanted to understand. “What would help you open?” she asked. At once, the petals gave a soft flutter. Unfold, unfold, unfold. The little doorway opened. “That question,” Bluebell whispered. Mia smiled and returned the pollen map to Dot. Bea and Dot crept inside. Their humming became soft and slow. Mia lay beside Bluebell on the clover. The meadow buzz faded to a sleepy murmur. Her breathing grew quiet. The blue petals sheltered the little bugs. The clover held Mia, warm and still.

Knights & castlesages 5–7

Mia and the Grumbling Kitchen Dragon

Mia swept into the giant working kitchen beneath the castle, wearing comfortable night clothes and a small silver-grey play cloak. She had come in search of a useful knightly quest before bed. The castle cooks prepared great feasts there, so everything was enormous. The worktop rose above Mia's head, copper pans hung like round shields, and broad cupboard handles could have served as ladder rungs. Moonlight lay across the flour-dusted floor. Beside the low opening of the stone oven stood a wide metal tray of pale, unbaked rolls. Mia touched the oven wall. “Cold,” she said. “That is certainly a mystery.” From behind a cupboard came a grumble. Then came a puff of harmless grey smoke. Mia followed it and found a round, moss-green dragon crouched in the corner. Flour powdered the dragon’s snout. Small wings drooped over his back, which reached Mia's shoulder, and his amber eyes looked very cross indeed. “Go away,” the dragon rasped. “Nothing to see. No warm oven. No warm rolls. Hrrmph!” Another grey puff escaped his nose. At once, he rubbed his throat with a padded forepaw. Mia noticed. “Are you the oven-keeper?” she asked. “I am Grumble,” said the dragon. “I warm the oven with my flame. Usually.” He gave a tiny cough, producing only smoke. “Now please leave me to grumble properly.” Mia did not leave. Grumble sounded cross, but he also sounded sore. “My throat sometimes feels scratchy,” Mia said. “Honey water helps.” Grumble’s broad tail gave one interested twitch, although his face remained grumpy. On a low bench, Mia found a sturdy blue cup. The kitchen’s low tap was within reach too—but the honey jar sat on a shelf high above the worktop. “A knightly climb,” Mia decided. She tucked the blue cup safely on the bench, gripped the first broad cupboard handle and climbed. Up she went, handle by handle, until she pulled herself onto the worktop. The honey shelf was still too high. Mia spotted a long-handled wooden ladle. Lying flat on her tummy, she stretched the ladle upwards and hooked its bowl behind the small lidded jar. “Come along,” she whispered. The jar slid closer. It wobbled at the shelf’s edge. “Oh!” Before it could slip, Grumble’s broad tail curled around the ladle handle and held it steady. He said nothing. He merely looked away and pretended to study a copper pan. Mia smiled. “Excellent tail work.” “Hrrmph,” said Grumble, but more quietly. Mia drew the jar into her hands, lowered the ladle to the floor, tucked the lidded jar beneath her cloak and climbed down carefully. Then she filled the blue cup from the low tap, added a spoonful of honey and stirred it with the ladle. “For the castle’s oven-keeper,” she said, offering the cup. Grumble sniffed, took it between his padded forepaws and drank. His amber eyes softened. “I was worried,” he admitted. “The cooks left those rolls ready, and everyone expects them warm. But my throat would only make smoke.” “We can still finish the quest,” said Mia. “First, move the heavy tray safely away from the oven.” Grumble lifted the bread tray, which Mia could not have carried, and set it well aside. “Now,” said Mia, pointing to the low oven opening. “One careful warming breath. Straight inside.” Grumble faced the oven. His throat felt comfortable now. He breathed a steady, gentle flame directly into the stone opening. Warm light filled the oven, and the thick walls began to hold the heat. Then Grumble closed his mouth and rested his throat. “That is my one proper warming breath for tonight,” he whispered. “It was exactly enough,” said Mia. With his padded forepaws, Grumble slid the tray into the warm oven. Before long, the rolls puffed round and turned golden. Their comforting smell drifted between the copper pans and along the quiet castle passages. When the rolls were ready, Grumble brought out the tray. He picked up the wooden ladle and gently tapped Mia on one shoulder, then the other. “I name you Mia, Kitchen Knight of the Warm Roll,” he said. “Brave climber, careful thinker and excellent mixer of honey water.” Mia bowed. Grumble bowed too, so deeply that a little flour fell from his snout. They each took a warm roll and sat beside the cooling stone oven. Far above them, the castle settled. A door closed softly. A clock gave a distant tick. Mia's roll was warm in her hands, and Grumble’s tail curled comfortably around her feet. The last crumbs rested on the blue cup’s rim. The oven stones gave out a gentle warmth. Grumble breathed slowly. Mia breathed slowly too. Around them, the floury moonlight lay still and soft.

