stories

Brume – The Wanderer

A lone figure walks through a fog-drenched street before dawn, city lights blurring into halos. The air is cool, sharp with spice, but softened by the warmth of a café that spills the smell of roasted beans into the silence. They pause, watching their reflection ripple in a rain-puddled street, torn between who they’ve been and who they’re becoming. The mist clings, almost alive, wrapping them in Ambroxan’s steady glow, oud’s shadow, and pepper’s edge. Brume is not a place or a moment — it’s the fog between memory and future, a haze you carry forward.

Chervan – The Memory Keeper

The scene begins in a sunlit kitchen — a table scattered with orange peels, flowers in a cracked glass vase, laughter echoing like it never ended. The sweetness lingers long after the voices fade, morphing into the warmth of vanilla that feels like home. Years later, the same person sits alone at that table, now empty, the scent pulling them back through time with every breath. Chervan is not just worn, it’s remembered — the scent of things we thought we lost but never truly let go. It is nostalgia wrapped in sugar and light, comforting yet impossible to escape.

Soltra – The City’s Pulse

Night falls, and the skyline hums with electric veins of neon. A rush of citrus cuts through the air as someone steps from a crowded train, swallowed by the rhythm of the streets. Metallic florals bloom against hot pavement, candy wrappers glint in the glow of headlights, everything amplified, overstimulated, alive. The deeper they go, the stronger the hum — vanillin and ambroxan fuse into a steady throb, like basslines vibrating through concrete. Soltra isn’t about peace. It’s the pulse of the city itself — endless light, endless sound, endless motion, burning against the dark.

Arden – The Hidden Flame

The first spark comes quick — citrus sliced open, spice hitting the air like a struck match. A figure lingers in the corner of a dim bar, unreadable, their presence humming with danger. A whisper of leather and cinnamon follows them, sharp yet alluring, drawing eyes but revealing nothing. Beneath, warmth builds slowly — ambroxan glowing like embers, galaxolide smoothing the heat into a steady flame. By the time they’re gone, only smoke and sweetness linger, as though the fire was never truly there. Arden is restraint and release — the secret heat of someone who knows exactly when to burn.