Mountains & adventureages 8–10

Mia and the Dragon of Windfang Pass

Snow hissed across the dark rocks of Windfang Pass as Mia climbed towards Windfang Shelter. Her amber winter coat was buttoned to the chin, and an orange climbing rope lay coiled over her shoulder. In one mittened hand she carried a steel ice axe. It was ordinary mountain equipment, but on a steep trail ordinary equipment could matter very much. Clouds had swallowed the highest peaks. The wind pushed powder over Mia's boot prints almost as soon as she made them. Then, beneath the long moan of the storm, she heard a thin sound. “Maa-aa!” Mia stopped. Across a steep ravine, a small white mountain goat stood on a narrow shelf, with black knees, short curved horns and snow caught in its shaggy coat. Between the trail and the goat lay a sloping rib of hard ice. Fresh snow was already beginning to hide it. The shelter was not far ahead. Mia could have continued. Instead, she studied the ridge, the shelf and the clouds sinking lower around them. “I see you,” she called. “Stay where you are.” The goat answered with another frightened bleat. Mia had just stepped towards the ice rib when a vast shadow swept over the snow. With a thunderous roar, a huge slate-blue mountain dragon dropped onto the trail. Her dark claws struck sparks from a buried stone. Broad wings towered over Mia, and her ice-pale eyes fixed upon her. “Keep away!” she commanded. “That shelf will not bear you.” Mia planted his boots. The dragon was fearsome enough to make her heart hammer, but her gaze kept darting towards the goat. “You’re trying to help,” Mia said. “I guard Windfang Pass,” growled the dragon. “Tavi wandered onto that shelf before the storm came. I am Vargra, and I will not let the mountain take her.” Vargra launched herself towards Tavi. Yet as she swooped near the shelf, the wind from her passing shook loose a sheet of powder. Snow poured around Tavi’s hooves. The goat crouched, trembling, and Vargra pulled sharply upwards. When she landed again, her ridged tail lashed the trail. “I cannot reach her without breaking the shelf.” Mia looked from Vargra’s enormous claws to the ice rib. It was far too narrow for the dragon, but wide enough for her boots if she made proper footholds. “I can cross where you can’t,” she said. “But I need you to trust me.” Vargra lowered her great head until cold mist puffed from her nostrils. For a moment, neither moved. Then she folded her wings. “Show me.” Mia found a patch of solid ice above the rib. She drove the pointed end of her ice axe deep into it and tested the anchor with both hands. She tied the middle of the orange rope firmly around the axe. One end went securely around her waist; the other remained coiled for Tavi. She stepped onto the rib and swung the steel head of the axe into the ice. Chip. Chip. Chip. A small foothold appeared. She cleared it, set one boot inside and cut the next. A gust rushed through the ravine. Snow filled both shallow cuts. Mia did not hurry. She scraped them clean and deepened them. Then she made another. Chip. Chip. Clear. Step. The steady pattern carried her farther above the ravine while wind and falling powder rumbled far below. Halfway across, a crack snapped from the shelf. Tavi jumped, and a chunk of snow tumbled over the edge. “Vargra!” Mia called. “I need the wind stopped, but your wings must stay still.” The dragon climbed onto a broad outcrop above the route. She gripped the rock with all four claws and slowly spread her broad wings. She did not beat them. She held them motionless, making a vast slate-blue wall between Mia and the storm. At once, the air around the ice rib became calmer. Mia continued. Chip. Chip. Clear. Step. At last she reached the fragile shelf and crouched beside Tavi. The goat’s legs quivered, but she sniffed her mitten. “That’s it,” Mia murmured. “We’ll take one foothold at a time.” She passed the free end of the rope around Tavi’s chest and tied a secure loop. Behind them, another crack crept across the shelf. Mia stepped onto the first foothold. Tavi followed. On the next, she stopped. Snow crumbled from beneath one black knee and vanished into the ravine. Tavi froze, her hooves stiff against the ice. Mia did not pull the rope. She braced her boots and waited. Vargra’s claws scraped against the outcrop, yet her wings remained perfectly still. Tavi tested the foothold once. Then again. Her front hoof settled. Mia gathered a little slack. “Good. Now the next.” They moved slowly across the rib. One hoof. One breath. One careful step. Whenever snow covered a cut, Mia cleared it before Tavi moved. Whenever she trembled, she waited until her hooves were steady. At last Mia stepped onto the trail. Tavi scrambled beside her, and Vargra folded her wings. A deep crack echoed behind them. The empty shelf broke away and scattered harmlessly into powder far below. Mia untied Tavi, recoiled the orange rope and pulled her steel ice axe from the hard ice. By then, snow had nearly erased the route they had crossed. “My cave is close,” said Vargra. “Follow my tail.” She led them through the thickening storm to a broad shelter cave in the mountainside, large enough for a dragon to rest inside. Its stone floor was dry and warm. Tavi curled against Vargra’s flank, while Mia settled into a hollow lined with soft shed scales. Outside, the storm muttered more quietly. Snow brushed the cave mouth. Vargra lowered one wing around Tavi. Mia's hands grew warm. Three breaths slowed in the hush. In. Out. In. Out. Until the mountain, too, seemed still.

Why children love Nalurio (and parents do too)

Everything a great bedtime story needs — every evening, zero effort.

Truly personal — your call

Your child is the hero, a sidekick, or not in it at all — however you like. With friends, pets and your wishes. You set the tone: more adventure or calm, magical or realistic, with or without a moral.

New every evening — sometimes in serials

Over 100,000 combinations and a memory of everything told: no repeats. And now and then a multi-part adventure across several evenings — plotted start to finish, with a twist.

Its own picture, every single story

Every story gets its own lovingly made illustration, drawn for that evening's adventure. And if you like, Premium adds a warm grandfather's voice reading it aloud.

Checked by an editor

Before sending, a dedicated quality-and-safety editor reviews every single story: age-appropriate, fear-free, sleep-friendly — and written as naturally as a good children's book. No exceptions.

A ritual that runs itself

No app, nothing to do: the story is waiting in your inbox by 7 PM at the latest — ready for reading at the bedside.

Built calmly, in Europe

Developed and hosted in Europe, GDPR-compliant. Your child's data stays minimal — and stays yours.

A story every evening. Two ways to enjoy it.

Less than 60 cents an evening — for around 30 new stories a month.

Nalurio

A new story to read aloud, every evening.

€17per month

A new one-of-a-kind story every evening (~30 a month)
Personal: name, friends, pets, favorite topics
Its own illustration with every story
Serial adventures across up to three evenings
Your story library to read again
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With narration

Nalurio Premium

For the evenings when your own voice is spent.

€29per month

Everything in Nalurio
Narration: a warm grandfather's voice reads aloud — whenever you like
Big adventures across five to seven evenings
“Keep it going”: turn a favorite story into a series

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The first week is free on both. Cancel anytime before it ends with one click — and pay nothing. You can switch plans later whenever you like.

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Questions parents ask

How personal are the stories, really?

Your child is the main character — with their name, age and the things they love. Best friends, siblings or the family pet appear as real supporting characters, and the favorite color hides in the details. You can update the profile anytime interests change (which is weekly, of course).

Will the stories start repeating?

No. Nalurio plans every story from over 100,000 combinations of themes, settings and plots — and remembers everything your child has already heard. Whatever was told in recent months is locked out. That's how you get 365 genuinely different stories a year.

Are the stories really safe?

Every single story passes an automated check before sending: age-appropriate language, nothing frightening, a calm sleep-friendly ending. Only checked stories are ever sent — no exceptions. You can also tell us topics to avoid or handle with extra care.

When does the story arrive?

By 7 PM at the latest — pick any hour and change it whenever you like; the story always lands BEFORE your chosen time. Nalurio follows your timezone, even on holiday.

How does the audio narration work?

Narration is part of Nalurio Premium: a calm, warm grandfather's voice reads the evening's story aloud — one tap is all it takes. Lovely for evenings when your own voice is tired, or for listening together in the dark. On Nalurio, every story arrives as text with an illustration.

What ages is Nalurio for?

For children aged 2 to 10, in three stages: 2–4 (short, simple, with lots of repetition and sound words), 5–7 (lively dialogue and humor) and 8–10 (riddles, secrets and clever twists). Length and language grow along.

What does Nalurio cost, and how do I cancel?

Nalurio is €17 a month — a story with its own illustration every evening, around 30 a month. Nalurio Premium is €29 and adds narration plus long serial adventures. The first week is free on both. Cancel online anytime in a few clicks, no phone calls, no notice-period tricks.

What happens with my child's data?

We only store what makes the stories personal: first name, age band, interests. No photos, no tracking, no sharing for advertising. Everything lives on servers in the EU, GDPR-compliant, and can be fully deleted whenever you wish — with one click.

Are the stories written by AI?

Yes — and we don't settle for a single model. Nalurio combines the most capable AI models available today across several phases: one plans the story, one writes it, and an independent quality-and-safety editor reviews and refines every single one before it is sent. And every story exists exactly once: for your child.

Which languages are available?

German and English — selectable per child, great for bilingual families. More languages are in the works.

Tonight by 7 PM, the first story could be there.

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